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Bonfire Night by Jana Lawton March 14, 2007 he night was perfect; clear, the hum of cicada's in the air and a very light breeze. The fire burned slow, then fast, and back slow again, maintaining its own rhythm, and the smell of the burning wood filled your nostrils and skin and clothes until it was a part of you. The best part of sitting around a bonfire is the storytelling. "Remember that party we had when Bruce passed out in the bathtub and scared the hell out of Susie Switchboard when she sat on the toilet?" and, "Remember when we got bored at work and made gin from grain alcohol? THOSE were casual Friday's." "Mom, remember when I took that road trip with Jimmy in his VW bus to Montana? You didn't know it, but we were smoking grass all the way there!" The neighbors dogs bark to remind us to keep things down. We stare quietly at the fire for awhile, and drink wine coolers. Jenna smokes a cigarette, Jim a cigar. They both puff away silently for a few minutes. The fire starts to die and Jim stabs at it with the poker. A quiet end to a two-log night. About the author: An Okie who married a Yank and never looked back, I have become — after 35 years of marriage and living in 'the North' - a Midwesterner. | | | |
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