Brian, it seems, had discovered the joy of matches. While the rest of us were discussing the finer intricacies of Smokey & the Bandit or trying to scrape up enough pocket change to buy a bag of Funyuns, Brian sat on his front porch transfixed, staring into space and plotting out how to accomplish his foremost goal.

You see, Brian wanted to burn a house to the ground. More than anything else in the world.

"You pick the house," he told me one day. "You pick the house and I'll burn it down."

I told him that I didn't want him to burn any house down. "Let's just play catch," I suggested. "I'll go get my mitt." Then when I saw that that wasn't going to take, I started to think of riskier things to do, maybe to satisfy his urges for a while. "We could put stuff on the tracks and wait for trains to smash it? We could play ding-dong-ditch? I think we might be able to get that Scott kid to eat another rock?"

"What about that house?" he asked, pointing to a run-down house with the siding falling off of it. When I shook my head he said, "Oh...you LIKE that house?"

I tried to change the subject. I don't remember how I got out of it, but somehow, I did.

A few days later we were hanging out in my yard when Brian announced, "Go on up to the corner and wait for me. I have some things I want to do." I knew that this was stupid, because we were like 8 years old, and besides, this was my yard. But for some reason I walked up to the corner and sat on the curb to wait. A few minutes later, Brian joined me. We sat on the curb for awhile, silent, until he shouted, "I SMELL SMOKE! IT'S COMING FROM YOUR HOUSE!"

We ran back to my house, which was thankfully not on fire. However, there was a bail of hay in our yard which my brother used to shoot arrows into. The hay was completely engulfed in flames. My mom stood in the yard, angrily spraying the hay bail with the garden hose.

Later she said to me, "You don't need to say anything. I know Brian lit the hay on fire." I don't know if she called Brian's mom or not, but I imagine she did.

While walking down the street a few weeks after that, I noticed the house next door to Brian's. Although the house was still structurally sound, the entire front was charred and black. This didn't surprise me, because Brian had been eyeing up this place more than any other in the neighborhood. The house belonged to a married retarded couple that all the kids affectionately refered to as "The Ding-a-Lings."

I didn't see Brian again for quite some time, but when I finally did, I asked him, "Did you try to burn down the Ding-a-Lings' house?" He just stared ahead, silently. I knew I would never get an answer out of him, but I didn't need one. I knew exactly what happened.

To all of my knowledge, Brian adjusted to life just fine and still lives a peaceful life in West Duluth. I saw him a couple years back at a bar in Gary. We did some shots. Talked about the old neighborhood. I think I got 86'ed for breaking glasses on the floor, but I'm not sure.

I never mentioned the arson to him. I probably never will.