Only a Spark

Everett Watts and Lucille Hallwin’s relationship was notorious in the small southern town of Armaxin, Louisiana. A common topic of conversation at PTA meetings and church potlucks, the Watts/Hallwin family feud was a favored subject among the local gossips. The Hallwins were a well-known part of Armaxin, with their not so subtle influence extending to nearly every crevice and shadow of the small town. They were old money, their wealth kickstarted by Mrs. Hallwin’s great-grandfather and his invention of some new type of glass window. The Watts, in comparison, were relatively new to Armaxin. Mr. Watts had taken a job as a science teacher at the local high school at the beginning of the spring semester and the family had moved into one of the small track houses behind the school. Everett and Lucille were from different worlds, and both of their parents never let them forget it.

Everett had first met Lucille at the corner gas station at the end of summer break, watching from the backseat of his father’s car as she leaned against the one of the streetlamps lining the road. He remembered that his mouth had ran dry and his palms became sweaty, nervously beginning to rub them on his jeans. He knew who she was, everyone in town did. As the daughter of one of the few socialites left in Armaxin, Lucille Hallwin was not a girl to be trifled with. But as she stood there, with her curly red hair blowing in the small breeze and a distracted look in her eyes, Everett couldn’t look away.  

After noticing his admiring gaze, she had walked briskly up to the car, rapping sharply on the window with her knuckles before motioning for him to roll it down. Without having time to duck below and hide he had quickly complied, jerkily cranking the lever as the window lowered with a grating squeak. She stared at him for a few seconds, studying his face with the concentration of a scientist before slowly nodding her head and speaking.

           “Want to go out?”

 Everett had been stunned but recovered rather quickly considering the circumstances.

           “Why?” he managed to say as he swallowed nervously, trying to force down the bile brought up by his anxiety.

Lucille just shrugged before flipping a stray auburn curl over her shoulder impatiently.

           “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Everett shook his head slowly, staring into her hazel eyes.  

           “Then why not.”

He couldn’t quite think of a reason why not.

           They would meet at the old abandoned house on Pine Street to smoke and talk. Lucille would bring the matches and Everett would always supply the pack of cigarettes that he could steal from the top drawer of his father’s desk. Lucille was almost as wild as her fiery hair, a stark contrast to Everett’s quiet demeanor and pale complexion. She would yell when she was angry, scream about how they should have never met, a mere parrot of her mother’s rants, while Everett would just sit there quietly smoking. They had only been dating for a few months, the leaves just beginning to turn their reds and golds when Everett was walking home from the grocery store, cradling the heavy paper sack in his arms as he trudged along. Spotting a dark cloud of smoke forming a few streets over he felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. Dropping the sack to the ground he began to run, paying no attention to the apples that had started to roll out of the bag and down the sidewalk.

By the time he rounded the corner of Pine Street the abandoned house was completely engulfed in flames. Thick black smoke curled in the air and burned his eyes as his worn sneakers slapped against the asphalt with each hurried stride, arms pumping at his sides. The crowd that had gathered in front of the house all turned their heads as he ran by them. Staring in shock as he ran up the cracked concrete steps leading to the porch. He could feel his heart in his throat, pulsing just under the skin. The screams behind him pleaded for him to stop as he reached for the door handle and a few eager arms reached out to try and grab him. He dodged their clawing hands, ignoring them grasping at his shirt as he rushed inside the flame-filled entryway. Flinging his arm over his mouth to shield against the stifling smoke, he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he stumbled forward, all the while yelling Lucille’s name. The crowd of people outside could faintly hear his screams, the women clutching at those by them while the men set their mouths in straighter lines. The soft echoing wails of a siren could be heard coming down the street.

He found Lucille huddled beneath the heavy oak table in the dining room. Her white sundress was singed around the hem, and soot streaked her face. She had her sweater tied around her waist and her knees were scraped from the splintering hardwood floor. He dropped to the ground, sliding under the table next to her. Her red hair lay limply down her back, with stray strands sticking to her face from the sheen of sweat that covered it.

           “Everett?” she asked as her red-rimmed eyes filled with tears of relief. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest as he pulled her in close to him, her fingertips digging into his back as they embraced. Smoke and flames were filling the room more and more with each passing second, and the sweat that had beaded on Everett’s forehead was beginning to drip down his face.

           “We have to get out of here.” he spoke loudly into her ear. She nodded, reaching up to wipe her watering eyes, which only succeeded in further smearing the ash that clung to her skin.

           “Ready?” he asked her, grabbing her hand and interlacing his fingers with hers. Once again, she nodded.

           “Ready.”

Everyone outside waited with bated breath as the fire continued to rage. A few of the older men had attempted to follow after Everett but were held back by their frantic wives. Just as the fire truck arrived, its siren wailing loudly, the front door was flung open and amongst a cloud of smoke Everett and Lucille ran out. They stumbled down the porch steps, both of them coughing loudly.

Within an hour the old house had fallen, leaving only a smoldering pile of rubble and a heavy cloud of ash that sprinkled the town like a first snowfall. Everett and Lucille sat on the curb, slowly sipping lukewarm water out of the plastic bottles given to them by the firefighters, frequently pausing to cough from the weight in their lungs. The parents had arrived soon after they had emerged from the flame-filled house, and they stood nearby, Mrs. Hallwin screaming something at the fire chief about negligence.

           Everett had gone with Lucille that night, brushing specks of ash from her sweater as her father drove home with white knuckles as he clutched the steering wheel. Mrs. Hallwin didn’t say a word, just silently stared out the window and occasionally reaching back to pat Lucille’s soot-streaked leg. Going straight up to her room, Everett and Lucille both collapsed on her bed. It wasn’t long until Everett’s breathing steadied and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as a dream overtook him. Lying there with Everett’s arm wrapped tightly around her and the smell of smoke still hanging thickly in the air, Lucille suddenly remembered the empty box of matches still tucked away in her sweater pocket. A small smile crept over her face as she began to drift away into a deep sleep. A trial by fire as her mother once said, that’s what every relationship needs. Sleepily she furrowed her brow, wondering briefly if her mother had meant that literally. No matter. After all, who wasn’t going to believe the story about a young girl who accidentally set a fire with a still-lit cigarette.