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Chapter Six: Wherein I prove Summer is a thief!

Louis woke his car and drove down the road, past the stores, business buildings, past the residential areas, past the dusty little gas station on the city limits, and between the fields of bush beans rippling in the heat. His house was a mile further, but with how flat the land was, he could see it rising from the scrubby earth, surrounded by his cars.

Louis pulled his only functional car into the dust driveway and walked slowly to the door. Once the front door was unlocked, he pushed it in and stared into his dark and stuffy house, a wide triangle of yellow light illuminating the brown linoleum all the way to his round kitchen table and the white wall and clock behind it. Louis stood in the entryway silently, trying to work out where his bag could be and what his plan would be for getting it back. As much as he tried to convince himself that he might have left it at home, he could not. Each time he attempted it, his brain played biology class over again in his mind: taking the notebook out and bending the cover when he put it back in. Louis’s memory was not faulty like most people’s. He forgot things, but what he remembered was accurate. Always accurate, like a mathematical formula.

Louis shut the door, sealing himself in the darkness. He walked into the living room and drew the curtains aside, flooding the room with light. On the lamp table by his recliner lay his flame throwers and fuel tanks. The tool chest lay open on the floor with the most important tools removed and lying beside the flame throwers. He hadn’t finished fixing his machine. Something had to be done about the way it heated up against his skin. If it weren’t repaired, he would only be able to use it for as long as his insulation would protect him, which wasn’t much.

Louis plopped down into the recliner and set the offending arm piece on his lap. He grabbed the pliers from the end table, ignoring the gouge they scratched in the surface of the wood, and with his other hand gently felt along the underside where the straps attached. There was a worn place near the front.

A knocking came at the door, getting Louis’s attention before he had become totally mesmerized. Actually, it wasn’t the knocking that surprised him, but that there would be someone knocking at his door. No one came to his house except the occasional field worker asking to use his back faucet to refill a pesticide tank.

Louis set his work on the table and got to his feet, curious. His front door did not have a peep hole like Paul’s, or a window like the campus security office, so he would not know his visitor’s identity until he opened the door. Probably not very safe, but whatever. Add it to the list.

He opened the door a crack and peered out, expecting dusty overalls, but instead the first thing he saw was his bag, and the second he saw was pink.

“You forgot your bag in class,” Summer said before Louis had a chance to form his thoughts.

He snatched it from her with a scowl. Summer scowled back and folded her arms against her chest.

“That’s a nice way to thank the person who just returned your bag,” she commented crossly.

Louis held his book bag tightly as if fearful she might take it again. “How do you know where I live?” he demanded.

Summer rolled her eyes. “For Pete’s sake, it’s on your ‘If Lost’ card.”

Louis nodded thoughtfully, a little more relaxed. Especially since his problems had just been solved. “Well… thanks for returning it.”

Summer smiled. “It’s what any sane person would have done. Since your address was written there, I figured it would be more helpful for me to give it back to you instead of putting it in the lost and found. Especially since some people steal from the lost and found. Did you know that?”

“I assumed as much,” Louis replied slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“I’m trying to get campus security to figure out a way to make it more secure so that only the owners of the objects can take them out, but it’s hard, you know? How are we supposed to know what belongs to who?”

Louis shrugged, longing to get back to his machine.

“Anyway, that’s why I brought it over,” Summer finished. Louis nodded and began to close the door when Summer spoke again. “Since I’m here, though, I was wondering about the parking ticket. You seemed kind of distressed in class today. Did something happen to it?”

Louis reigned in a groan and smiled. “I just… I mean, I lost it.”

“Lost it, huh?” Summer’s eyebrow rose and she put her hands on her hips.

“Yeah. I put it in my pocket and when I got home, it wasn’t there anymore.”

“Hm,” Summer mused. “Since I just brought home your backpack, I’m inclined to believe you. I’ll write you up another one, but my ticket book is back at school, so it’ll have to wait,” she explained jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “Do you have class tomorrow?”

“Just bring it to bio,” Louis said as the door eased closed.

Louis waited, clutching his bag and listened for the motor. For a few seconds, there was no sound, but then he heard her walk away from his door and start her car. He blew out a breath in relief and held up his school bag as if it were a long lost friend. He smiled larger than he had for a while and pumped his fist.

Crisis averted.

Louis returned to the recliner, unclipped the cover flap of his bag and opened it. He stuck his hand inside and felt around for his Countersink notebook. His fingers brushed against all manner of debris, larger notebooks, crumpled paper, a pen and a surprisingly sharp pencil that jabbed the tip of his thumb. Louis pulled his hand out and rubbed his fingers together to dispel the pain and then dug further. He hadn’t found what he was looking for yet.

Despite extended sifting, the notebook hadn’t shown itself. Louis slid from the chair and onto his knees on the gritty hard floor and emptied the contents of his bag on the floor. After shaking it out, he tossed the bag aside. Louis spread his hands through the miscellaneous objects, paying special attention to the number of notebooks: one was missing, and Murphy’s law states which one it was.

In a rage, Louis shoved the debris aside.

“That stupid girl!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and racing to the door, hoping Summer hadn’t left yet. He had to get that notebook back.

Louis yanked open the door but it was too late: Summer was gone. He hit his forehead against the doorframe in frustration before closing the door. He wished that once, just once, something would happen smoothly. It hadn’t been smooth at home with his father, it hadn’t been smooth moving out, or going to college, then arson came like life’s one untangled string, and since joining with Paul, it had gotten tangled as well.

He stepped on the corner of a paper and when he removed his foot, he saw it was the CCC entry form. Louis stared at the blank spaces for a moment, thinking of Paul, the conference, the invention, and then stepped around it. He picked up his flamethrowers and fuel packs sewn into a leather jacket. He put the jacket on, slipping his arms through the elastic straps, and zipped up the front. Grabbing his car keys, Louis went outside, locked the door and got into his car.

Paul could wait one more day.

His car rumbled to life and then Louis sped further away from the city, past rows of beans, yellowed in the sun, until the fields ended in the sandy wasteland inhabited by nothing but cactus, tumbleweeds, and the toughest selection of horned lizards, rattlesnakes, jackrabbits, coyotes and buzzards that seem to find life there superior to seemingly easier climates. Or maybe they knew nothing better.

Louis stopped his car by the side of the road, so far into the desert that the city was nothing more than a speck on the horizon and the other horizon disappeared in the dust and heat waves. He stepped onto the cracked, pale ground and after surveying his surroundings for a moment, ran into the wilderness that surrounded the road weaving around cacti and jumping small brush. He came upon a large cactus turned to shining liquid in the mirage-inducing heat. Louis aimed his right hand at it and clenched the trigger. Flames burst forth from the nozzle that peeked out of his coat sleeve, licking up into the already burning air, threatening to set the atmosphere itself ablaze. The angry flames caught the cactus and ate into it, expelling smoke amidst loud sizzling and crackling.

Louis stopped the flow of gas and pointed his left arm down to a tumbleweed. He depressed the lever, heard the familiar gas flow and then the tumbleweed was a mass of flames, like a bowling ball dipped in gasoline someone had set a match to.

With the fire, Louis felt the anger burning away. He was still in control. Everything in that desert depended on Louis for their future. He and he alone decided which plants would see another morning.

Louis ended the life of a small clump of grass and a little brown lizard scurried out from under it. Louis watched it as it hurried under a rock. He had control over plants, but creatures that he could see moving were different. It did not even cross his mind to burn the lizard. It didn’t work that way. Fire was not meant to end lives, only problems.

Louis sat cross-legged on the ground next to the burning grass and then lay on his back, staring up at the cloudless sky, buzzards circling high above him. Pointing his fists into the sky, he depressed both levers at the same time, sending up pillars of fire. He would have continued except that the worn place in the metal under the strap of his left flamethrower was beginning to burn him. So he cut the flow of propane and let his arms float down to his sides. His head lying on the hard, sandy ground, he squinted up at the buzzards and listened to the grass and tumbleweed finish burning and the cactus continue. He listened to the cicadas resume their buzzing and wished for their life.

Description
Chapter Six: Wherein I prove Summer is a thief!

Louis woke his car and drove down the road, past the stores, business buildings, past the residential areas, past the dusty little gas station on the city limits, and between the fields of bush beans rippling in the heat. His house was a mile further, but with how flat the land was, he could see it rising from the scrubby earth, surrounded by his cars.

Louis pulled his only functional car into the dust driveway and walked slowly to the door. Once the front door was unlocked, he pushed it in and stared into his dark and stuffy house, a wide triangle of yellow light illuminating the brown linoleum all the way to his round kitchen table and the white wall and clock behind it. Louis stood in the entryway silently, trying to work out where his bag could be and what his plan would be for getting it back. As much as he tried to convince himself that he might have left it at home, he could not. Each time he attempted it, his brain played biology class over again in his mind: taking the notebook out and bending the cover when he put it back in. Louis’s memory was not faulty like most people’s. He forgot things, but what he remembered was accurate. Always accurate, like a mathematical formula.

Louis shut the door, sealing himself in the darkness. He walked into the living room and drew the curtains aside, flooding the room with light. On the lamp table by his recliner lay his flame throwers and fuel tanks. The tool chest lay open on the floor with the most important tools removed and lying beside the flame throwers. He hadn’t finished fixing his machine. Something had to be done about the way it heated up against his skin. If it weren’t repaired, he would only be able to use it for as long as his insulation would protect him, which wasn’t much.

Louis plopped down into the recliner and set the offending arm piece on his lap. He grabbed the pliers from the end table, ignoring the gouge they scratched in the surface of the wood, and with his other hand gently felt along the underside where the straps attached. There was a worn place near the front.

A knocking came at the door, getting Louis’s attention before he had become totally mesmerized. Actually, it wasn’t the knocking that surprised him, but that there would be someone knocking at his door. No one came to his house except the occasional field worker asking to use his back faucet to refill a pesticide tank.

Louis set his work on the table and got to his feet, curious. His front door did not have a peep hole like Paul’s, or a window like the campus security office, so he would not know his visitor’s identity until he opened the door. Probably not very safe, but whatever. Add it to the list.

He opened the door a crack and peered out, expecting dusty overalls, but instead the first thing he saw was his bag, and the second he saw was pink.

“You forgot your bag in class,” Summer said before Louis had a chance to form his thoughts.

He snatched it from her with a scowl. Summer scowled back and folded her arms against her chest.

“That’s a nice way to thank the person who just returned your bag,” she commented crossly.

Louis held his book bag tightly as if fearful she might take it again. “How do you know where I live?” he demanded.

Summer rolled her eyes. “For Pete’s sake, it’s on your ‘If Lost’ card.”

Louis nodded thoughtfully, a little more relaxed. Especially since his problems had just been solved. “Well… thanks for returning it.”

Summer smiled. “It’s what any sane person would have done. Since your address was written there, I figured it would be more helpful for me to give it back to you instead of putting it in the lost and found. Especially since some people steal from the lost and found. Did you know that?”

“I assumed as much,” Louis replied slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“I’m trying to get campus security to figure out a way to make it more secure so that only the owners of the objects can take them out, but it’s hard, you know? How are we supposed to know what belongs to who?”

Louis shrugged, longing to get back to his machine.

“Anyway, that’s why I brought it over,” Summer finished. Louis nodded and began to close the door when Summer spoke again. “Since I’m here, though, I was wondering about the parking ticket. You seemed kind of distressed in class today. Did something happen to it?”

Louis reigned in a groan and smiled. “I just… I mean, I lost it.”

“Lost it, huh?” Summer’s eyebrow rose and she put her hands on her hips.

“Yeah. I put it in my pocket and when I got home, it wasn’t there anymore.”

“Hm,” Summer mused. “Since I just brought home your backpack, I’m inclined to believe you. I’ll write you up another one, but my ticket book is back at school, so it’ll have to wait,” she explained jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “Do you have class tomorrow?”

“Just bring it to bio,” Louis said as the door eased closed.

Louis waited, clutching his bag and listened for the motor. For a few seconds, there was no sound, but then he heard her walk away from his door and start her car. He blew out a breath in relief and held up his school bag as if it were a long lost friend. He smiled larger than he had for a while and pumped his fist.

Crisis averted.

Louis returned to the recliner, unclipped the cover flap of his bag and opened it. He stuck his hand inside and felt around for his Countersink notebook. His fingers brushed against all manner of debris, larger notebooks, crumpled paper, a pen and a surprisingly sharp pencil that jabbed the tip of his thumb. Louis pulled his hand out and rubbed his fingers together to dispel the pain and then dug further. He hadn’t found what he was looking for yet.

Despite extended sifting, the notebook hadn’t shown itself. Louis slid from the chair and onto his knees on the gritty hard floor and emptied the contents of his bag on the floor. After shaking it out, he tossed the bag aside. Louis spread his hands through the miscellaneous objects, paying special attention to the number of notebooks: one was missing, and Murphy’s law states which one it was.

In a rage, Louis shoved the debris aside.

“That stupid girl!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and racing to the door, hoping Summer hadn’t left yet. He had to get that notebook back.

Louis yanked open the door but it was too late: Summer was gone. He hit his forehead against the doorframe in frustration before closing the door. He wished that once, just once, something would happen smoothly. It hadn’t been smooth at home with his father, it hadn’t been smooth moving out, or going to college, then arson came like life’s one untangled string, and since joining with Paul, it had gotten tangled as well.

He stepped on the corner of a paper and when he removed his foot, he saw it was the CCC entry form. Louis stared at the blank spaces for a moment, thinking of Paul, the conference, the invention, and then stepped around it. He picked up his flamethrowers and fuel packs sewn into a leather jacket. He put the jacket on, slipping his arms through the elastic straps, and zipped up the front. Grabbing his car keys, Louis went outside, locked the door and got into his car.

Paul could wait one more day.

His car rumbled to life and then Louis sped further away from the city, past rows of beans, yellowed in the sun, until the fields ended in the sandy wasteland inhabited by nothing but cactus, tumbleweeds, and the toughest selection of horned lizards, rattlesnakes, jackrabbits, coyotes and buzzards that seem to find life there superior to seemingly easier climates. Or maybe they knew nothing better.

Louis stopped his car by the side of the road, so far into the desert that the city was nothing more than a speck on the horizon and the other horizon disappeared in the dust and heat waves. He stepped onto the cracked, pale ground and after surveying his surroundings for a moment, ran into the wilderness that surrounded the road weaving around cacti and jumping small brush. He came upon a large cactus turned to shining liquid in the mirage-inducing heat. Louis aimed his right hand at it and clenched the trigger. Flames burst forth from the nozzle that peeked out of his coat sleeve, licking up into the already burning air, threatening to set the atmosphere itself ablaze. The angry flames caught the cactus and ate into it, expelling smoke amidst loud sizzling and crackling.

Louis stopped the flow of gas and pointed his left arm down to a tumbleweed. He depressed the lever, heard the familiar gas flow and then the tumbleweed was a mass of flames, like a bowling ball dipped in gasoline someone had set a match to.

With the fire, Louis felt the anger burning away. He was still in control. Everything in that desert depended on Louis for their future. He and he alone decided which plants would see another morning.

Louis ended the life of a small clump of grass and a little brown lizard scurried out from under it. Louis watched it as it hurried under a rock. He had control over plants, but creatures that he could see moving were different. It did not even cross his mind to burn the lizard. It didn’t work that way. Fire was not meant to end lives, only problems.

Louis sat cross-legged on the ground next to the burning grass and then lay on his back, staring up at the cloudless sky, buzzards circling high above him. Pointing his fists into the sky, he depressed both levers at the same time, sending up pillars of fire. He would have continued except that the worn place in the metal under the strap of his left flamethrower was beginning to burn him. So he cut the flow of propane and let his arms float down to his sides. His head lying on the hard, sandy ground, he squinted up at the buzzards and listened to the grass and tumbleweed finish burning and the cactus continue. He listened to the cicadas resume their buzzing and wished for their life.