Fire in the Night

            by Jacob Friedman

 

            My seventy-three year old eyes peered out my bedroom window, overlooking practically the entire bay- Oakland to the left, San Francisco across the water, and Richmond to the right.  Just next to my house was Indian Rock Park, where the public could enjoy the view from on top of a giant rock.  I watched couples, kids, toddlers, photographers and rock climbers make their way to the top and point fingers at landmarks.  The sun was almost set, the pink sky was fading, and soon everyone would leave and go home.  The park was closed after dark and nobody was supposed to be there.  At night different kinds of people would come.  I would often see two homeless men spend the night in little caves, and gallivanting teenagers would use the rock for drinking alcohol and smoking dope.  Sometimes they would get a spook from the homeless, sometimes the other way around.  I usually saw a little flame appear and disappear, lighting a bum’s cigarette or a kid’s marijuana joint.  Also I would see bottles being turned up toward the sky, reflecting the moonlight.  If the bottle and the little orange glow stayed put a while, I figured they were spending the night.  The teenagers never stayed for too long.

            As people left I wondered where each of them was going- if they had something to look forward to, or if they were disappointed to leave the rock.  I wondered if the photographers and couples were successful in capturing something, and if the children would remember their visit at all.  After seeing so many beautiful sunsets, it’s funny how there aren’t more I can remember distinctly.  This pale violet evening seemed to last much longer than usual, like the sun was departing with regret.  A few of the visitors sat in serenity, others had hungry children racing to the car, and some were anxious for peacefulness. 

            As the sky turned darker shades of blue, I went downstairs to do my crossword puzzle and eat my dinner.  The newspaper had been an adequate replacement for an evening conversation partner since my husband died two years ago.  At certain times I felt like I needed something to occupy my time, but my time seemed to be infinite.  That may be why I watched other people so much.  I tried never to be too nosy, but I was always curious and observant.  I didn’t have friends anymore- I never had any guests- so the park became an extension of my home, where visitors would come to enjoy the view with me.  Of course, after dark it was no longer part of my home.  I stayed separate from the alcoholic bums and pothead teenagers.  Those hoboes were undoubtedly just like the teenagers in their youth, and sadly, those hooligans will grow up to be poor lowlifes, already headed down the wrong path without even knowing it.   

            It was getting late so I headed back upstairs to read the Bible in bed.  I hadn’t been religious since high school, I just enjoyed reading the Bible.  There was plenty of content in each story for my brain to absorb, to partly fill in the emptiness I always felt.  I read for about a half an hour and fell asleep.  When I woke up it was still dark out.  My clock said it was nine and for a moment I was very confused- I didn’t know what caused me to wake up. I thought it might have been an earthquake.  Then I heard a yell from outside- rowdy adolescents.

            I stood up and walked over to the window.  There was a pick-up truck playing hip hop music very loud with the doors open, one kid standing by the driver’s seat and one kid walking into the park.  One of their friends was already on top of the rock; I could see him holding a bottle and trying to light a match.  All of a sudden there was a huge flame on top of the rock- he had probably set a trashcan on fire.  Whether it was to stay warm or to cause trouble I didn’t know, but I did know that it was illegal and dangerous, so I called the police.

“911, what’s your emergency?” answered a woman.

“Yes, there are some teenagers who’ve started a fire on top of Indian Rock.”

“Ok ma’am, do you know what has been set on fire?”

“Well it might just be a trash can, I can’t see.”

“Ok we’ll send someone up there.  What’s your location?”
“Oh, I’m in my house right next to the park, address is 671 Indian Rock.”

“Ok, thank you ma’am.  Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s all.  Thank you.”

            During the conversation I watched the kid climb up to where the fire was, while his friend on top came down to meet him.  They both were behind the rock, so I couldn’t see them.  I looked closer and saw that it was in fact just a trashcan on fire.  The driver had turned down his music and was yelling to his friends, when suddenly one of them ran towards the car, and the driver jumped in quickly and started the engine.  He pulled away as his friend just barely got in the car and recklessly drove down the hill, probably drunk.  I looked back to the park but didn’t see the other kid, and then I heard an unreal smack followed by a smash of metal and glass shattering.  It was so loud I felt my heart stop.  A car alarm was going off, and down the street I saw the truck upside down on somebody’s front yard, glass everywhere and thick smoke already rising from the wreck.  I redialed 911 as the driver got out of the truck and ran back up to the park, yelling to his friend.

            When the police and firemen came I went outside to talk to them.  “Has anybody been hurt?” I asked a policeman.

            He stared at me puzzled and than said “We’ve got three dead bodies and one frightened teenager with head injuries.”

            I turned cold, shivering as I looked over at the one remaining teenager.  He was sitting on the curb with a blanket over him and a medic bandaging his head.  I was shocked when I realized that I recognized the boy.  I had seen him walk past the park nearly every day, probably on his way home from school.  For some reason I had always thought he was one of the good kids, and I started to feel sick.  I had to repeat what I’d seen about ten times that night to different officers- each time I remembered something new, and probably left something out, so I think they got the whole story eventually.  They told me to go back home and to stay available for the next few days.

            It bothers me how well I slept that night, and how late I slept in the next day.  When I finally awoke around eight o’clock, there were police lines, caution tape and a crime scene unit all along the street.  Around nine a detective came in to hear my account of what happened.  He kept asking me if I was certain that the people I saw were teenagers, and I eventually told him no.  Thinking back, the guy on the rock didn’t really look like a teenager, I had just assumed it was a group of friends.  He made me doubt myself and I felt like I may have given misleading information.  He said that I was very helpful and to call him if I remembered anything else.

            That evening I sat down to dinner with the newspaper and didn’t realize until I saw it that there would be an article on what I saw.  I wondered why they didn’t interview me as I read the headline, “Berkeley Suffers Three Deaths in Series of Tragic Events.” I continued to read:

            Last night around nine o’clock a Berkeley High School senior, who wishes to remain anonymous, was driving his friend Antonio Mortimer, an Albany High School senior, past Indian Rock Park when they saw someone lighting a fire on top of the rock.  Thinking that it might have been a friend of theirs, Mortimer entered the park and climbed up to see who it was.  He saw a middle-aged homeless man, who had made a fire in a trashcan.  The police later found the remains of a human body in the trashcan, burnt beyond any possible recognition.  When the man saw Mortimer, he fatally attacked him with a knife, cutting his throat and giving multiple stab wounds in the chest.  The Berkeley senior was waiting at his truck, unable to see what was going on.  He saw someone running towards his truck and when he realized it was not a friend he started the engine and tried to drive away.  But the homeless man got in the open door, told him to pull over, and attacked the driver as he tried to drive away, causing him to crash into a parked car and flip the truck, killing the homeless man and injuring the Berkeley Senior.  Police still have no leads on the original body and are requesting any information.  The only evidence at the scene of the crime was a piece of cardboard with “R.I.P. Danny” carved into it.