A Cold Night (SOL #4)

A Cold Night

I'm pretty sure my feet control my body temperature, so it was not a smart idea to wear ten dollar "boots" from Target. Especially when said "boots" were bought in Texas, a state that has no concept of cold weather's effects on the body. My northern friends laugh at the thought of 40 degrees being considered freezing, but when the air is saturated with humidity, it's a wet cold that chills you to the core. It was, in fact, so cold that the ring of heat from the bonfire radiated a mere inches from the flame itself. Every time the wind blew, ashes peppered my clothing.

"You might want to get away from the fire," a stranger at the party warned me. I skipped away just as the Black Cats he threw in popped off in quick succession, sounding like machine gun fire. Away from the smoke, I saw the party in full swing. Cheap champagne and Fireball bottles were being passed around and shared among people who clearly did not know about or understand the recent flu outbreaks.

I stayed away. It had been years since I enjoyed a party, and I contemplated why and when I had become such a wet blanket. "I bet you twenty bucks you won't cross it," one guy said to another, motioning toward the display of logs and branches that kept the bonfire alight.

"I would not take that bet. That is really stupid," I told the first guy. He looked at the fire, truly wondering if the feat was possible. He really couldn't be that much older than me, but older than me he was, and I was the one talking sense to him.

"Do you even have the money?" He chided to his buddy.
"Do it and find out."

In the blink of an eye, I wished I was literally a wet blanket.