Page 36 of Tito

“That’s me,” I said into the darkness.

“Lower your weapon,” cop number two said to cop number one.

The flames provided a reasonable amount of light where we were standing but did little to illuminate the home or the approaching officers, who were now fifty feet away by my guess.

“Wave your arms!” I said to the two police men. “The porch lights will come on.”

Two seconds later, the lights came on, blasting the yard with light. I watched in drunken embarrassment as two uniformed police officers hesitantly walked in our direction, one from each side of the house.

The first officer looked at the burning sofa, and then at each of us. “What the fuck’s going on here?”

“Burning some stuff,” I said. “Stuff we…I’m sorry…stuff ‘I’ don’t need.”

“Just decided to burn a few things on a Sunday night?” he asked.

Now that their guns were in their holsters, my level of courage had returned to normal. I nodded. “That’s right.”

“It’s not evidence, is it?”

“Sure,” I said. “Evidence that my ex has zero taste in clothes and furniture.”

“The Airborne Toxic Control Measure prohibits burning of household items, ma’am,” officer number two declared. “For future reference.”

“I’ll make note of that,” I said.

Officer number one stepped between us and the burning sofa. He looked at Mel—who still had her hands sky-high—and then at me. “Do either of you have any ID?”

I was barefoot, covered in soot, and wearing cut-off sweats and a wife beater. My hair was in a messy bun, and I hadn’t showered since just before going on the date with Tito. I looked like I lived under a bridge.

“Not on my person,” I said. “It’s in the house, somewhere. I’m sorry about the airborne toxic thing, but is this really necessary?”

“What’s Tank’s favorite kind of wine?” officer number two asked.

“He doesn’t drink wine,” I said. “At all. Ever.”

Convinced that I was who I said I was, he nodded toward the flaming sofa. “Do you have a way to put out this fire?”

The flames were higher than the roof of my house. Extinguishing it without a fire truck, hose, and ten eager firemen would be impossible.

“I suppose I can come up with something,” I said, lying through my teeth.

“Get it put out and go to bed.” He glanced at cop number one and tilted his head toward the house. “C’mon Bradley.”

Bradley shot him a glare of opposition. “You’re not going to check their ID’s?”

“You want to piss off Tank?” cop number two asked. “Go right ahead. Harass his daughter. You’ll be writing parking tickets next week.”

“I don’t know who Tank is.”

“Believe me,” cop number one said. “You don’t want to.” He glanced at each of us. “Have a nice night, ladies. Be sure and extinguish this fire.”

“Will do, officer,” I lied. “Have a nice night.”

As Bradley and his unnamed partner disappeared into the shadows, Mel looked at me with saucer-sized eyes. “Jesus,” she whispered. “I thought the first one was going to shoot me.”

“What did you expect?” I looked at her in sheer disbelief. “You were drunk and covered in soot while dancing around a bonfire with a steak knife in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.”

“Forgot I was holding it,” she responded. “Just caught up in the moment, I guess.”

“Yeah,” I glanced at the fire. “Me, too, I guess.”

“So, what now?” she asked.

I glanced at the bottle of wine that lay in the dirt, beside her. “Short-term, or long-term?”

She shrugged. “Both?”

“You spilled our last bottle of wine, so I guess I’ll go in and get another,” I responded. “That’ll fix things right now. Long-term? I going to make sure the next relationship I’m in doesn’t involve three bottles of wine, a bonfire, and a visit from the cops.”