Light it. Light it with gasoline cans stuffed with rags, lit in haste, thrown carelessly. Light it and run away. Run away behind some hay bales and wait. Wait for it to catch.
The cans will explode, gas expanding rapidly, too rapidly for the container holding it. Small amounts of metal will fly about, most of it will dissolve in the fire, the flames moving outward, upward, scaling the wood up to the tin, peeling the paint instantly with their heat. Don’t move, just wait there, just watch it go.
Reach out your hand and let the person you love take it. Bite your lip, it’s not time to kiss them yet. Wait for the fire to surge, to move through the barn, catch the hay, cascade flames upward, inward until they find the propane tanks, boil the liquid in them to gas and the second explosion comes. Then squeeze their hand and pull them close and kiss them. Don’t use your teeth: they’ll already be freaked out by all the explosions, it won’t be a good time to be aggressive. Be tender, be true, be romantic. It’ll be the perfect moment, just the two of you erasing the past for the future.
Go home the next day. Drive to where the barn once stood. File your insurance paperwork in a timely fashion, though not too timely. Remember this moment when you think of leaving the one you love years later, idly scrolling through bus tickets online, doing the math, figuring out if you have enough to make a new life somewhere else.
Congratulations on Watching the Barn Burn!
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