Jesse Ball: How to Set a Fire and Why

Some people hate cats. I don’t, I mean, I don’t personally hate cats, but I understand how a person could. I think everyone needs to have a cause, so for some people it is hating cats, and that’s fine. Each person needs to have his or her thing that they must do. Furthermore, they shouldn’t tell anyone else about it. They should keep it completely secret, as much as possible.

At my last school no one believed me about my dad’s lighter. I always keep it with me. It’s the only thing I have from him. And every time someone touches it there is less of him on it. His corpse is actually on it—I mean, not his death corpse, but his regular one, the body that falls off us all the time. It’s what I have left of him, and I treasure it.

So, I said, many times I said it, don’t touch this lighter or I will kill you. I think because I am a girl people thought I didn’t mean it.

Someone told me they read in a book that a scientist saw a chimpanzee using sign language on a tree. Apparently the chimpanzee had learned sign language, and then it decided to use the sign language—and it used it on a tree. The amazing thing is, the story ends there. They made the chimp use it with researchers and such—no sign language with trees. I am completely against this sort of thing, and not because I think trees talk or anything—don’t worry, I am very clear-sighted. But still, I bet—you let this chimp talk to the trees and a decade later, well, you don’t know what happens, but that’s the point.

What I mean is, I have my own plans, my own ideas. Being kicked out of my last school—it didn’t really affect them. I guess I don’t really care which school I go to. But, I am sorry that I only grazed his neck with the pencil. I thought I could do better than that.

It was a pretty ugly scene. They had me sitting there in the principal’s room, with my poor aunt next to me (I live with my aunt—dad = dead, mom in lunatic house) and across from us the principal, and Joe Schott, and his dad and mom. His dad owns a car dealership, which means that everyone respects him, though I don’t know why. For instance, the workers at the deli call him boss even though he isn’t their boss. I’ve seen it happen.

Anyway, the secretary was there too, taking notes. The secretary is also the gym teacher, and I hate him, so, basically, apart from my aunt, a room full of enemies.

It wasn’t lost on me that the principal sat with the Schotts. They started it out in the worst way. The principal said to the secretary, are we ready to begin, and then it was, yes, I think so.

Schott senior said something like, Lucia, we are ready to forgive you, with this horrible expression on his face, and then Joe said, I won’t forgive the bitch. I’m going to miss at least two games, and then Schott senior put his hand on Joe’s shoulder and started to say something, but the principal cut him off—he said, hold on, let’s let her go first. Lucia, are you ready to begin? Do you have something to say?

That’s when I said, your little prince basketball hero shouldn’t have touched my lighter. Then I wouldn’t have put a pencil in his neck.

Well, they didn’t like that. Joe Schott is very admired in those parts, the town darling. There’s a burger named after him at the diner, and he even has his own house on his parents’ property—a “cottage” if you can believe it, which no sixteen-year-old guy should have. I know because a girl I was in study hall with went back there with him (he is good-looking). She is awful also, so I wish them well.

Lucia , if you are going to stay at this school, you must apologize to Joe and to his family.

I am sorry, I said, that I wasn’t clearer. Don’t touch my fucking zippo, Joe. Eventually, these people are all going to go away and you’ll be left alone. Do you understand?

My aunt squeezed my leg, so I didn’t say everything I wanted to.

She is really nice. I mean, my aunt is one of the kindest people in the world, I think. She must be. When we got back to the house, she said she was sorry that things had happened that way, with my dad dying, and with my mom going away, but that stabbing somebody wouldn’t fix it. She understood the sentiment, she did. Also, she didn’t care that I couldn’t go back to that school. She would find another school that would take me. The thing she was most glad about was: the police weren’t involved. Probably the school had wanted to avoid a scandal. But, a person only gets so many chances.

I love my aunt. She is my dad’s older sister and is at least seventy years old, I don’t know how. They were dyed-in-the-wool anarchists, she and my dad, that’s what my dad used to say. Then, he died and she clammed up. She has enough money to live pitifully and tend a garden. She was so sweet to me, I resolved right then to be no trouble to her ever. We went to a shitty movie theater to watch an old picture about horses. It was a terrible print, and the dialogue was horrid and sentimental. It wasn’t Flicka or Black Beauty , but it was completely ridiculous and awful. Anyway, we both cried a lot at the horse’s predicament and then we went back to the house and ate a lot of ice cream with big spoons. She said the big spoons were good on a day like that.

You may be wondering why I am giving you this account. Well, I don’t know, really. A bunch of things happened, and I am just putting them in order. I’m doing it for myself. You are just a construction—you’re helping me to put things in order. You are my fictional audience, and as such I appreciate you very much. I figure when I finish, I will throw this out. Don’t think that I believe you are any less terrible than anyone else. That’s on you—if you want to behave like a decent person, do so. Those of us who aren’t miserable fools will probably recognize it.

Anyway—this is how it went:

My aunt found a new school for me to go to. That school was called Whistler High School. It was the school for the next town over. I could still bicycle there, or take a bus.

I had a month off, and then it was my first day—the start of the next quarter. I didn’t like the idea. You might think that I am some sort of hard case. I am just a quiet person who minds her own business. Going to school is terrible and it frightens any right-thinking individual.

That morning my aunt had a surprise for me. I came downstairs and on the kitchen table, there it was—my dad’s lighter.

How did you get it?

My aunt winked at me.

I took it from the office the day of the conference. It was there on the desk. I don’t want them to have it any more than you do.

What a lady!

Then it was time to go.

I always wear the same thing, so there isn’t really much getting ready for me. My aunt has bought me other clothes in the past; I threw them out.

I have:

a gray hooded sweatshirt (hood up)

black jeans

a white tank top

cheap black sneakers

++my dad’s lighter++

a notebook & pencil

house key

some money and ID

usually some book

some licorice for if I am hungry

I believe that a person such as myself can live off licorice. Luckily, I have never had to demonstrate the truth of this claim.

When we got to the school, she stopped the car. She said, you look pretty this morning. I said it is because yesterday I cut my hair like a boy. That’s one of those paradoxes you hear so much about. She laughed.