The Fire is Out

The fire was out and there was nothing that was going to rekindle it.
“Are you sure?” the pretty, young girl asked.
“Yes!” her boyfriend slammed the grill lid shut. “The charcoal is damp.”
The boyfriend wiped his hands with a rag from a nearby picnic table, then walked off. The young girl followed. The boyfriend leaned against a tree. He felt her approach.
“I’m done. The fire’s not gonna start,” he said.
“Do we need more charcoal?” she asked. The pretty, young girl placed her hand on his shoulder awkwardly.
“No use. It’ll take more than that.” He inched forward creating more space between them. With one hand he peeled away chunks of dry bark from the tree trunk. They fell lifeless onto the yellowed grass.
“Lighter fluid?” she asked. “I could go to the store and get both.”
The boyfriend faced her.
“No. I don’t need you to do that,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s no use.”
He walked away from the tree and his girlfriend and sat at the edge of the picnic table. A bag of buns and a package of cold hot dogs were on the table in front of him.
“Why are you so upset?” the young girl asked. She chose to sit across the table from him. He figured he would ignore her this time. He tried opening the bag of buns. The more he tried uncrossing the twisty tie, the more it seemed to cross. The boyfriend couldn’t open it no matter how hard he tried. Frustrated, he grabbed the buns and threw them in the barrel trash can on the far side of the table.
“Hey, it’s OK,” she said.
A cold breeze jabbed at them. The pretty, young girl shivered. Her boyfriend sat like a stone immune to the cold.
“No, it’s not,” he said. He didn’t try looking at her. “It’s not OK.”