I used to be insane, but I'm cured now!
Back when I was in the 8th grade (13 years old) in North Carolina, I had been thoroughly schooled in “ballroom dancing,” wherein we learned the “box step” (of course), the schottische (STILL no clue), the polka, etc. Us guys were wallowing in the ditch somewhere between “snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails” and “Ricardo Montalban,” complete with appreciation for fine Corinthian leather, fine cigars and fine wines. And, of course, plenty of “English Leather.”
Well, I became rather attracted to a cute gal in my class at school who was also in “ballroom dancing” with me. I used to eagerly try to dance with her and resented the Hell out of ANYONE “cutting” in on us! Of course, that was all very proper dancing, way before the slow-dancing “clutch” was invented, wherein the formalities of holding the girl’s hand, with her other hand lightly on my shoulder and my right hand politely touching her waist, were rejected for wrapping oneself COMPLETELY around the dancing partner so that every possible square inch of body surface could be touching the other’s! Wow!
So, I asked the cute gal to the Junior Prom that spring, and she accepted. Having to pick up a date and being driven thereto by one’s parent is about the worst thing imaginable, but I thought we had a rather nice evening together. Sadly, she was rather distant thereafter. I was crushed. Then in the fall of the next grade year, our 9th grade, her church youth group had a hayride, and she invited SOME OTHER ASSHOLE to go with her! I was INFURIATED! (Still am!) So, I decided to get “even.”
My best buddy had an older brother who would drive us to the Virginia State Line about 15 miles away to buy fireworks, as I have mentioned previously. If we really pleaded and wheedled, the vendor might let us buy some really nasty stuff: the “cherry bombs” and the “silver bombs” that were really loud—and dangerous! We loaded up and came back home. Then we went to work.
My buddy’s house was about 10 blocks from where the cute gal lived with her parents, which was also about 2 blocks from the police station. However, we had decided to go “camping” that evening down the street from his house, so it would not be necessary to sneak back into his house after our planned “assault.”
My buddy and I had figured out that the “butch wax” we used by the bucket-load on our “flat-top” haircuts (to make them stand tall and straight) could be used to create “timer” fuses for the firecrackers. We would unravel the lacquered cloth fuses and flick all the black powder from them, then we’d twist them back up with a liberal dose of “butch wax,” thereby creating sort of a “candle wick” that was VERY effective AND would also give us time to make our escape! I can still recall the conspiratorial smell of that “butch wax” to this day!
And we did escape. Under cover of darkness, we slithered down the alley behind her house, entered her back yard, and placed timer-fused “silver bombs” all over her back yard, behind the downspouts, on the steps, the windowsills, EVERYWHERE! And then we lit them and took off!
We hauled ass down the alley and around onto the street, BEFORE the “bombs” went off, leaped over the edge of the dirt bank along the street and lay flat on the ground for what seemed like a century, our chests heaving like huge bellows. Then, the beautiful sounds of success tore the still night air! At least 4 of the 6 or 7 “bombs” we had set went off. We were elated!
In our “pre-attack” surveillance, we had listened to the various police cars (there were only 2 or 3 in our small town) so we could memorize what each one sounded like, and one had a particular “tick” in the engine. As we lay on the ground, wheezing, we could hear that ticking” noise go by very slowly after the noise erupted. We lay perfectly still and perfectly flat and waited for at least an hour, until we did not hear anything else. We knew that if we were even SEEN walking along the street, we’d be suspects.
We carefully got up and peeked over the curb of the street, saw that the way was clear, then furtively made our way back to our campsite, through the shadows and off the streets.
We eased into our sleeping bags and savored our evening’s success!
