1992 is Ablaze

It's the summer of 1992. The concrete wiggles with heat waves and under our bare feet dry brush crackles and Ernie suggests that we set the pile of leaves on fire, he prefers the smell of fire over the smell of urine and mildew. He can be flaky sometimes but he's an all-around nice guy so I slap him on the back and guide him home to his green house at the end of the block. Ernie's home is covered in mold of all sorts and I always worry about his safety because the house wobbles an awful lot. He lives with his grandmother because his parents are pushing up daisies and he doesn't like being alone when it gets dark outside.

I tell him that he's welcome at my house but he scowls and gives me the finger because he knows that I pity him. But how could I not? His roof is caved in and magpies always fly in and out of his house, I've always wanted to catch one of them from his messy bedroom. I was inside his house once and it was only because he insisted that I meet his grandma, she's shriveled up and her face is pasty and resembles a piece of crinkled paper. She is lovely and her smile makes me grin because she doesn't like to wear her dentures.

That night I decided to stay with him at his house because his grandmother, Ethel, made cherry pie. We had sex and it was disgusting and bloody and unplanned and I cried for two hours afterwards. He helps me clean up and we both tried to squeeze into his twin bed that Ernie alone can barely fit into.

"Why did we do that?" I ask. His chest is sticky and my clammy hands draw circles on him as I continue to cry. "I mean, we don't even like each other much. I can't stand the way your voice sounds and you don't like how sensitive I am. But somehow," I pause and look at him. He snores and his eyelids flutter as he sleeps. "Our bodies fit together like the pieces of a puzzle and I swear it was the strangest thing."

Ethel died while we slept and we never heard a sound come from her bedroom, it must've been a heart attack or stroke and I felt even worse for Ernie because now he truly was alone. I wouldn't stay with him and I would never invite him to my house again because after her death he started using matches and inebriant to set houses ablaze with a group of bohemian misfits. I wanted to miss him but I couldn't bring myself to even think of the boy who slowly tore my heartstrings and adored the wrinkled face of a benign old woman.

"Can we cut class to feed the geese?" I can still hear his voice and it's like needles in my ears.