It seemed like a good idea, but they
always did. We had all the necessary tools. Scotch tape? Check. Loose-leaf
paper? Check. Matches? Check. I could see Wally pacing outside my window,
waiting, his lips moving. I knew he was debating. He sat on the curb, head
hung, scooping dried leaves. I startled him, as usual. It wasn’t a hard thing
to do. He was a jumpy kid who lived on raw hot dogs.
They weren’t going to be real
cigarettes. I knew those stunted your growth and Wally was already nearly a
midget. Homemade cigarettes were a whole different story. They wouldn’t have
any chemicals in them, besides the loose-leaf paper and scotch tape. All he
needed to know was that our cigarettes were “all natural”, a reassuring term to
keep Wally from a complete anxiety attack.
We were both aware that trouble was
always moments away. Wally’s mother did not think I was a suitable playmate and
wondered how he only seemed to misbehave in my company. I was sure it was
because he spent the majority of his days stooped and drooling in front of old
F-Troop reruns eating Charlie Chips. They were so lazy they actually had the
chips delivered. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of that.
We sat on the curb and carefully
rolled the dry maple leaves into the loose-leaf paper and taped them shut. Of
course I had to go first, Wally was always so nervous. I never did figure out
why. I lit my cigar concoction and smoked away. I felt a little sick but knew
there was a greater good involved. I couldn’t stay six forever. I made one for Wally.
I thought his should be bigger. “Alive with pleasure” just like the ad said. I
rolled a big, fat, log of a cigarette. He complained like he always did but
relented as quickly as he disclaimed. He timidly put the cigarette to his lips,
queasy with anticipation.
I lit Wally’s cigarette for him; he was afraid
of matches, along with everything else. The flame barely touched the end of his
cigarette and burst into flames, like the trick cigars on Bugs Bunny. The shock
threw him on his back. I slapped his forehead fire out almost instantly, bangs
weren’t right for him anyway. He had black soot on his face and was crying. Wally
immediately got up and sprinted home.
“C’mon Wally, you’ll be fine!”
Famous last words.
That was the first time I set Walter
Janesky on fire.
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