Fire of Dreamsville

By Matthew McDonald

Throughout his time spent with children who were potentially Autistic, he was able to observe their quirks, their communication skills, and their other misunderstandings of their fellow peers, teachers, parents, and themselves. As an adult, he experienced his first course dealing with the DSM-V; the generalities of the Autism Spectrum baffled him and he knew there had to be something done. Working closely with an Autism-specific research facility, he was able to develop a novel that takes in the biggest issues of Autism and the constant struggles and put them into a story. Follow James as he overcomes his condition and embraces his potential.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514440193

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

James Branstone slouched on the couch next to his dad, Bob. He was trying his hardest to focus on the photo album his dad was showing him. He was only eleven; he was a strong-minded kid but not at eleven-thirty at night, especially the Thursday after his midterm test. His father was showing him the same photo album that he always looked at. Most of the time, he brought out the photo album to show him a picture of a family member that he missed that day or something. James sat, fighting the urge to sleep; he was fidgety, biting his inner lip, and staring at the pictures with his great-grandmother’s pretty handwriting.

His dad flipped the pages slowly, his eyes seeming to ponder over each photo, every once in a while interjecting a comment about the photo’s setting (for example, his grandpa’s fishing hut) or about the family members in the photo. James was realizing his dad was not going to be tired for a long time. He couldn’t understand how school and a little bit of chores could make him so tired, exhausted even, when his father, now chatting about the giant red oak stump which was the center of a picture with a big JB + EM carved into the top, was the town’s only baker. Now, granted, the town was tiny, maybe only eight hundred people and that with three new babies on the way in the local hospital!

The pictures seemed to be all in black and white. James didn’t know how anybody could have dealt with it, everything so two-toned and boring. James observed as the pages flipped; they were halfway through the album now. James stopped fidgeting and stared at one picture. He now seemed to be fully awake. That one picture, of the seven photos on the page that captured his attention, was that of a large fishing vessel named the Red Oak, with a sailor in front of it. The picture, unlike its counterparts, was not labeled and oddly enough wasn’t touching any other picture. It was as if whoever put the picture in wanted whosoever saw it to notice and revere it. Made it seem that it was so highly regarded that it needed no introduction.

James studied the picture, trying to imagine it in full color. He noted the sailor’s short hair, kind of greased back, his piercing eyes that twinkled in the sun and his medium build. He followed the features, from the broad grin that exposed one dimple on his left cheek to his broad shoulders, leaning on the bow of the Red Oak, almost like the sailor was buddies with the sea-faring vessel. His uniform actually looked like it was in good order but used quite frequently. James remembered riding past a U.S. Marine post out by the sea and seeing their pristine watch-stander uniforms and thought how unused and clean they looked. He thought they would look a lot better if they looked more like the Red Oak’s chum; more used and less like they were just purchased. James wondered how long the sailor had worked that day, since he was kind of sweaty.

His eyes wandered to the hull of the ship. The hull stood out bright white against the dull grey of the unnamed sailor. He studied the way the boards of the hull were all straight and parallel (a word meaning two straight lines that were evenly spaced, as he remembered from his test earlier that day). His father started turning the page and James caught his hand and asked, Dad, why isn’t this picture labeled?

I don’t know son. Some boat though, isn’t it?

I was looking at the parallel shape of the boards. They are so straight and even! James stated, excited to finally use the word in a statement correctly.

Parallel? Hey, I remember going over that with you. How was your test? You pass? His father rambled the questions off with a smirk on his face. It always seemed his dad was proud, but when it came to his son’s studies, he was even more proud. Always making a big deal over A’s and helping him with tests. James figured it was because his dad never went to college or something along those lines.

Yeah, I think so. I was kind of nervous, it was a hundred questions, James explained. Then to get the mindset back to the picture, So who’s he and what is the Red Oak?

I’ve actually never seen this picture in this album but I guess it might be related to the family, possibly, or a friend maybe. His dad seemed caught off guard by both the question and its reference.

James, whose tiredness finally caught back up to him, started to do what his friends called the tired yes. His head and his eyes closed at the same time, he leaned forward slightly then caught himself and snapped his eyes open, jolting his head back up. After two more tired yes’s, his dad asked Jimbo, you all right? Is this your way of telling me you’ve had too much fun and not enough sleep?

Another tired yes was the answer, Why don’t you go to bed, huh, Mr. Dean? His dad knew how much Jimmy liked James Dean, not only because of the name but because of the pictures and movies he portrayed in, making him a perfect person to want to idolize, how cool and smooth. James shook his head violently from left to right, not in response, since he hadn’t quite heard what his father was saying but to wake himself up. He stood slowly, since he had quite literally sank into the old couch and hugged his dad, mumbling in his head, G’night dad. He faintly noticed his dad’s quick embrace and the scruff of his cheek, but other than that his mind was already comfortably in his full-size bed.

Dragging his feet, he made it to the door, where the shock of the doorknob made his hand flinch but had no effect on his mental stability. Out of all the rooms that had carpet, which only the kitchen didn’t out of the two bedrooms and one bath cottage, he only managed to shock himself on that one door, every time, without fail.

He slumped by the door to the bathroom, walking almost in a trance, he passed his dad’s room on the right and opened his door on the left. He kicked off his shoes, threw his clothes next to the empty laundry basket, and climbed into bed. As his head hit the pillow, he opened his eyes, I forgot to brush my face and wash my teeth. But, I’m already in bed. Argh fine, he argued with himself. He trudged the five steps into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, smiling in the mirror to make sure the blue covered all his teeth, then rinsed and washed his face, with the lotion his dad bought. He wasn’t really paying attention, plus his eyes were almost glued shut. The lotion seemed to do the trick as he washed it off. Climbing into bed, he remembered the unmarked picture and drifted off to sleep. He drew the two blankets over his feet and halfway up his face; the thermostat still had to be fixed, and it was really cold in his room, as it looked out over the lakebed.

Bob sat with the photo album in his lap. He still wasn’t tired, but figured he should go to bed. He looked at his cuckoo clock, the one that his great-great-grandfather had made for himself. It was a seventy-year-old clock that was still clicking strong. The cuckoo came out of its little door, chirped, and receded to behind the door to begin again, indicating it was 2:00 a.m. He knew it was late but not that late! James had to leave for school tomorrow morning at seven and he had to be leaving shortly thereafter to open the store by eight. He flipped through the black-and-white photos until they started turning into color shots, quickly making it kind of like a newsreel, showing the invention of Technicolor in flip-book form.

His flip book halted a little bit after he saw the picture he wanted to see. The only way he knew which picture it was, was the pure pinkness of the picture. He flipped back the few pages to get back to it and remembered the day the snapshot was taken. It was a picture of James, Bob, and Mary, all standing at the start of the Susan G. Komen’s Race for the Cure, and they were all wearing the pink shirts which had become a tradition in the Branstone family on Mother’s Day. He wiped his eyes as a tear rolled to the edge of his nose. Mary died later that year from the very thing she raced against, breast cancer, and he knew that both he and James missed her dearly.

He had been without his wife now for seven long years and had yet to remarry or even date. It was hard to raise an eleven-year-old now in today’s society, especially by yourself. Bob had no pity on himself though, just spent as much time as his business allowed with James. Sometimes, if it was slow that afternoon, he’d put the sign, Be back in five minutes up and go see James when he came out of school. He knew that nobody paid attention to the sign, it would be crazy to time the town-baker on his break. He took another look at the beautiful, short-haired brunette and did the first thing that came to his mind. He brought the picture up to his lips and kissed it, leaving a bright slimy circle around her face, and told her goodnight. He wiped his eyes but ended up getting tears all over his face, so he sighed. It was now two-thirty and he headed to bed. Before he opened his door, he peeked in on James and chuckled. James had been so tired, he had forgotten to take his ball-cap off, and his clothes were strewn across the floor.

CHAPTER 2

Elaine Winestein, one of Dreamsville’s six local firemen, sat on her La-Z-Boy recliner, tears in her eyes and her knees hugged to her chest. She had just found out that her grandfather and aunt had passed away after being hit by a drunk driver. The accident happened in their hometown, maybe seven miles away, on the seaside, but with the way news traveled, it would be in town by nightfall. She knew people were going to start not trusting her judgment again, this being the fourth and fifth death she had experienced in the last two years, including her fiancée dying in a shootout at the mainland’s bank; he was a police officer, one of the negotiators.

The town thought she was going to snap one day; she had heard rumblings even in her fighting fires—from the whisperings on the side about if she was stable enough to recognize a fire, to her fellow firefighters quickly halting their conversations when she entered the room.

Sparky, a three-year-old yellow lab mix, rested his head on her arm, which was kind of awkward-looking, making Elaine want to cry harder. Here her dog was trying to console her and she couldn’t even move to let him. Sparky got up and licked her hand, then just leaned on her arm, scrunching her up even more. He seemed to look at her with that one blue and one brown eye that told her, Hey mom, you know I’m here for you. I’ll move, so you don’t have to. She wasn’t quite sure how animals sensed that their owners needed love, but she didn’t mind, not one bit.

Sparky put his cold nose on her hand and held it down, trying desperately to have her pet him. Realizing he was pinning down the very thing he wanted on top of his head, he lifted his head and she laid her hand on top of his head and watched, slightly amused, as he scrunched his eyes up and seemed to smile as she gently jostled his head back and forth. She brought her other hand up and started stroking his back, thinking how well the vet’s recommendation in food for the beauty and resilience of Sparky’s coat worked. After what seemed like five minutes (in actuality it was an hour and a half), a smile began to ascend the corners of her mouth. It was going to be all right, it was just how life was after all.

She stood up and headed to the kitchen, just five steps away. Opening the cupboard, she found what she was looking for, Mac n’ Cheese. She put the largest pot she could on the stove and filled it about halfway with warm water. Sparky eyed her intently as she put the pot on the front burner, set it on high, and dumped in the macaroni portion, being very careful to catch the packet as she did. While the water and macaroni cooked, she turned on her CD player, one of those fresh out of the box in 1982, which had always worked for her. She plopped down on the couch and pet Sparky and listened to the Rat Pack. A couple of minutes went by, then she heard Frank Sinatra singing World on a String; she jumped up, scaring Sparky. He leapt up barking, for some reason knowing she was suddenly happy. She patted her chest with both hands and he obliged by placing both his paws on her chest. She grabbed them in her hands and started dancing with him. She had the window blinds rolled up and knew the neighbors would be wondering if it was the night where she was deemed legally insane.

She let out a chuckle, thinking of Tom, who lived next door and who had one of those big telescopes in his bay window. She knew for a fact that it wasn’t for the stars; she knew it was for spying. She figured it out when she caught him the last time she was over there asking about an issue she was having with her water heater, and she saw the glint of it being moved as she walked over. At that moment, she didn’t really care about anything, just dancing. She looked at Sparky, his eyes bright and happy, his excessively large tongue flopped off to the right side of his face, moving slightly every so often to allow for a bark, and his ears catching wind as they spun, flipping them this way and that. Elaine started to giggle as the song came to a close, and she and her partner both collapsed in a heap on the hardwood floor giggling and barking at one another, just happy to be alive, it seemed.

Elaine was having fun for the first time in four years, so much fun that she didn’t see her water start to boil or the steam as it crept up the steam vent over the oven. She heard a hiss as a stray noodle propped its slimy back on the coil of her stove. She quickly got up and turned the stove off, opened the window in front of the sink, and began to fan it out by waving a towel over her head right below the smoke detector, trying to get the mixture of steam and smoke to cooperate and go out the window.

She saw the glint of something shiny out her window and knew it was Tom peeking over at her fanning hot steam out her kitchen window and she got the giggles all over again. The alarm chirped once slightly, but didn’t activate fully. Looking over at the stovetop to make sure nothing else was wrong, she spied Sparky eyeing the pot as it let off a little more steam and a couple more macaroni out of its top. He reminded her of the painting with the orange Tabby cat staring at some fish in a fishbowl. She wasn’t worried about him burning himself, since, when he was a puppy, he burned his mouth on some chicken. She had chicken breasts simmering in the oven and when she opened the oven door to check their temperature, he had snuck off with one. He ended up burning his mouth and paws so bad, they were in the vet’s office that night.

She surveyed the kitchen and saw that most of the steam had been blown outside. She picked up the pot and grabbed the strainer to strain the remaining macaroni. After that was done, she grabbed the cheese and stirred it in, completing her dinner preparations. Once she had removed the pot from the burner, she put a little bowl of it in the refrigerator for Sparky; he had been so patient. She paused to listen to another song, Catch a Falling Star, by Dean Martin. After the song was done, she went back to the kitchen, grabbing the pot with a potholder and reached in to grab Sparky’s bowl. She got back to the couch, laid Sparky’s food on the floor and arranged the potholder under her plate. Sparky came over, watched and waited until she was settled and started eating after she had taken her first bite. That dog is such a gentleman. I bet if he could, he would open jars and doors too, she laughed out loud thinking this and watched as an errant macaroni flew from Sparky’s nose onto the coffee table. He had some powerful sneezes, especially when he ate too fast, which is what he had done.

She turned off the CD player, and reached for the remote. She turned the TV on and flipped through HBO until she found the perfect movie to get her mind off everything, True Lies. Sparky, being done with his dinner, sat at the foot of the couch, licking the bowl clean. She grinned at how cute he was: putting his huge paws on the side of the bowl, not letting it move. Then he proceeded to lick his paws until they too were clean enough to jump up on the white couch.

He placed his paws on her lap for inspection, which she was glad she had taught him to do so, and let him up. He laid his head down on his pillow as she watched Arnold’s wife go ballistic with the stool in the interrogation chamber. The room started to get a little chilly, and she was about to go turn the heater up, when she noticed the rustling of the curtains. A sure sign that she had left the window in the kitchen open. She grabbed the remote and pressed pause. She half ran to the window, mostly to keep the cold out but also to get her blood pumping, and slammed the window down a little harder than she wanted to. As she was walking back to the living room, rubbing her hands together and shivering, as it was the beginning of September, the phone rang.

Glancing at the caller ID, she answered the phone, Good evening, Chief.

Startled, the Fire Chief’s response came slowly, Hey, uh, how’d you know it was me?

Lying, she stated, I knew you were going to check in on me sooner or later, checking to make sure I will be able to make it to my shift tomorrow. Besides, you probably just got the news, right?

Still stuttering, he rebutted, Yes, as a matter of fact, I did just get the news and I wasn’t just making sure you were coming in tomorrow. I also wanted to make sure you were okay. How are you doing, anyway?

Doing just fine, considering the circumstances. In answer to your second question, yes, I will be willing and able to fight any fire, or save any cat tomorrow morning, Chief.

Okay, okay. Well, in case anything comes up, you know my number, right?

Yes, Chief, I have it.

Oh, right, your caller ID-thingy, the Chief remembered momentarily, I’ll have to remember to get me one of those things sooner or later! Hey, Elaine, when I’m off the clock, it’s Roy, okay?

Yes, Roy, she said hesitantly. He had explained that to her several times, she just wasn’t used to calling her boss by his first name. Even her grandfather had her call him Chief Gramps.

G’night Elaine, Roy said.

Good night Roy, she responded still a little too cautious. She sat back down on the couch and Sparky looked at her. He sat up and licked her right between her nostrils, their sign that he needed to go real bad. She got back up and headed to the back door and slid it open, being careful to keep her foot in front of the opening until she got the screen open too. There had been several accidents between her and the dog where they would smack into the screen. She thought of the time it had taken her to teach him to lick her nose to be let out, and she chuckled as she thought of every single time he gave her that signal, he always ended up getting his tongue up one of her nostrils, sending chills throughout her body. He ran around without a leash, another great trait of his, and squatted within a minute.

As he did his business, she peered into the midnight purple of the night sky. It was eleven o’clock and the air was brisk and clear. She glanced at the stars; they were like glimmering pieces of mirrors. One winked at her, the tip of Orion’s arrow. She had studied the stars with her grandfather. He had told her it was something that he would do with his father, and it was a kind of tradition. Continuing her gaze slowly down from the stars, she first noticed the gigantic harvest moon, big and orange, hanging in the sky like an over-ripe orange. Then her eyes lighted upon the top of the trees, some of which were as old as the landscape itself. Finally, her eyes followed their journey to the lakebed, now dry as it had been for the last three years. Although dry, it still brought back memories of a calmer time about fifteen years ago, when she was a little girl.

One memory came in clearer than the rest and she focused on it. It was of her sixteenth birthday, where she had spent it on the lake with her family and friends. That day was hot and somewhat cloudy, but other than that it was just perfect. She had a few close friends, her mom, grandfather, grandmother and aunt were in the lake with her. The memory continued to her watching her dad try to fight with lighting the grill. Everybody had stopped splashing and playing tag, just to watch him. They were supposed to be having bratwurst and burgers for her party. Every time he tried, the wind would pick up, extinguishing the flame, almost as if the lake was playing a game with him. He didn’t seem to be amused. Then he finally got the coals started, he closed the top to get the half-bag of coal started. After waiting a couple of seconds, he lifted the lid, just as the wind made off with one of the many helium balloons. It made a B-line for the surface of the grill. She remembered her dad turning away to grab the meat to slap it on the flames that now danced out of the grill. The balloon made it halfway across the grill’s top, just skimming above the flames, before popping loudly, just as her dad turned back around.

She could see him grabbing his face with both hands, and when they dropped a long, loud, string of profanities escaped her dad’s mouth into the grill, but the wind carried it over to the swimmers. He had burned off his eyebrows and nose hair, along with the front half of his toupee.

Sparky yipped as he’d been outside for too long. Fur, or no fur, it was still cold. She let him in, and sat down. As she started to eat with one hand, she used the remote to rewind her movie to where she had left off. It was one of her favorite scenes, where Arnold’s wife drops the automatic handgun down the stairs and it goes off with every step it hits, killing everyone but him. She curled up into her blanket and watched the rest of the movie with a few giggles. At random times throughout the movie, Sparky would grumble and roll over in his sleep. Finally, the credits began to scroll across the screen. She got up, placed her half-eaten pot in the sink and yawned. She’d do dishes the next day before going in on her shift. Besides, the mirrored clock with the Fire station’s number engraved in it (she had gotten it for working there for five years) told her it was one in the morning.

CHAPTER 3

Friday morning found James bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as the saying goes. He felt almost hyper. Even when he looked at his hair, which was standing straight up as if he had been touching that big silver ball in the lab at school. He liked it, so he sprayed a little hairspray throughout it, making it hard and crazy. He washed his face, trying to get the hard goo out from his tear-ducts. Running into the kitchen, sliding in on his socks, he noticed a note on the counter, Have a good day at school bud. Had to go in early, Love, Dad. It was sitting in front of a still-steaming bowl of Cream O’ Wheat, his second favorite breakfast food.

He turned the radio on in the kitchen to listen to some tunes before heading into school. He stopped at one of the old Rock stations; his father had gotten him into it when he was a young boy. He listened to Splish-Splash, and tried his hardest not to dance along. Getting around the counter he grabbed the milk and brown sugar, adding generous helpings of each and dug in. The radio announcer said it was six-twenty, time for the news, weather, and traffic. James usually clicked over to another station, but today, he was interested in what the weather had in store for Dreamsville. He wanted to play baseball or something in the afternoon. He already knew it was going to be chilly, but that sort of thing he could prepare for. He couldn’t really prepare for rain or snow when your town is in a seven-year-long draught.

The weather in your area is going to be cool and windy. The temperature will reach about thirty degrees as the high, with winds gusting at thirty-five miles an hour. Wear a couple extra layers; it’s going to be a really cold day. As usual, there are going to be some low-laying clouds hanging around today, but they should be gone by nightfall. Tonight there is going to be no cloud cover, great night to go look at the stars. It will be a beautiful twilight, and the temperature and wind should both have died down by then, the over-enthusiastic weatherman from the seaside town said. The town had its own radio tower and station (KMDR, the Dreamy Station), but since it had no real news it had to take excerpts from the seaside town’s radio and current events.

The news reporter came on just then, and James went to get his black Jan sport bag, helmet, and night vest ready for school. As he came back into the kitchen carrying all of his school supplies and baseball glove, he heard a familiar voice on the radio. It was Fire Chief Roy, or so James thought he remembered him saying when he had introduced himself to the school, but it could’ve just as well been Ron. He was talking about the fire threat since there hadn’t been real moisture, the town needed to be vigilant. Whatever vigilant meant, then he thought, Well, yeah there’s no moisture, you have to have rain for that to happen. James packed his bag and was about to head to school when the radio announcer said the next song was James Dean, by the Eagles was coming up next. James almost jumped for joy; instead he went to the sink and washed his bowl quickly. He took the spoon and began singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs. As the song ended, he finished washing the spoon thinking, It is going to be an awesome day, little did he realize that it was the night that was going to be best part.

He turned the radio off, being out of breath was not how he usually started his rides to school, but to sing his favorite song, it was well worth it. He walked out the front door and checked that it was locked twice, before getting on his Mongoose mountain