George Is On Fire! (long story)

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In Aroostook country, which is most of northern Maine, junior and senior high school starts about two weeks earlier than elementary school. The reason for this is so the older kids can get out of school during potato harvest time to go to work in the fields picking potatoes.

I hated harvest time. Us kids would get up when it was still dark out on those frosty October mornings. We were in the fields as soon as the sun started rising above the trees. Even today I can still remember how the frost on the brown potato plants would start to melt as the sun hit them.I always hoped I would get a row of potatoes where the sun first hit so I could get warmed up. The older kids always got first pick of rows though so I had to make do with the row closest to the trees on the eastern side of the fields where the sun would not shine until later in the day. Sometime later in the day if everything was going well I would finally end up in a row where the sun was shining and then I would be to hot.

Us kids who worked the fields during harvest always got bored around three or four in the afternoon. By then we had been in the fields about ten hours.We would start to play as soon as the field supervisor, who would walk the rows checking on all of us kids and our progress, was so far away from us that he could not really see what we were doing.We would grab rotten potatoes and throw them at each other.Rotten potatoes stink really bad. No one wanted to be hit by them but everyone wanted to hit someone with them.

Dwight who is my step brother and my age threw a rotten potato at me. He missed. I picked up the most rotten potato I could find and threw it at him. I hit him in the leg. Dwight gagged at the look and smell of the potato. Dwight was laughing and so was I. I turned away from Dwight and started picking more potatoes from my row to add to my fifty-five gallon wooden barrel which was still only about half full. I had a row that had few potatoes in it. Us kids all hated to get rows with hardly any potatoes because it took so long digging through the dirt for potatoes. We were only being paid twenty-nine cents per barrel back then and you didn't have to be an adult to know if it took two hours to get one barrel of potatoes then you were not going to have a good paycheck come payday.

I felt something slam hard against my ear, I scream out in pain. I felt a burning feeling and my ear started ringing.I put my hand to my ear and felt moisture. I thought my ear was bleeding. I heard Dwight laughing as I took my hand away from my ear. I looked at my hand and saw slime. I put my hand to my nose and smelled. I started chocking. It was a rotten potato that had hit me in the ear and it smelled terrible. I was mad. I knew I would still be in the field for a few more hours and the stench was over whelming. No matter how much I tried to wipe the rotten potato off from me I couldn't. I was stuck with the smell until I got home and I was mad.

Dwight kept laughing at what he had done to me. I picked up as many rotten potatoes as I could find and threw them at Dwight. Dwight dodged each potato I threw. I was getting more upset all the time. I wanted to go tackle him but you could not leave your row. I started swearing at Dwight. I had never sworn before so I was a bit surprised at myself. The more I swore the tougher I felt. I thought maybe Dwight would be able to tell how mad I was at him if I kept swearing. I called Dwight every word I could think of. I was actually embarrassing myself with my language but still I kept swearing.

Dwight stopped laughing at me. He was getting very upset with me for swearing. Dwight yelled from his row of potatoes, "You better quit swearing George or you're going to burn in hell!" Not only did I start to swear even more but now I was throwing Dwight the finger too.Everyone was laughing at the both of us. I am sure there were a lot of kids who wanted to see us get into a fist fight. Neither one of us left our row though. I stayed in my row and swore at Dwight and gave him the finger and Dwight stayed in his row getting more and more upset with me for what I was doing.Over and over again Dwight yelled, "You're going to burn in hell." And each time he told me this I swore even more.

Finally the day was over and we headed home. On the ride home Dwight and me stayed quiet. I didn't feel quite so mad at him anymore. When we got home Dwight told on me for swearing and I denied it.

Since we lived in the country we burned our trash in a fifty-five gallon drum in the back yard. Little Jim was the oldest so it was his chore to burn the trash.It started to rain just as Little Jim started the fire in the trash barrel. The fire went out. Little Jim lit the trash on fire again and it went out again. All of us kids were standing around the barrel talking about whatever kids talk about. When Little Jim decided he couldn't keep the fire going because of the rain he said, "I am going to get some gas to put on the trash and then i'll lite it."

Little Jim walked to the garage and returned with a five-gallon gas can. Dwight has a stick with a small flame on one end. Dwight swung the stick towards Little Jim and said, "I have a lite." I looked as the stick reached the gas can. I heard a whoosh sound and saw flames. Little Jim threw the gas can to the ground. All of us kids were standing in a big circle around the trash can. I saw the flames come across the ground right towards me. I didn't have time to do anything. Before I knew it I was on fire. I started running.

I heard Dwight screaming to me ,"Drop and roll" as he ran beside me. I had flames swirling all around me. I remember how hot the flames were. I was running for water. There was a cesspoll about seventy-five feet away and I thought my chances were better if I could get to the cesspool and jump in. I remember thinking as Dwight kept screaming, "DROP AND ROLL!" No way I'm not going to waste time like that when there is water right there. I thought I was going to die. And so did my little sister Shelley.

I could hear Shelley screaming, "GEORGE IS ON FIRE! GEORGE IS ON FIRE, OH MY GOD HE"S DYING!!" As the flames swirled around my head I could make out everyone as they ran circles around me screaming different orders, none of which was I about to follow. I still had my own plans and that was dive into the cesspool.

I saw my grandmother run in and out of the house several times. Later I was told she was panicking and could not decide if she should get a blanket to smother the fire of throw me to the ground and beat the fire out with her bare hands.

It seemed like it took forever but I finally made it to the cesspool. Dad yelled, "Don't jump in son, the fire is out!" I stopped right at the edge of the cesspool. As soon as I stooped I looked at my hands to see if they were burned from me beating on the fire with them. I was surprised to find my hands were perfectly fine. Next I looked down at my body to see if my clothes were gone, they weren't. Smoke was still coming from my clothing but they looked the same as they had before I caught on fire.

I was surprised, I wasn't burned after all. My father came over to me and said,'Let me see under your clothes son." I felt stupid. I was so afraid the neighbors had seen the ball of fire running across the back yard. I started to feel a burning feeling coming from most of the left hand side of my body. I lifted my shirt and could see where I had been burned a little bit on the left side of my stomach. Dad wanted me to drop my pants right then and there but I was not about to drop them in front of anyone. Instead I reached down and grabbed the bottom of my left pant leg and lifted it up. I was shocked. The skin was all gray and wrinkled. It was then when the pain became intence. I started screaming in agony.

Once everyone saw how bad my left leg was burned they all started panicking. I was taken into the house and lifted onto the kitchen counter. I started screaming, "I JUST LEARNED IN FIRST AID NOT TO PUT BUTTER ON A BURN BECAUSE IT LOCKS IN THE HEAT!" Grammy told me they wouldn't put butter on the burn, they would run cold water over it. As cold water was running over my burned leg someone called the hospital For some reason the hospital decide I would be better off not going to the hospital butthat someone should go to the drugstore to get a tube of A and D ointment.

I was in agony for hours. I screamed out in pain until I fell asllep on the floor with the door opened so the cool evening air blew across my leg. I don't know what part of everyone missed but I said to them all, "don't leave me on the floor with the door opened if I fall asleep, I don't want a bear smelling cooked meat and coming and dragging me to the woods to eat."

I woke up, I was laying on the floor with the door opened. I wondered why I was there. I had forgotten all about being burned.I kicked the door shut with my foot. I got up and ran towards the bedroom. It was then I remembered getting burned. I turned on the light when I got into the boys bedroom. I was shocked I had blisters all over my left leg as big as my fist. I was surprised though because I could not feel any pain at all. I only felt numbness. My whole leg was numb. I was happy my leg didn't hurt. I woke all my brothers up and we all felt the blisters. We all agreed the blisters were hugh and very gross looking.

It took almost two years for the skin to grow back on my leg. Dad has always felt very guilty about me being burned and not going to the hospital.Even today Dad tells me how sorry he is, and I still tell him to not feel bad. I never wanted to go to the hospital. I was glad back then that Doctor said I didn't need to come in.I never went to the hospital and I am still glad I never went.I have a good scar on my left leg as a reminder of that day. And I sure did watch my mouth after being burned too! I figured I was punished good for swearing.No kids were allowed to burn the trash either. Dad lectured us forever about me catching on fire and how none of us but Little Jim was suppose to be near the trash can when it came time to burn the trash.The only thing I really regret about that day is how guilty Dad feels. He has always been a great father and I hate that this haunts him so much, even today.Besides, I didn't have to pick potaoes anymore. Dad sent me to stay with Aunt Mary (his sister) in town while harvest was going on so I would stay out of the fields.

Shelley said to me years later, "I was freaking out when I saw you run for the sewer. I thought for sure you would jump in and it would explode. All I could picture was crap flying through the air and gatting in my hair. I just couldn't imagine how I would ever get my hair clean, because I was not about to put my hands in my hair and get crap all over them." I still have to tell them it was not the sewer it was the gray water from the kitchen sink and washer. Everyone is relieved when I tell them it wasn't a sewer because as they all say, "Oh good because Carla and Kim used to put their swimming pool in there and paddle around."

-- george nh (rcoopwalpole@aol.com), February 04, 2002

Answers

Wow, another well-written story by Our George! I could almost feel the panic of the situation. I could just feel how MAD you were at Dwight for hitting you in the ear with that rotten potato. Your poor Dad, I wish he didn't feel he has to carry around the blame for that. Whoever answered the phone at the hospital was wrong wrong wrong about just putting A&D ointment on it and not coming in, but there was no way your Dad could have known that.

-- Debbie in MO (risingwind@socket.net), February 04, 2002.

George, your story is just too close to what my grandfather went through the week before my mother was born. REC hadn't made it out to the farm yet, so the farm electric was provided by a Edison light plant in the basement of the main house. On January 8, 1933 my grandfather was refueling the engine on the plant while it was running, using a open 1-gallon pail of gas. The engine backfired into the bucket, lighting off the pail. Knowing if that pail remained in the basement he could lose his new house, and possibly his new family, he grabbed the bail of the bucket and hauled it up the back stairs into the snow. He threw the bucket out into the yard as far as he could, then started to put out the fire covering the entire left side of his body. My grandmother waddled out with an old coat to help (remember, she would give birth in a week). They finally got the fire out, and drove to Memphis, MO. to the nearest hospital (about 15 miles away). The burns had welded up the fingers of his left hand into a hook, and gave him horrible scars from head to toe on the left side of his body. He was bedridden for 3 months, and practically bathed in Unguentine (sp?) ointment (no antibiotics either). He was able to return to farming, but always had pain and stiffness from the burned nerves and muscles.

The house is still there, as is the remains of the light plant. The REC was given a warm reception when they finally strung the lines out there. Moral: Turn off your engines before fueling!

-- Paul D. (pd-personal@msn.com), February 04, 2002.


Talent finds a way to reveal itself. I am so thankful that it is here with us that your talent has chosen to do so George. Thanks, another good story to share with my kids. I still can't get over the marhmallow fluff mouse!

-- Sandie in Maine (peqbear@maine.rr.com), February 07, 2002.

This was one of the scariest things I remember. I know I was only a little kid but I still remember everyone freaking out, especially Grammmy. I'm glad it wasn't any worse than it was. Poor dad. He is so precious.

-- Carla, Maine (carlieraeb@hotmail.com), February 24, 2002.

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