My son reminded me of this story.
It’s the first time he started a forest fire. He’s around nine or ten years old. He decides to build a campfire next to the bamboo forest in our yard.
He thinks he put out the fire but the peat moss underneath catches fire. My husband calls me at work. “Charles started a fire in the bamboo forest.” I hang up and rush home. On the way home I ruminate that my son may grow up to be whatever bad thing they say about kids that start fires.
I pull into the driveway. The fire department is spraying down the fire. My husband is standing on the sidewalk with a stranger who is playing a bass hooked up to an amp. My husband says all cheery, “Hi. I listed this bass on Craigslist. The fire department says we’re lucky that the big pile of bamboo poles didn’t catch fire because they would have exploded.”
The stranger is playing the bass while my husband is telling the story. I’m thinking, “How is this my life? This is one for the book.”