Summer nights in Canada are on the cool side. She is one of a gang of kids who gather by a bonfire after dark. There are several sets of siblings all varying ages; she and her brother, Tim and Pat, Charles and Alice, cousins, step cousins, and some others. Everyone lives in houses along the beach in the summer. Crushes are unspoken, the air thick with unrequited intrigue between them. They search for kindling and logs. The boys strategically assemble the gathered sticks into a tepee type mound and remember to bring newspapers to roll, crumple, and stuff underneath the larger wood so when it catches fire it will remain lit and burn into the night. The beach is their living room, leaning their backs against a fallen tree or making pillows with jackets and blankets. They settle and gaze into the translucent glimmer. The heat feels good on her hands, face, and bare feet. They drink beer from brown glass bottles that is either stolen or bought with a fake ID. They are proud of the Canadian brand they get, Labatt's Blue. They play truth or dare, tell ghost stories, or jump in the lake but the fire keeps them together- they bask in its glow. Sparks pop and fly and they watch the life of what they made; ignite, blaze, wane, and eventually smolder. When the logs become like coals burning black and hot neo red all the way through they call it a night. Sand is kicked over whatever is still burning until the smoke disappears.
-Melora Griffis, July 2021
