My Personal Superhero

It began like any other trip to the Walmart. We had just eaten dinner. He drove and I was monologuing about my day when we noticed four or five halos of flame growing in the grass next to the road under a couple of voluminous pine trees. Each motorist that passed by fanned the flames and the halos doubled in diameter.

Tires squealed and my seat belt locked up as Jon smashed the brakes. He whipped around, pulling off the road just before the fire, four-way flashers rhythmically ticking away in the background as he leaped out of the truck. He searched frantically for the collapsible shovel that he keeps behind the seat and I called the fire department.

After what seemed like forever, Jon finally found the shovel. By then the halos of scorched earth had merged into a patch of burned grass 50 or 60 feet in length and fifteen feet wide. He got to work pitching flaming bits of grass and pine needles back onto the blackened earth to fade into wisps of starving smoke. Working quickly and steadily, he gained on the hungry fire faster than it could devour the dead RoundUp-sprayed flora.

With only a few tendrils of flame left to extinguish, another motorist stopped. He quickly realized everything was under control, introduced himself, and drove off to wherever he was intended.

Eventually, nothing but a few smoldering sticks remained and so we stepped back to survey the damage and check that every ember had been thoroughly suffocated. With lights and sirens, an entourage of firefighting entities came screaming toward us. Two separate departments combined contributed eight fire engines and three law enforcement vehicles. Suspendered men scrambled under the flashing red lights like a kicked ant hill.

Laughter and guffaws from the responders echoed through the fading light as we drove away, Jon's super-hero cape flapping in the wind.