his fingertip to the pyre, where they sort of huddled together and then settled into a cozy orange fire. How can I explain this? There was a poetry to it that I’ve never seen before in all the Bunsen lightings in class. It was so spectacular, I stood there in wonderment and he seemed embarrassed because he wouldn’t look me in the eye anymore.
“I heard the guys who keep them lit are pyros like us. Pretty good job to have, don’t you think?” he mumbled.
“That would be really cool,” I said. “Where are they now? All these embers are dying.” I did some more thinking about what we were doing there. I mean, he likes Jill, right? Who wouldn’t? She’s awesome. I decided to ask. “Did you set a fire to get me out to the docks so you could take me to WaterFire?”
“I took Raúl into the hallway without his safety sack and a pile of newspapers we swiped from the hospital, and it sort of played itself out,” he said.
My stomach clenched, but then I reasoned it out, and no one was ever in any danger, so I let myself revel in the fact that he had pulled a stunt to get me where I wanted to be. The idea was so intoxicating, I had to concentrate really hard on walking as we headed toward the festivities. He started telling me the legend of one boy at the school who had magnesium for his kryptonite. The story goes that he used to let the other students take his safety sack and light it to create distractions or momentarily blind teachers or enemies.
“Have you ever seen a magnesium flare?”
“No,” I said.
“Apparently, setting magnesium on fire creates a white flash so bright, if you don’t look away, you’ll burn your retinas.”
I thought I knew what he was talking about. A light that bright was growing in me, and soon I was sure it would engulf the entire riverbank and everyone on it.
We saw a gondola full of people float by, skirting the pyres with the kind of agility they probably need to get through the narrow canals of Venice. I don’t know, I’ve never been to Venice, but it seemed like the gondolier had. Brian finished telling me that the magnesium boy eventually escaped the PMA to go on to better things. I’m not sure what those better things might be. I’ll have to look him up.
The crowd was really thick now as we crossed Washington Street and Exchange Terrace to stay on the west side of the river. Those bridges lead to streets that take cars steeply up or down College Hill, past the First Baptist Church in America, to Brown, the pinnacle of learning every Providence kid thinks they’re going to conquer. I wondered if the curriculum at the PMA was a good preparation for a college like Brown. I certainly never planned to go to school here, and no one ever asked me if it fit into my college plans. For the past few years, I’ve actually had the Berklee College of Music on my mind. That’s in Boston.
At the bridges, there were a couple of vendor stands. One had soft drinks and lemonade ice, which were probably a big hit during the summer, but didn’t really appeal now. My hands were frozen and my nose was starting to run.
“Want anything?” Brian asked.
“I didn’t bring any money,” I said.
“I did,” he said with that sweet smile.
The ice vendor also had t-shirts, bags, hats, and prints of WaterFire, and I desperately wanted to own one of those items with the logo (Is it water? Is it fire?), but I couldn’t let him buy something for me. It didn’t seem right.
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, but I’m getting some Red Hots.”
I looked, and the other vendor was all about fire. Hot chocolate, jalapeños, Firebrand chili, and Red Hot candies. His stall was pretty popular, and we waited in line for I don’t know how long. I watched the people, listened to the eclectic mix of music, and inhaled the fragrant smoke that wafted over from the river. All while holding Brian’s hand, by the way. He didn’t let go until he had to reach into his pocket for his wallet. He was fully
“I heard the guys who keep them lit are pyros like us. Pretty good job to have, don’t you think?” he mumbled.
“That would be really cool,” I said. “Where are they now? All these embers are dying.” I did some more thinking about what we were doing there. I mean, he likes Jill, right? Who wouldn’t? She’s awesome. I decided to ask. “Did you set a fire to get me out to the docks so you could take me to WaterFire?”
“I took Raúl into the hallway without his safety sack and a pile of newspapers we swiped from the hospital, and it sort of played itself out,” he said.
My stomach clenched, but then I reasoned it out, and no one was ever in any danger, so I let myself revel in the fact that he had pulled a stunt to get me where I wanted to be. The idea was so intoxicating, I had to concentrate really hard on walking as we headed toward the festivities. He started telling me the legend of one boy at the school who had magnesium for his kryptonite. The story goes that he used to let the other students take his safety sack and light it to create distractions or momentarily blind teachers or enemies.
“Have you ever seen a magnesium flare?”
“No,” I said.
“Apparently, setting magnesium on fire creates a white flash so bright, if you don’t look away, you’ll burn your retinas.”
I thought I knew what he was talking about. A light that bright was growing in me, and soon I was sure it would engulf the entire riverbank and everyone on it.
We saw a gondola full of people float by, skirting the pyres with the kind of agility they probably need to get through the narrow canals of Venice. I don’t know, I’ve never been to Venice, but it seemed like the gondolier had. Brian finished telling me that the magnesium boy eventually escaped the PMA to go on to better things. I’m not sure what those better things might be. I’ll have to look him up.
The crowd was really thick now as we crossed Washington Street and Exchange Terrace to stay on the west side of the river. Those bridges lead to streets that take cars steeply up or down College Hill, past the First Baptist Church in America, to Brown, the pinnacle of learning every Providence kid thinks they’re going to conquer. I wondered if the curriculum at the PMA was a good preparation for a college like Brown. I certainly never planned to go to school here, and no one ever asked me if it fit into my college plans. For the past few years, I’ve actually had the Berklee College of Music on my mind. That’s in Boston.
At the bridges, there were a couple of vendor stands. One had soft drinks and lemonade ice, which were probably a big hit during the summer, but didn’t really appeal now. My hands were frozen and my nose was starting to run.
“Want anything?” Brian asked.
“I didn’t bring any money,” I said.
“I did,” he said with that sweet smile.
The ice vendor also had t-shirts, bags, hats, and prints of WaterFire, and I desperately wanted to own one of those items with the logo (Is it water? Is it fire?), but I couldn’t let him buy something for me. It didn’t seem right.
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, but I’m getting some Red Hots.”
I looked, and the other vendor was all about fire. Hot chocolate, jalapeños, Firebrand chili, and Red Hot candies. His stall was pretty popular, and we waited in line for I don’t know how long. I watched the people, listened to the eclectic mix of music, and inhaled the fragrant smoke that wafted over from the river. All while holding Brian’s hand, by the way. He didn’t let go until he had to reach into his pocket for his wallet. He was fully
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