He meant to borrow knowledge.
He borrowed trouble instead.

A Piedmont Lantern Story

It began on a Tuesday, which is already a suspicious day in Piedmont, because nothin’ good ever starts then and nothin’ bad ever finishes. Jimmy Matthew woke up with what he called a “learnin’ itch,” which anybody who knew him recognized as the earliest symptom of oncoming disaster.

“Jim Leroy,” he said, slappin’ my shoulder before I had even set one foot on the schoolhouse porch, “today I’m fixin’ to expand my horizons.”

That word “expand” worried me. Last time he used it, he tried to stretch a frog with a tire pump “for scientific purposes.” The frog survived, but it moved sideways for a week and a half.

“What horizons you messin’ with this time?” I asked.

Jimmy squared his shoulders and pointed toward the Piedmont Public Library like it was the gateway to heaven, Rome, or the hardware store.

“I’m gonna become a scholar,” he announced.

Now, Jimmy’s definition of a scholar was anyone who could read without movin’ their lips, which narrowed the field considerably.

We walked inside where Miss Lurleen Wallace, the librarian, ruled the stacks and card catalogue with the calm authority of a woman who’d lived through three husbands and enough overdue fines to buy a Buick. Miss Lurleen took one look at Jimmy and whispered a prayer that probably involved protection, patience, and structural insurance.

“What brings you boys in today?” she asked, settin’ her reading glasses low on her nose.

Jimmy puffed his chest like a blowfish.

“I would like to check out somethin’ educational.”

Miss Lurleen blinked.
“So… not comic books?”

“No ma’am. I aim to get me a head full of knowledge.”

She looked at me for confirmation. I just nodded because I wanted to see how bad this would get.

She led Jimmy to the nonfiction shelves, which he approached the way most folks approach a snake that’s not yet decided whether to bite.

“Pick somethin’ interestin’,” Miss Lurleen encouraged.

Now, the problem was that Jimmy’s mind worked like a stray firework. It never went where you expected and always involved noise, smoke, and confusion.

He scanned the shelves and grabbed the thickest book he could find.

“VOLCANOES OF THE WORLD,” he read proudly.

Miss Lurleen hesitated.
“That one might be a little advanced for beginners.”

Jimmy shrugged.
“I ain’t afraid of a challenge. Or a volcano.”

I reminded him that the nearest volcano was roughly a thousand miles away, but Jimmy said you never know when one might “surprise a fella.”

He checked it out using a library card he had acquired sometime in the third grade and had not used since, evidenced by the card’s condition, which looked like it had been through a wash cycle and possibly a minor house fire.

Now, the real trouble started when Jimmy took the book home.

See, Jimmy Matthew can’t read about a thing without attempting that thing, and he can’t attempt a thing without somehow gettin’ me involved.

He called me that evening, breathless.

“Jim Leroy! I done found a chapter called ‘Small-Scale Demonstrations.’ Listen to this. It says you can model a volcano right at home!”

“Jimmy,” I said, “those little models use vinegar and baking soda.”

“Well, sure,” he replied, “but that seems a tad too tame.”

That was the moment I knew a crime against nature was imminent.

Jimmy continued, “So I made some improvements.”

That sentence should be carved on his tombstone someday.

Turns out he had combined:
• One bottle of kerosene
• Two cans of lighter fluid
• A suspicious amount of fertilizer
• And a tube of Mentos for reasons I was afraid to ask

“It’s gonna be educational,” he assured me.

“Or fatal,” I countered.

I was still speechless when Jimmy hollered, “Stand back!” and dropped the Mentos in.

What happened next was described by neighbors as “a noise like the Second Coming” and by the Piedmont Fire Department as “an avoidable situation, though admittedly impressive.”

A flame shot so high it singed the bottom of a cloud. Birds evacuated the Gadsden area. Miss Lurleen saw the glow from her kitchen window and whispered, “Oh Lord, that boy chose nonfiction.”

The next morning, the library book looked like it had survived Pompeii. Jimmy returned it with an apology so sincere and pitiful that Miss Lurleen didn’t charge him the full damages, though she did recommend a devotional book instead.

He returned that one, too, but only after droppin’ it in the creek by accident.

“You know,” Jimmy said later, “education is powerful stuff.”

“Yep,” I said. “And so is kerosene, evidently.”

Jimmy nodded thoughtfully. “I think next time I’ll learn about somethin’ safe. Maybe clouds.”

To this day, Miss Lurleen will not shelve a geology book unless she checks the parking lot for Jimmy Matthew.

And to his credit, he has not made another volcano.

Yet…