Trial and Failure by Fire: Speaking of ditz, uhm; this is the dumbest thing I've ever done. Going to tell it. Nerve. You'll see.
Dash was moving 200 miles. We had a big open pickup; we were young and he didn't have much stuff. We put all the boxes on the bottom and finished the load off top with the mattress and then box springs, and tied it all down good. No sense letting the wind catch that thing. (IQ 70) We left some space right up behind the cab because there were four of us and somebody had to ride in the back. I volunteered. (IQ 32) It was a long, long, really long way. I needed a ciggie real, real, really. (IQ 16) I got one out and crouched down this way, that way, under there, moved some stuff; engineered a coaxial Venturi-Carbonoff backflow podquadrant. (IQ 170)
Get cigarette lit. Joy, oh joy, inhale, begin to normalize. (IQ 90) Second monster puff; cherry blows down engineered coaxial Venturi-Carbonoff backflow podquadrant, whooshes upward in a simply understood draft effect, and adheres to the fabric side of the mattress box spring. Box spring was stuffed with dry Philippine straw twenty years earlier.
Paul tries to think what to do. Paul tries to think what to do. Paul thinks he has time to think what to do. (IQ 01).
Mattress bursts into smoke. Blowing straight backwards at 70 miles an hour. Paul just about jumps out of truck. Bangs window. (IQ 92) Panic ensues. (I'm talking ensues quickly here.) (IQ 350)
I truly leap off for my life as the entire superheated mass bursts into flame. People I see looking back as I run along the side of the truck, going by me in their cars, look amazed. (Why?) Screaming; everybody's screaming; because the box spring is tied to the truck with Gordian knots. The entire truck could burn up.
Dash's brother, you know, they always said he was supposed to be smart, but I never saw him do much. I'm not sure why that was. It wasn't lack of opportunity; I mean he had his chances; lots. And it's not like his parents weren't there to help. If I had to speculate, I think it was drugs. I'm no expert though. That would be just a guess, really the same as speculation. Half the time he'd be asleep when you went to his camper, and the other times we'd get drunk. He never seemed to be able to do the right thing at the right time. Always.....off in space somewhere. You couldn't count on him to be paying attention. A disappointment. I mean, people didn't talk about it much, people in our family, as much as they should have; but it's embara
".....PAUL!!!"
It's Dash's brother running around the side of the truck with a knife, slashing the ropes with full-arm swipes. Flames are 10 feet in the air. 12 maybe. He grabs two of the slashed ropes and runs backward. Dash is doing the same on the other side, and they drag this inferno off the truck. I'm backing up as fast as I can. It's HOT. Kerbang. Can't get near it. Dash's brother jumps in the cab and pulls forward. (OK, I'm not going to rate his IQ, because I don't really think it's that high.) Traffic is almost stopping now, because of the simple size of the flames. It's pretty obvious what we did, and pretty, pretty embarrassing. Man. How does this stuff happen?
In ten more seconds, it's out. Gone. Nothing left but metal wire springs, crinkling. It's a darn big piece of smoking roadside debris, all right. A few bits of smoldering rope. Every wisp of straw and fabric, incinerated. In probably 20 seconds, tops.
Time elapsed from "cig-puff" to "stare-at-paul-beside-hot-black-wire-pile" ~ twenty to twenty-four seconds.
What to do with the thing. What. We couldn't put it back on top of the mattress. No. That wouldn't be too smart; it's sooty and smoldery. Maybe even hot.
What can you do? Drag it up the road and stuff it in a trash can?
We're going to have to drive off and leave it for the Highway Department ~ if we can get out of there before a State cop shows up.
Those guys are staring at me. And they're not even talking.
I think they want to leave me there.
"Should I get in the back?" |
