Dancing Flames

The log I'm sitting on is hard, but I don't care.  I've been looking forward to this evening for weeks.  Around me, friends mill around in small clusters, talking and laughing with each other, sipping on warm, mulled cider and catching up.  Terrence, my newly-adopted chocolate Labrador, trots over to me and rests his muzzle on my lap.

"I'm not giving you any more pretzels," I say sternly.  Terrence gazes up at me with those big cow eyes of his, and I try to stone-wall him.  "Terrence..." I say, a warning in my voice, and his bright pink tongue flips out and laps at his nose.  He lifts his head and pants at me in anticipation, and I break into a smile.  Glancing around like I'm about to do something terribly bad, I reach over to the plate next to me and swipe a pretzel stick, slipping it to my overly-excited, four-legged baby boy.  He snaps it up and nuzzles me gratefully before bounding off through the yard, paws crunching through the piles of dead leaves that he scatters in all directions like giant red and yellow snowflakes, to see who else he can sucker into feeding him contraband.

I shake my head and chuckle.

The evening air is cool, invigorating, and I wrap my silky wool scarf closer around my neck.  I love this scarf.  My granny made it for me when I was fourteen, crocheting it with meticulous care despite the arthritis in her aging hands.  I remember watching her working on it, sitting in her armchair in her living room and laughing at episodes of "The Love Boat," all the while her hands busy winding the beautiful green yarn into the intricately-patterned fabric I've worn around my neck each fall since then.  That was in 1983.  Granny left us just two years later.

Laughter behind me snaps me back to today, and I hear my friend Mike and his wife Sharon talking loudly with some other guests.  I smile to myself.  The annual bonfire at my house in the country has been the fall event of the year for many years now.  It's nothing fancy, but these friends and family who gather here with me each November are the same amazing group of people who helped me get through some of the toughest years of my life.  If it wasn't for the love of these angels without wings, I might not be here today.  We gather now as my way of thanking them for their support during a very dark time, and to remind myself that I've survived another year.

I watch the flames of the bonfire for a few minutes, crackling embers sparking against the darkness of the late evening sky, the ambers and reds of the coals glowing brightly deep within the heart of the fire.  I shiver at the cold on my back, the night air reaching its icy fingers around my shoulders.  It seems unusually cold this fall.  But I'm happy.  I breathe in the smell of the wood fire, and I close my eyes, picturing the flames in my mind.  Fall is, without a doubt, my absolute favorite season of the year.

When I open them again, I am greeted with the vision of a man placing a large chunk of cedar on the bonfire, the glow from the pit making his blond hair shimmer.  The man is Adam.  He positions the log carefully, pokes around in the fire with a large branch, then smiles at me when he notices I'm watching him.  Adam leans the branch against an unoccupied log and disappears into the small crowd, reappearing a minute later holding two steaming paper cups.  He sits beside me on the log and hands me a cup of cider, and I thank him, wrapping my hands around the warm cup.

"Nice little party," he says, smiling at me.  I love that smile.
"Thank you," I say.  "I'm glad you decided to grace us with your presence this year, you ol' recluse you."
"I don't like crowds," he says, gingerly taking a sip of the hot liquid and watching as the fire catches on the cedar log.  We both watch as the flames lick at the wood like a hungry predator engulfing its prey.
"I know," I say finally.  "I'm still glad you came."  And I mean it.

A few beats pass and neither of us speaks.  We sit quietly watching the fire, lost in our own thoughts.  Adam looks at me again, and I turn toward him.  He and I have been friends for years, and as I let my gaze flit across his rugged features, I can't help noticing the set of his jaw, the graying stubble on his chin, and the creases around the corners of his eyes when he smiles.  I have such a soft spot for this man.  I wonder if he can tell?

I see the reflection of the dancing flames in his eyes, and I shiver again, not from the cold this time, but at the sheer happiness I am feeling in this very moment, surrounded by the beautiful woods, the starry night sky, a roaring fire, and the company of the people nearest and dearest to me.  But especially Adam.

Thinking I must be cold, Adam wraps a warm, strong arm around my back and pulls me against his side.  I lay my head on his shoulder, breathing in the mixture of wood smoke and his cologne, and nuzzling the soft cotton of his old, well-worn flannel shirt.  To my surprise, he kisses the top of my head, and I feel my cheeks flush.  I close my eyes and take it all in.

And in this moment, I feel true joy.

Code Black

A drop of perspiration trickled down my forehead and into my left eye.  I blinked at the unexpected stinging it caused, but I had to stay focused on what I was doing.  My hands, usually steady, were trembling slightly as I gripped the wire cutters, massaging the rubber-coated handles as I stared at the tangle of cords inside the briefcase.

A briefcase.  I wanted to laugh inwardly.  That seemed so cliche.

Around me, there was no movement save for the leaves blowing across the empty street, and no sound other than a dog barking somewhere.  The area had been cleared for several blocks in all directions, and the deathly quiet was unnerving.  I've never seen this intersection in town look so dead.

"Take it easy, Jeb," said a voice in my earpiece.  It was the police chief, and I glanced ahead of me where he and some of the other officers were poised, standing guard from a distance behind the protection of shields.

No shit, I thought.

I looked at the red L.E.D. counter ticking down the seconds.  There wasn't much time left, and I needed to decide which of these wires I needed to cut before me and my internal organs became a smattering of flesh at the corner of 64th and Adams Ave.  Studying the mass of hardware that comprised this amateur-looking bomb, I'd narrowed it down to one of three wires:  red, black, and white.

I moved the wire cutters to the black wire.  Years of experience told me this is the one that would shut the bomb down, but there's always a flicker of doubt in case--for once--I'm wrong.  There's always a first.  In this case, it would also be my last.  I steeled myself and went for it.  The cutters snapped through the wire, and...

...nothing happened.  The timer was still counting down.  "...13...12...11..."

My heart was racing now, but my training kicked in and I maintained my focus.  We have two choices now and only seconds to decide.  I positioned the cutters around the red wire.

Snip.

There was a spark, and for a split second, I thought I'd detonated the bomb.  Either I was incredibly lucky, or the maker of this device didn't quite know what they were doing.  The countdown continued, "...7...6...5..."

"God dammit," I muttered, and went for the third wire.  I felt a sickening rush as I made the third cut, fingers almost numb.  The wire snapped between the metal blades, and I froze.

I saw the counter stop at 2 and I wasn't in pieces.  Only then did I exhale, not realizing I'd been holding my breath.  And then there was a wave of relief that came over me, like it does each time things get a little too close like that.  I gave the police chief a shaky thumbs up, and loud cheers erupted from the surrounding officers.

All in a day's work, I thought to myself, and smiled.

Leap of Faith

The rocks seem so far below, hard, pointy, and uninviting.  I wasn't scared until I looked down just now, and now I'm wondering if this was such a good idea.  Now I'm wondering if I've got the guts to do it.

But just think of afterwards, after all this is over.  Peace.  Uninterrupted quiet.  No more answering questions or trying to please people I don't really care about.  I won't have to pretend.  I can finally rest and not feel the pain anymore.

The screech of a gull catches my attention as he hovers over me, looking at this strange creature, this broken shell of a person standing at the edge.  Wind whips my hair in my eyes, and I absently brush it aside as I stare back at the bird.  Is he challenging me to do it?  Or does he think I should step back and find a way to stay?

Stupid bird.  What does he know?

I can feel the softness of the grass underfoot.  Little tiny rocks and dirt scratch against my skin as I dig my toes into the earth and watch as the gravels bounce their way down and plummet to the bottom.  Down.  Way, way down.  I breathe in the salty, misty air.  There is no sun this morning, only angry grey clouds rolling across an endless sky and pressing against the dark, inky black horizon as it meets the water in the distance beyond my sight.  I look down again and see the waves smashing relentlessly against the jagged rocks, foam frothing as the tide flows back out again.

Take me with you...

I close my eyes and see no more.  My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I can hear the blood rushing through my ears, louder and more urgently, until it's all I can hear now.  I feel my hands start to shake, and the war drum beating in my head pulsates at a desperate pace.  My lips part slightly as I exhale, my breath rising up and mixing with the salt air, invisible vapor that was once a part of me, vanishing into the atmosphere around me, and a silent tear splashes on my cheek.  I let go and start to lean forward...

The air is cold as I fall.  I can feel it rushing up at me, pressing against me as I move faster and faster.  It's almost like flying.  I'm finally flying!  So free...

You know, this isn't so sca--