Keep a Flame in Your Pocket

(TW: death)

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. The wind smelled of wood smoke and ice.

Lucy was ready for the weather. She had taken a scalding hot shower that morning and then sat panting under the hair dryer afterwards. She’d been so warm that she’d had to remind herself of the temperature, checking her weather app repeatedly while she dressed: silk long underwear, flannel-lined jeans, a scratchy Irish wool sweater. She’d greased her face in layers of lotion and creams and smeared her lips with Vaseline. Thick wool socks, waterproof boots, long down coat, cashmere scarf, ski mittens. She had to fight the padded layers of all that warmth to get her book satchel to perch on her shoulder. She grabbed her thermos mug of hot coffee and sang her goodbyes to the rest of her family as they huddled around the fireplace in their cozy living room.

The stinging cold hit her full in the face as she walked towards the bus stop. She clomped straight through the knee-high snow drifts in her warm, watertight boots. As she approached, she could see only one other person at the bus shelter, a black lump of dirty clothes on the bench, hogging the only spot protected from the wind. Lucy didn’t care. “He needs it more than I do,” she thought, nestling down further into her warm coat.

She hoped the lump of clothes behind her wasn’t a dead man. She also hoped he wasn’t quite awake enough to bother her. She was a pretty girl, only twenty, and her mouth naturally rested in a smile she knew was too friendly. Men leered at her on public transit, taking that kind smile as license to creep. Lucy spent her wait trying to reset her lips into something more menacing, a sneer of sorts.

“You got a light, kid?”

Lucy froze.  

               “I asked you if you had a light,” the man said again from behind her. Lucy could hear his clothes rustling as he stood.

She turned. The stink of the man hit her full in the nose, even through the icy air. She knew that if someone got louder when you ignored them, you’d better answer. They’d escalate things, sometimes get up in your space or try to touch you. She’d need to be clever, just friendly enough to appease him without seeming like an easy target. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” she lied.

“Right. I’ll say it again: DO YOU HAVE A LIGHT?”

 Lucy recoiled at his loud voice, but she managed to keep from flinching. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t smoke.”

“Don’t have to smoke to carry a lighter. Useful things, a little flame like that, in your pocket,” he said. He reached into his filthy coat and Lucy winced. She hoped he wasn’t going to pull a knife on her. Or flash her. She didn’t know which would be worse. But the man just kept rummaging, pulling out wadded up tissue and wrinkled paper, which he carefully placed into the trash can. “Be nice to have us a little bonfire right here, wouldn’t it, sweetie?”

Lucy realized what he was doing, that he wanted to start a fire in the trash can. She edged closer to the curb, glancing quickly up and down the sidewalk for other people.

“It’s all right. You don’t have to be so nervous. I do it all the time,” the man said when he noticed her backing away. “Just gotta make sure no cops are nearby. Haven’t seen one a while. Too cold for them to worry about old Jack.” He stared hard at Lucy, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think I told you my name yet, did I? I’m Jack.”

Lucy worked hard to keep her voice steady. “OK. Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Now that’s not right, is it dear?” Jack smirked. “I told you my name. Now you tell me yours.”

She was caught off guard. She knew she should lie, but her brain felt slow, frozen. “Lucy,” she croaked. She slipped off her mitten and shoved it into her coat pocket. She pulled her phone out slowly. Maybe if he saw her phone, if he knew she was ready to call for help, he’d leave her alone.

“Now that’s not nearly as useful as a lighter. Ought to stuff your pockets with matches, not a gizmo,” Jack said, gesturing to her phone.

“It’s got a flashlight,” Lucy said, then felt thoroughly stupid. Why had she said that?

“It’s not the light I want, is it? I need the warmth.”

Lucy nodded, trying to unlock her phone without taking her eyes off Jack.

Jack’s eyes suddenly flew open wide. He gave a shout, “HEY!” and lunged for her, knocking her back towards the bus shelter.

Lucy went sprawling on the sidewalk. Her phone skittered away, under the trashcan. She landed mostly on her hands and heard a loud crack as her wrist splintered. Her face smacked the pavement, and she could feel the skin on her nose and cheeks scrape away on the sidewalk. She lay very still for a second, trying to assess her injuries, the shock of Jack’s shove still making her whole body tingle with adrenaline.

A WHOOSH sounded behind her. Lucy sat up and spun around. A wall of intense heat hit her square in the face, stinging her eyes dry.

Two big box trucks had collided. The one in the rear had just burst into flames. The drivers were both out of the vehicles, crouched down in front of the first truck. There on the asphalt was Jack. He lay perfectly still, lack a load of dirty laundry someone had dumped in the road.

In the moments before the accident, Lucy hadn’t realized she’d been inching further and further away from Jack. It was just an instinct, self-preservation. So she didn’t see the first box truck cross the yellow line and come hurtling towards the curb.

But Jack had.

Lucy hobbled towards the men, her face streaming with tears. “Is he ok?” she called over the sound of the roaring fire.

One of the drivers was bent over Jack. “He’s still breathing!”

An explosion erupted from the rear truck and flames crawled onto the other vehicle. The heat intensified and Lucy could feel its sting on her raw cheek. The two drivers recoiled from the new blast and ran towards Lucy. They tried to pull her away, back towards the bus shelter, but she struggled free. She ran to Jack and knelt next to him.

“You saved me,” she cried. Tears fell from her eyes onto his dirty cheeks.

“It’s all right. You’d have done the same,” he wheezed. He coughed and tried to sit up.

Lucy pulled at his shoulders. She tried to get him to his feet, but he cried out in pain. “It’s ok. Don’t move me,” he told her.

The flames were to the cab of the front truck now, licking at the paint and making it bubble and curl. The smell of burning gasoline and hot metal filled the air.

“We’ve got to get you away!” she screamed.

Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her close to his face. “At least I’m warm, sweetie. Now you go. Get away.”

The drivers were back. They must have found some of their courage again. They pulled Lucy away, stronger this time. They didn’t let her wriggle free. They pulled her up over the curb, past the bus stop, and up into someone’s front yard. One of them stepped towards the wreck, but another explosion sent flames high into the sky. The driver backed away, shielding his face from the heat.

The fire fighters were there in no time, dousing the flames with their chemicals. Lucy caught a glimpse of Jack’s charred face before the EMTs covered it in a snow-white sheet. “Keep him warm,” she tried to call out to them. But the smoke had filled her mouth and lungs, and her words died on the terribly cold wind.