by Mark Tufo
“Shhh,” Paul said as he pulled me to the ground.
“Dammit!” Ratsniffer was in his living room watching TV in full view of his new Caddy and us. “Now what? Do we abort?”
“No way,” Paul said. “We just stick to the rear of the car. He can’t see us from there.”
“Yeah, but passing cars can.”
“Then we’ll have to be fast. Here, put this on,” Paul said as he handed me a ski mask.
“You have way too much time on your hands.” I handed the mask back to him.
“Would you rather do in-school suspension until we graduate?”
“Good point.” I put the hat on.
“I’m gonna run over to his rear bumper. I’ll motion you when to come.”
My heart was thumping. Before this, everything was just talk and bravado, now we were going to actually do something. I thought about backing out, but just then Paul motioned. Well, I couldn’t leave him hanging, so over I went. My heart was racing so fast I almost didn’t hear him.
“Slide!” Paul semi-shouted.
“Wha..?” And then I saw Paul doing the universal slide symbol for baseball, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. I slid so hard I landed half under the huge car. My heart was hammering, my leg was cramping underneath me but I didn’t dare move. From my vantage point, I could see Ratsniffer had gotten out of his Lazy Boy and was peering out the window. He really did have a sixth sense for trouble. Luckily for me, Ratsniffer was suffering from a malady I really wouldn’t understand until later in life—night blindness. If he put his hand out the window, he most likely wouldn’t be able to see it with the light coming from his living room. But I’d swear to this day he was looking right at me. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he left the window and returned to his seat.
“Paul?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I crapped myself.” We both laughed hysterically as he dragged me out from under the car.
“Alright, let’s get this started,” Paul said as he pulled the can of spray paint out of his pocket. “You keep a lookout and I’ll do my artistry.” I began to peer over the bumper at Ratsniffer who was most likely engrossed in a ‘When Wild Animals Rip Each Others’ Throats Out’ documentary when I heard Paul mutter “Aw, man.” Without taking my eyes off, Ratsniffer I asked him what was wrong.
“The nozzle on the paint is frozen. Do you have a lighter?”
“Come on, what kind of special op would this be if I didn’t have a lighter?”
“Then get over here and dethaw this thing.”
I lit the lighter carefully to shield the light from Ratsniffer’s direction while Paul kept the pressure on the nozzle just to make sure it wouldn’t refreeze on this blustery winter night. And then it happened, our rude shove into hardcore crime. The nozzle unleashed its load into the waiting flame of the Bic, paint spray instantly turned into a line of flame and as luck would have it, it was aimed squarely at the car’s tail pipe. Yes, the same make and model that was later recalled for excessive fuel spillage through said tail pipe. Paul and I barely had time to notice the blue flame as it snaked its way straight to the fuel injectors. The rest, as they say, was history. We had barely traveled fifteen feet when the first explosion ripped the hood clean off. It would have been an awesome sight if we weren’t in such a rush to leave the scene. The second explosion was much more pronounced and we would later learn smashed windows two houses down from Ratsniffer’s. We had barely made it to the library before we heard the familiar blare of the town fire siren. By then sweat was pouring off us.
“Ginner, we can’t go up into the library looking like we just ran a marathon.”
“We’re gonna have to take that chance, we can’t mess around now. We definitely have to make it look like we were here all night. Wipe the sweat off and let’s go.”
We had barely managed to grab our seats when a cacophony of police and fire sirens wailed by.
“Oh my, I wonder what happened,” Miss Crinkage, the head librarian said as she came shuffling to a window near us to see what all the fuss was about. “Oh dear, it appears to be a fire,” she said, squinting. I let out a heavy sigh of relief. Paul looked at me with questioning eyes and mouthed ‘What?’ I made two circles with my fingers and held them up to my head and mouthed back, ‘No glasses’.
“Oh,” he sighed back. We hoped her limited eyesight would not be able to detect our glistening foreheads or rosy cheeks. We did little more than stare at our respective books, but we dared not leave until well after the fire was dispelled and the police had done all their questioning. We wanted to make sure our timeline was as solid as possible because we were definitely on a short list of suspects that Ratsniffer would point out. We most definitely headed straight to the top of his list, primarily because we were ultimately the suspects closest to the proximity of the crime.
Ratsniffer already had us convicted, but of course the complete lack of evidence and the rock solid statement by the head librarian pretty much kept our heads off the chopping block. After that incident Ratsniffer backed off us and actually took a job to be head dean at a private school in Connecticut. We weren’t going to miss him.
The rest of the school year hauled by, especially with us not having to look over our shoulders all the time. And to be honest, we had been pretty freaked out by the whole incident, we were only aiming for a little graffiti, not arson. So for at least a few months, Paul and I became model students. Our collective parents were duly impressed.
CHAPTER 6 – Journal Entry 6
Summer hit with all the oppressive heat and humidity that only the New England region could deliver, but as kids, we didn’t notice it too much. Playing baseball took up the majority of our time, that and a thing we liked to call night games. At night we would play this game called jail. There were two teams and the object was for one team to hunt down the other team and put them in ‘jail’. But the real reason for the playing of this game was Lacy Mullins. Paul and I both wanted her; she was literally the girl next door. And any chance we could have to chase her was well worth the effort. Lacy wasn’t overly pretty, she just had something about her. She was sort of sultry as sultry as a fourteen year old can get, anyway. She mainly dug Paul, but when they had an occasional spat I was more than happy to lend a shoulder to cry on. I didn’t truly realize it then, but this girl put a lot of stress on my and Paul’s friendship and had we not had such a strong bond, the fate of our planet might actually have turned out vastly different. All for a girl. Wouldn’t be the first time, I suppose.
The summer was the last truly innocent, or better yet naïve, summer of my life. To me, I was still a kid—I still loved to play baseball and expand my baseball card collection. Besides a little macking with Lacy, the opposite sex was still a complete mystery. My parents were still all-knowing. The thought of driving seemed eons away. And so, we cruise-controlled our way into tenth grade, high school. Walpole was so far behind the times, ninth grade was still considered middle school. And like a punch drunk fighter who has cold water splashed on his face, my eyes opened wide. Much of that awakening can be attributed to a girl named Alice Potter. She was a transfer student from Pennsylvania. The first time I saw her I knew she was trouble, but as a young teenager, not much machinations of the brain are present. Most of my thinking was being driven by the excessive hormones my body was producing. I’m not sure what she saw in me, maybe it was that we were so completely different; she was a product of flower children parents. You know the type, suede jacket with the fringes, sundress; she even had flowers in her hair. And a sly smile that melted my heart. I was hooked and we hadn’t even kissed yet. The rumor mill had her pegged as a girl who would go out with anybody anytime. I think that only heightened my desire for her. Her bright auburn hair matched her eyes to a tee. And the way she moved, even I knew I was in way over my head, but where the heart leads, the body will follow. And somewhere in all that mess is the brain completely covered over in moss and virtually useless. She
taught me more in the three whirlwind months we went out than the two girls before and most of the women I would later meet. She was my first love and she broke my heart in such a way that I never thought I would trust a woman again, and for the most part, I don’t. Christmas pretty much sucked, especially with me sulking through winter break. My mother actually expressed some concern over me, but that quickly faded as she realized she still despised my father. Just hearing her talk on the phone to her friends or sisters about how much she hated him was a constant reminder. But God has a plan for all of us, so I’m told. He taketh away and he giveth.
CHAPTER 7 – Journal Entry 7
We went back to school in January in one of the worst cold snaps recorded. It was the kind that when you opened the door and took your first breath the snot in your nose would freeze. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I had begged my mother for a ride, but she had refused. She hadn’t woken up with me since the third grade and she saw no reason to start now. So there I was at the bus stop, dancing around like the other ten idiots trying to keep from freezing solid. I was in entirely too much misery to take too much notice of my fellow sufferers. They weren’t any people I hung out with anyway. I recognized all but one. I tried, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing him in school. Oh well, must not have made that big of an impression and to be honest, I didn’t care much beyond the thought of the once again late but heated school bus making a hasty arrival. The bus was packed, which at this point was a great relief; more bodies meant more body heat. I don’t think I stopped shivering until we finally got to the school and then I had to get off the damn thing. I was going to have to make sure to beg my mother for a ride tomorrow. This was ridiculous. I trudged my way up to the third floor where my homeroom was. I just wanted to get rid of my books and my jacket and gloves and all of the other gear that rounds out a day in frigid New England. I sat down at my chair, which by the way was now one removed from the back row. It used to be the back row, but an extra row had been added in the off time due to a teacher’s illness. The school administration had not been able to replace her before the start up, so in their infinite wisdom they had simply dispersed students throughout the rest of the classes. I turned to see the person who had enviably taken my favorite seat from me. It was the kid from the bus stop. He couldn’t be from around here; I knew everyone in my class, whether I liked them or not, and he was neither. I just didn’t know him. I guess the Yankees hat should have given him away. Nobody with half a brain wore a Yankees hat in the heart of Red Sox country even in the winter.
“Hey, my name is Dennis.” He leaned over his desk and extended his hand. I had almost been ready to turn back around without taking the proffered hand but that gesture would have had cataclysmic effects further on down the road, and I also would have missed out on the person that would share co-best friend honors. Not that I knew it then. And he still had that damn Yankees hat on. But we shook hands and went on from there. I told him my parents were going away this weekend (not together I might add) and I was having a party and he was more than welcome to attend. He thanked me and told me he was new to the area and would look forward to meeting some new people. I told him if he had any inclination of getting somebody to actually talk civilly to him and girls to even look at him, he might not want to wear that hat. He laughed and assured me it wouldn’t matter what hat he wore, girls loved him no matter what and everybody else could go jump off a bridge. We both knew it was male bravado, but we laughed anyway.
The week stayed in the below zero range; my mother never budged on the whole ride thing. Dennis and I never talked much at the bus stop more than your average pleasantries, it was just too miserable. Homeroom really wasn’t the place to develop friendships, either. Everybody was too busy wiping the snow from their shoes and attempting to rid the chill from their bones. Early January in New England can be amongst the most severe weather in the nation and this one was no different. The school week sludged by and I was actually too busy concentrating on heat I didn’t piss off one teacher. It had to be a record. Friday came at last. I reminded the appropriate people about the party so that they would disseminate the information. Dennis assured me that he would be there. To be honest, I didn’t care one way or the other. My dad left right after dinner Friday night to parts unknown. I knew without a shadow of a doubt I wouldn’t have to worry about him until late Sunday night. My mother could be the trickier of the two—she played cards every Friday night and she was about fifty/fifty when it came to spending the night over at her friend’s house a few towns over. If she did not stay the night, I could expect her home like clockwork at 1:45 am. That might put a damper on the events to unfold, but it sure wouldn’t stop them. My mother got a late start getting out of the house, that was the most nerve racking part. I had told people to start showing up at 7:30 pm and she was just walking out the door at twenty past. Dodged that bullet, now I had the gut-twisting time of being in an empty house. This is the time when you wonder if people like you or not. There are no guarantees when you have a party even in near frigid temperatures; if people don’t like you they won’t come. So you sit there in anticipation of the first guests’ arrival. Inevitably, they are your closest friends, which can be a blessing or not. If they are the first and only to arrive, you can be labeled a loser by the ones who are closest to you. So I waited. 7:30 pm came and went, not a big deal, nobody shows up on time, right? 7:45 pm came and the bell rang. I opened the door. It was Dennis. Oh, great, I thought, now the new kid is gonna think I’m a loser.
“Hey, Dennis, how you doing?”
“Not bad. Sorry I’m late.” He walked into the house. “Where is everybody?”
“Well, you know how it is—you tell everyone 7:30 and nobody shows ‘til 8.” At least I hoped that was the case.
“Yeah,” he said but I wasn’t sure if he said to allay my fears or in agreement. Oh well, I guessed only time would tell.
“Want a beer?” I asked.
“Sure, what flavor you got?”
“Mostly Moosehead, but there’s some Budweiser in there.”
“I’ll take a Moosie.”
I no sooner turned to get the beers when the doorbell rang again. It was Paul and another one of our friends, Kevin Thomas, but much more interesting was the line of people coming down my street. My first official party looked to be getting well under way.
“Hey bud,” Paul said as he pulled me aside. “Who’s the guy in the Yankees hat?”
“That’s that new guy Dennis I told you about.”
“He better hope nobody wants to get in a fight when they get drunk.”
“Yeah, that definitely takes some nerves to wear that thing around here.”
“Nerves or stupidity, sometimes the two can be so closely intertwined as to be indistinguishable from each other.”
“Nice, big words.” I high fived him.
“Did you like that?” he said with a big grin. “I’ve been working on extending my vocabulary.”
“Save it for the girls, Einstein. Want a beer?”
“I never thought you’d ask.” He put an arm around my shoulder and we headed into the kitchen. “How did you get all this beer?”
“I told my sister I was having a party and she bought it for me.”
“When?”
“While she was home for winter break from college.”
“You’ve been sitting on this stockpile for a week and you never told me? I’m hurt,” he said mockingly.
“You know if I told you, you would have wanted to raid it from the get go, and we’d be high and dry for the evening.”
“You’re probably right, my friend.”
“Probably?” I raised my eyebrow at him.
“Just get me a beer so I can scope out some of the girls.”
The party was cranking, the girls were gorgeous, and the beer was flowing. The cops hadn’t busted it up and I was sucking face with some little honey. Damn, I hoped she wouldn’t ask me what her name was, ‘cause I didn’t have a clue. Midnight was
rapidly approaching and my mother would call like clockwork to let me know if she was spending the night at her friend’s. Luckily, I had just enough presence of mind, though not much, to lower the music and let everybody know what was going to happen. I wish I had a video camera because what was two minutes ago a loud beer-guzzling, girl-chasing event now turned into a quiet waiting game. Everyone was literally staring at the phone, hoping it would ring so the fiesta could continue. Twelve o’clock came and everyone, even Chris Smith who was puking in the bathroom, held their breaths. Okay, twelve o’clock and ten seconds. Twelve o’clock and twenty seconds. How much longer could we hold our breaths? At twelve o’clock and forty-two seconds the phone finally rang and everyone let their breath out. I put my hands up to hush the already church-like crowd.
“Hello?” I said, trying my best to sound tired and not drunk.
“Hi, honey,” my mom said through the phone line. “We’re going to be playing late tonight. I’ll be home in the morning.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Is everything alright?”
Oh no, did I slur? “Yeah, everything’s fine, Mom, I’m just really tired.” And I did my best exaggerated yawn; I even moved my arms much to the delight of the anticipatory crowd.
“Alright, honey.” Thank God nobody else could hear this. “Sleep good.”
“Thanks, Mom. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I hung up quickly because I knew Paul’s hand was on the stereo volume control. He had the music cranked back up before I had the phone in the cradle; luckily I had pushed down the tab first. The crowd did a collective ‘hurray’ and resumed their previous business. Whether it was drinking or in poor Chris’ case, just plain old puking.
Dennis came up to me. “Hey, Mike, great party.”
“How could you tell—your face was planted in that girl’s.” We laughed.
“Yeah, pretty good, huh? I had to come up for air and beer. Thanks for inviting me.”