Burning House

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres, Part 8

When my brother returned from his Freshman year at college, he hung a new poster in his bedroom. An overweight guy, with an epic beer gut, sitting on a keg and taking off his shirt. His belly was immense and hairy, and I swear even though it was a poster, he smelled like a frat party. The caption read, “No Pain, No Pain. Body by Budweiser.”

——
I walked to the bar, leaving the laughter behind. Stanley smiled as I approached. I wasn’t mortified, or embarrassed, or even indignant. I just needed to walk slowly.

“Stanley,” I said.

“What’s up, Tom?”

“I need to hurt those people over at my table. Any ideas?”

“Kamikaze?”

“Worse.”

“How about Prairie Fires?”

“What’s that?”

“A shot of tequila with a few drops of tabasco. Those hurt.”

“I need five,” I said, ordering drinks for the table. Stanley got to work. Sports commentators were on the TV silently arguing during the hockey game intermission.

I should set fire to your prairie.

Whatever.

Those tidy trees in the background would explode into fireballs.

They’re apple trees.

Bitter apples, no doubt.

You’re so sweet.

Shut up.

Shut up?

I’m going to burn down your nice little house.

Ghosty had started playing Burning Down The House by Talking Heads while I waited for Stanley.

Hold tight. Wait till the party’s over.
Hold tight. We’re in for nasty weather.
There has got to be a way,
Burning down the house.

“Hey Stanley. Let’s make up a new drink.”

“What?”

“I want something called Burning Down The House? What would that be?”

“Dunno.”

“Make it up,” I said. “Tequila is required.”

“What about the Prairie Fires?” Stanley asked.

“I want those too. And the Burning Houses.”

“Maybe it’s like a Kamikaze?”

“Yeah.” I said. “Add Sloe Gin to the Kamikaze.”

“Sloe Gin?”

“Instead of the Triple Sec. Buddy would like that.”

“He likes anything.”

“Turn it red,” I said. “Like your pissing blood. Call that a Burning House.”

“Ten shots?”

“They deserve it.”

I motioned to Buddy to come over and help me take the drinks back to the table.

“Fuck Face,” I said.

Buddy said, “Who are you calling Fuck Face?”

“Drink this.” I passed him a Prairie Fire.

He slammed the shot. “What the fuck!”

Stanley laughed. I smiled.

“I hate Prairie Fires,” Buddy said, then coughed.

“Screw Merkin,” I said. “I’m going to name my life coach character Fuck Face.”

“Fuck Face?”

“Screw Merkin,” I repeated.

“I’d screw the daughter in the painting.” Buddy coughed between words. That was the tabasco talking.

… continued

——

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres

Part 8: Burning House

Part 7: Merkin’s Face

Part 6: Merkin’s Beard

Part 5: Conversation Of Biblical Proportion
Part 4: Hockey Fight
Part 3: Your Blog’s Not A Waste Of Time
Part 2: Put Your Head Somewhere Else
Part 1: Showier Prose