72 Suburbs in Search of a City

Hullo, Hullo. Welcome to my first story on AFF. I am far to excited about this fact.

Beta'ed by Phantom Alibi. (OHMUGAWD Thanks so much for doing that, runaway Y's and sentence which I was sure I had finished and every thing else.)

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There is a theory that says we are born this certain way.
There is another that says you learn it and it is a choice.
I’m more inclined to agree with the second theory myself.

I enjoy lighting fires, and so I have made the conscious choice to light a fire, once a week.
The hot first responders are just an added bonus.

“I think I love the smell of Mrs. Schwartz’s rosebushes burning in the morning.” My Neighbour Jack drawls lazily, leaning heavily on the gray slats of the fence that separate our yards.

I squint threw my binoculars, trying to focus in on the burning shrubbery. “You hate the smell of roses. Actually, you hate the smell of Mrs. Schwartz for that matter.”

“Hence my joy at seeing her yard in flames. On the other hand, you my friend smell disarmingly of petrol. Perhaps I should just find you a T-shirt with the word “Pyromaniac” printed on the front for when then cops come to take your statement."

I turn my head towards him, not bothering to remove the binoculars from my eyes. As such I am treated with an extreme close up of Jacks dental work. The stupid fucker is a dentist, thus his whole family has choppers that could out shine.

He must be able to see the sudden irritation on my face, but the mouth that fills my vision breaks into a smile just the same. “The cavalry is here”, he laughs and points across the street to where the first responders are slowing to a stop in front of Mrs. Schwartz’s house.

Letting the binoculars fall to my chest, I check my watch. 20 minutes since ignition, pretty shabby response time, although it was partially due to the fact that the old bat didn’t seem to notice her flaming petunias until her pothead of a son had opened his window to let the smoke out of his room and was surprised to find that it was just as hazy outside as it was inside.

“Is our favourite cop here yet?” I hear the rustling of the thick dark cotton of Jack’s button-up, as he moves to lean his back against the fence, facing away from me. I think I am rather fond of the shapes Jack's upper body makes when it moves under his shirt. Jack has a long torso (as to be expected from a bastard who goes around being 5 inches taller than me) and has the whole limber, toned muscular thing going for him, not that the lazy fucker does anything one would consider exercise. Still the man can work a crisp dress shirt in ways my short wiry self could only dream of.

But I digress; such dreams aside there was much more interesting things happening on the other side of the street. Ma’am was arriving on scene on the back of one of the town’s smaller fire trucks. Not that she let the fact that it was a minor fire stop her from bellowing orders like a banshee as usual.

“Normally I’d suggest that anyone that controlling is compensating for something, however ma’am doesn’t have that equipment, and what assets she does have certainly are not lacking” Jack chuckles, turning his head to look at the only female fire chief in county; within several counties probably.

“I think she’s just a bitch personally” I say, trying to see the silhouettes of the twisted stems of the Creeping Ivy as it begins to smoulder pleasantly.

"How's work?", he asks conversationally, his back still turned to me.

"Works sucks like a black hole that swallows galaxies whole. The prosecutors sent over that case information, so I'm buried in enough paperwork to wallpaper every house on this street. Of course the "real lawyers" are far too busy to highlight the relevant information themselves, so it's just me and spotty Jeff, squinting at line after line of fine print."

"Cool" Jack says, unruffled.

I sigh and flop forward in defeat on to fence far more tired than one should be at nine in the morning.

"Company", comes Jacks sing-song voice from the other side of the fence.

And sure enough, a blue sedan had pulled up to the curb in front of the Schwartz's house, creaking to a stop. I rest my elbows on my bit of the fence, resting my chin in my hands. I sigh in a wistful and dramatic way, though Jack is still being annoyingly nonchalant.

And then, like a glorious vision of plain clothed cop, there he is. I have yet to exactly learn who he is, all I know is he is ridiculously young, attractive and of Mexican descent. And somehow has gotten himself assigned to my case.

The Elizabeth Avenue Arsonist.

Not as romantic of a name as I would have picked but it'll do.

"Are you drooling over Officer Doe-Eyes over there, or your own delusions of grandeur?" Jack asks not quite kindly from his side. He doesn't even turn to look at me.

Still he knows me too well, and because of that I don't mind slugging him in the shoulder before I bring the binoculars to my eyes again.

He sighs at me. I don't know how he manages to do this, but it is regardless hard to miss what, or in this case who, his little exhales of breath are for. This is probably another example of us knowing each other to well. I am thinking about mentioning this fact when he turns towards me,"You do realize, the fact that he is here means that they are going to start canvassing the neighbourhood".

"You suck all the fun out my life", I say, chucking the binoculars into a tuft of long grass, figuring that they'd be kind of a suspicious item for a "Concerned citizen" to have. "There, happy?"

"You still stink..."

"Fuck off, you spoilsport." I plop down on my ass. The grass is still a little dewy, but I know I will look like a retard if I jump back up so I just sit here watching the scene I have created through the barrow gaps between the slates. We stay like this for a while; me with my knees pulled up in front of me, fingers laced between the damp, gray boards that make up my fence and Jack lazily leaning on his, half asleep.

Eventually the silence, in the way of most long quiet moments, becomes awkward and tired.

Finally Jacks speaks, he is not looking at me when he does again. I think he does it on purpose to make me feel like the needy one in this conversation. "Do you want an alibi?"

The firemen are leaving now, even Ma'am, though she is not going quietly. I lay back on the grass, breathing in the smell of the earth, worms and the smoke of burnt roses. "Will it cost me?"

"Not this time."

I pick myself up, five minutes later I am kicking my shoes off in the entry of their house. It is always a little weird entering his house because whatever lazy ass developer blew through this place left a set of quintuplets. That is my house and every other house down to the stop sign, (Not the vandalized one on the ground though, the one further on that smells funny, because Mrs. Ling can't keep Cattanova down in their yard) has exactly the same layout.

This is dumb because it isn't a great layout to begin with. The laundry room and linen closets and crap are right next to my bedroom so I can't sleep n' dry clothes at the same time. I mean every one’s done something or other to make their house unique. Baldy in 2078 got a porch, and 2080's got a load of stucco-stuff instead of vinyl siding like the rest of the us. Then there’s that Blair Mackay chick, who wears corduroy pants all the flipping time, who had gone and added that lame-ass cookie cutter wooden trim crap. I'm gay and I think it looks beyond faggy, and it’s brown, which in my mind proves that Corduroy Blair's house is secretly made of gingerbread, and she is a witch who is fattening up the neighbourhood children to make pot pies out of them. Power to her on that matter.

Regardless of the sameness and dumb laundry rooms, these houses are still rather out of my price range as a paralegal. Every day I wake up without some kind of notice of foreclosure in my mailbox is a good day.

I look over at Jack who is kicking his shoes into a pile of other shoes by the door. Paying for house, car and living expenses were no problem on a dental surgeon pay, and it showed. The stand in the living room had a vase on it. There was no flowers in the vase, it just stood there on its own looking pretty. Their whole living roomed looked like the Designer Guys had magicked out of a sears catalogue.

I would lament further but this was the exact moment Emily poked her head out of the basement. Whereas my basement held a tin Christmas tree, a broken TV, everything from my childhood that I had no use for, but didn't trust my parents to keep, and every issue of Cosmopolitan since May of 2000, theirs had been turned into a munchkin playground. Lord, I could hear the squeals of the younger one now. It sounded as if her brother had hit it over the head with Wiimote again.

"Liam!" Emily dashs forward in a blur of chocolate coloured hair and an airy pink maternity shirt. I realize with growing dread that she intends to hug me. I am not much a fan of hugging normal girls, it's weird and I feel as if I should be avoiding their lumpy bits for fear that they think I am coming onto them. Emily is another matter completely, Emily no longer just has lumps, but also a sizable bump. It's like a bumper car is rushing up the stairs to greet me. It's actually astounding that she can still move this fast, I think, as she reaches out for me.

"Liam, You haven't be over in a while!," She wraps her slender arms around my neck, wobbling on her tip-toes so she can rest her chin on my shoulder."What’s up with that? Are you shunning me?"

I pat her hair, which is still damp from the shower, and smells of her silly coconut infused shampoo. I close my eyes and imagine I am hugging a Pina Coloda as opposed to a very pregnant woman with no sense of personal boundaries. "Now, why would I shun you Em? Who would I mooch freshly baked cookies from then?"

She laughs, releasing me from her hug/headlock. "You know there made from a store bought mix right? You could make them yourself easily. No, easier, you wouldn't be wondering off half way through, to watch General Hospital and end up burning them." She paused here, wrinkling her nose. "Speak of which, you smell like quite the burnt cookie yourself. Is there a lot of smoke coming from Schwart's yard?"

"Yup," I answer, "And it keeps blowing over to mine"

"Well, don't just stand there, Lee-um" She says dragging the syllables in my name out, in a childish tone. "You know where the shower is" she pushes me none-too-gently towards the stairs.
"Honey, grab Liam some towels from the dryer" she yells to Jack who is watching us bemusedly.

He is still smirking as he hands me a fluffy blue towel outside the bathroom. "The day will come," He says, as I throw the towel over my shoulder, "When she will grow up a little, and stop treating you like a replacement for Teddy."

"Her dead brother, her prerogative to do so." I reply, shrugging.

I like their bathroom. It has one of those frosted glass shower stalls, that you can see the shadow of the person taking a shower through. I always wondered if you stopped up the drain, if the stall would just keep filling up until I could tread water. This time, like all the times before, I didn't plug it. It would probably just leak anyway and flood the bathroom.

Eventually I step out of the shower, all pink and clean, an' most importantly I don't smell like the crap you find encrusted on the bottom of a dirty old barbeque. Go me. A pile of clean clothes had been left on top of the counter. Jack’s pants were too big, and kept threatening to fall off my hips, making me look like a sloppy fifteen year old twit, but I wore them anyway. The t-shirt was a worn yellow cotton thing, and was probably actually one of Emily's when she wasn't preggers.

I chuck my towel in to the laundry basket, taking one last look around before I left. I like sneaking around in other peoples stuff. I don't think I can be satisfied until I know everything about a person. I would like people to be mine and completely mine, but that kind of thing is impossible so I'll settle for rooting through their lives piece by piece. On top of the toilet is a copy of Hamlet. I grin, 'cause only Emily would have Shakespeare for bathroom reading. Under the sink looks to be about 9000 toothbrushes. Shit, I know he is a dentist guy but, what the hell? Is he anticipating a shortage? I find myself laughing, and its a bit hard to stop. It's fucking awkward too, what if someone goes by the door? I am laughing by myself in a God Damn bathroom for Cris' sakes. If that ain't weird, I don't know what is. I've almost got myself stopped when I catch sight of myself in the mirror, all baggy pants, a chick's t-shirt and my hair is all stuck up from my head looking like a fucking dandelion.

I'm still grinning like a maniac when I step out onto the back patio. The sun is filtering through the leaves of the birch trees in that big lot behind ours. Tim Caston, the local Undertaker owned it, and there was talk of it becoming a graveyard someday which undoubtly would lower our property values. I couldn't really bring myself to give a shit today though. I'll gladly settle for flopping on the lawn chair next to Jack, and looking at how the shadow of the leaves make dapple patterns on our hands and faces. Somewhere inside the house, Emily put on a Gene Kelly record. She says musicals will make her babies far smarter than any old foggy German composer.

I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at clouds

It's ironic because there isn't a cloud in the sky. Even the smoke from the fire has cleared off. I sigh quite nearly feeling perfect. This is why people try and make Sunday all Holy right? I don't think there could be a better day of the week.

I hear the crinkle of foil and without even looking I capture Jack's hand before it can even bring the lighter to his mouth. "Allow me," I smile, almost cruelly, as I run my thumb over the mechanical wheel. In the blink of an eye a little flame is shining like a little star above the lighter. I direct his larger hand; still holding the lighter towards the ciggerette dangling from his mouth.

"Cheeky moron." He sighs, rolling his eyes and inhaling the cigerette smoke almost needily.

"Fucker," I reply, settling back into my chair.

"I know you are but what am I?" He smiles, not looking at me again.

"A bad example for the kids."

"I know you are-"

"Shut up and light me a cigarette, stupid head."

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Funfact: Each time you review, you increase my ego 2.3 millameter. And the ego is directly connect to the typing fingers. It's totally true. So do it for science... Or for fact that the next Chapter will introduce two more characters and more that likely "heavy petting" :D