Martine

Martine sat staring at the fish pond.  Over the sounds of grown up conversations, tinkling silverware and light chamber music which drifted out through the open doors of the dining room, she pondered the water and its lily pad tenants.  The sun felt very good on her back and just as it began to verge on being too warm, was cooled by an occasional breeze. 

She was enjoying the sight of the dragon flies as they flitted from pad to pad.  Every so often a carp would make a slight ripple on the surface of the water.  He’s probably looking for a fly or mosquito to eat for lunch she thought.  Martine watched a small yellow finch land on the Hazel which grew in the garden.  She loved Finches.  Their bright yellow feathers were so pretty and were often the only thing she could see as they zipped about the garden like tiny kamikazes.

This is a nice place to be right now she thought, but just as she was beginning to settle down, she remembered why she was sitting alone on the steps, while everyone was inside enjoying their post baptism luncheon.  She scowled at the memory of her mother quietly scolding her, while Gabriella swept up the mess.  While she adored her new little brother, she could not for the life her understand why everyone made such a fuss over him.

She folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head up to catch the rays of the sun, as she had seen her Aunt Celeste do whenever she sat outside on the patio.  Celeste was much younger than her sisters and was always given a glass of sparkling cider, which closely resembled the grown up drinks that her older aunts enjoyed.  Celeste was beautiful and sweet and always told Martine to call her Celeste instead of Aunt because she didn’t feel ready to be called Aunt yet.  Martine liked this because it made Celeste seem more like a cousin than an Aunt.  Cousins were people that you could have fun with.  Aunts were not.  Right now Celeste was inside, probably eating her shrimp salad and behaving appropriately.  Even Jacques, Martine’s Scottish terrier had deserted her for the cool of the kitchen and the possibility of Gabriella rewarding his patience with a piece of ham.

Well that is okay I suppose, she thought as she listened to the bees buzzing about in the honeysuckle.  The sun was beginning to feel too hot on her face, so she put her head down for a moment.  She thought about going back inside and apologizing, but then another breeze came through, cooling her off, and strengthening her resolve.  Maybe I was right to drop the china bowl on the floor after all, and God is making me feel happy and quiet out here on the steps, away from the grown-ups.  Martine knew that was not the case, but the thought did give her some comfort, if only for a moment or two.

She continued to listen to the sounds of the outdoors and decided that the buzzing of the bees went very nicely with the different conversations going on inside and the occasional ‘ting’ of a fork tine hitting a plate was a nice accent.  Adding to this quiet little musical interlude was the growling of her stomach which would rumble now and then.  I am hungry she thought as she visualized the cool gazpacho she had seen earlier in the refrigerator and the shrimp salad being placed on the plates with the tiny little grape tomatoes that she loved and slices of avocado. 

Once again Martine considered going back inside and offering an apology for her behavior.  She was about to get up when she heard the all too familiar “oohs” and “aahs” coming from the dining room and knew that  Christian had awoken from his nap and was once again being presented to the guests.    

Martine stood up and straightened out her dress, but rather than go back into the house, she walked determinedly toward the lily pond, where she proceeded to jump right in, shoes and all.  She splashed around excitedly, making as much noise as possible.  Two little finches that were nesting nearby in the hazel took note and flew off in search of quieter surroundings.  Martine rolled around in the pond, which was only two feet deep, but she was careful to make sure that every inch of her body was covered in pond scum and mud.  It only took a few seconds of her aquatic frolic to bring her parents and most of the guests out onto the terrace. 

One look at the expressions on her mother and father’s faces told her that she had gone too far this time.  Uh-oh she thought, until she noticed Christian, who in the arms of Celeste, appeared to be giggling as he waved his chubby little arms and reached out to his older sister.   

Blue Notes

Ray Donovan sat in the parked car and watched the passersby on the sidewalk.  Every few seconds he turned on the ignition and the wipers in order to get a better look.  Four bodies in the last six months and not a single clue to be had.  Well that is except for the marks on the necks – the press was guessing piano wire. 

Ray was pretty sure about where the bad boy was coming from.  In fact he’d followed him from Broadway for the last three nights.  Tonight he’d decided to wait for him instead.  The guy was pretty consistent, leaving the Alvin Theater shortly after intermission and making his way over to the jazz clubs on 52nd. Donovan was getting tired of Jazz.  He just wasn’t able to get his head around it - too much smoke and too many pauses.  How the hell do you even dance with someone with that stuff playing?  I guess somebody likes it though; the clubs are packed every damn night. 

He turned his head and watched a cab pull up in front of the 3 deuces.  A sharp dressed guy and rich from the looks of it stepped out of the cab.  He took a wallet from his jacket and snatched a few bills from it which he threw through the passenger’s window.  Tossing his cigarette into the gutter, he buttoned his coat and headed into the club. 

Donovan looked in his rear view mirror and seeing the sidewalk empty, closed his eyes for moment.  He opened one eye when he heard the sound of a woman’s laughter.  She was tottering her way up the sidewalk on a pair of black stilettos, hanging on to some guy who was just as tanked as she was.  They were hanging on to each other pretty tight, as they staggered up the sidewalk.  The guy pulled her in for a kiss which she didn’t seem to object to.  The two lingered alongside Donovan’s car, eventually leaning against it as things heated up.  Shit, Donovan thought as he turned on the ignition and revved the engine.  He smiled and raised an eyebrow as the two stumbled off of the car.

“Sorry bud” said the guy as the two continued on their way.  

The sound coming from the clubs could be heard up and down the street and through the closed windows of Donovan’s car.  Ray watched as a couple of teenage boys ambled up the street, their eyes looking from the parked cars to the row of clubs just starting to hit their stride.  Probably checking to see which one offered them their best chance of getting in.  Oops well they seem to have gotten lucky he thought as he watched the two boys walk into the Club Carousel. 

Donovan looked in the driver’s side mirror and watched as a black and white cruised slowly down the street.  It stopped for a few seconds about block away from where he was parked and then continued.  The door to the club opened and one of the teenagers walked out in the company of a woman most mothers wouldn’t care to see their sons with.  She was putting the cash in her purse and he was grinning like an idiot as they passed by the car on their way to the nearest dark corner for some schooling. 

Donovan had foolishly drunk too much coffee before setting out tonight and was feeling the need to relieve himself.  He looked around the car for a jar – anything to empty his bladder into, which by now was beginning to thump louder than the trash coming from the clubs.  Stupid, he thought as he stepped out of the car, closed the door and looked up and down the street before walking down the sidewalk in search of an alley.  He passed one which was being used by the teenager and his new best friend and continued down the sidewalk a ways until he found one behind a restaurant.  He walked back into the dark and away from the music and relieved himself of a pint of caffeine.  He zipped himself up and was about to turn around when he heard a piece of gravel crunch under foot. 

“You waiting for me Ray?”

Donovan turned his head just in time to feel the wire dig into his neck.   

A Guide for the Newly Married Debuts at #1 on The New York Times Bestseller List

By Lisa Penniman

Kennebunkport, ME – Newlywed Kimmy Pemberly attempts the exercises shown in Chapter Four of local writer Buffy Fitzpahtee’s latest book Marital Harmony From This Day Forward.  The chapter entitled “Ways to Sooth Your Man” helps newlyweds effectively deal with those new and often raw emotions that can arise from such things as “I Just Had to Have It,” “Adventures in Third World Cooking,” and “How I Learned to Love the Junior League.”

Kimmy especially likes the photographs and easy to read diagrams that accompany each chapter.  “Pictures make it fun!” she says.

 

Here’s Kimmy following the steps to sooth her man as he recovers from a recent altercation with a local fisherman.  Jeffrey, calmer this time as a result of Kimmy’s ministrations, examines the statement which arrived in the morning mail itemizing last month’s lobster dinner for forty-eight of his wife’s sorority sisters.

Kimmy, with her elbow firmly planted directly into the soft spot above Jeffrey’s collar bone, gently holds her husband’s head while singing a soothing African song, known among the natives to calm area wildlife after being shot at by tourists.

That a girl Kimmy!

The Fixer

London 1894
Herbert, or ‘Bertie’ as he was known to his friends and numerous mistresses, had just received another rejection letter from a publisher. Well, that really pops my pudding he thought to himself as he sat tapping his fingers on the desk. Having one’s work rejected was one thing, but to be constantly referred to as ‘the poor man’s Jules Verne’ well, that was just the last straw. He looked across the room at the machine which he had sworn never to operate again. He bit his lip, grabbed his coat and pen, and headed off to the French West Indies to settle the Verne matter once and for all.

Haiti 1869
On a break from his writing, Monsieur Verne had decided to take a long walk on the beach and had thus developed a nagging thirst in addition to a slight case of heat stroke. He had nearly made it back to the hotel, when he noticed a small edifice built just inside the trees lining the perimeter of the beach. Upon further scrutiny, he discovered that the structure was in fact a bar, furnished with a few tables and chairs set out on a lovely shaded verandah. Verne stood for a moment and squinted at the building when he noticed a young gentleman sitting at one of the tables. The man looked quite comfortable, despite the heat. In fact upon closer inspection, Verne noticed the man’s hair gently blowing despite no discernible breeze from the ocean. Odd he thought to himself as he approached the bar. He felt the breeze as soon as he mounted the steps, and looking up to find its source, was surprised to discover an object hanging from the ceiling. The machine appeared to have been constructed of paddles and seemed to rotate slowly of their own accord.

Unbeknownst to Monsieur Verne, upon his arrival in the Greater Antilles, not only had Bertie managed to rig up a spot of electricity (courtesy of an earlier, terrifying machine-powered excursion involving a gentleman named Edison) but he had also quickly assembled a ceiling fan (design borrowed from Phillip Diehl during a vacation to New Jersey in 1882). Aware that his opportunity had arrived and eager to knock the fondant from the Frenchman’s cupcake, Bertie introduced himself as an inventor of mechanical things, invited him into his beach side establishment, and offered him a very large Rum Swizzle (Bermuda, 1914 - delightful, but capable of delivering the most potent of hangovers), and the comfort of his cool surroundings.

In a short time Bertie had managed to impress the author considerably, gaining both his trust and admiration, and the two spent a delightful afternoon together on the Tiki bar’s porch – Bertie gaining a good deal of valuable information. After a few hours, Bertie stood up and excused himself, explaining that he had letters to write before dinner that evening. As he stepped off of the porch, he nodded to the young boy manning the levers which made the paddles go round and round.

“More air Monsieur?” the boy asked.

“Oui Marcel” responded Verne as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the breeze blowing down upon his head.

Bertie quickly ran through the trees along the beach and slipped into the hotel. Once inside Verne’s room, he found the manuscript and read through the critical passages absorbing as much as he could. He returned to his own room and began to write at a speedy pace. He smiled as the words poured forth from his pen and onto the paper. Imitating Verne’s handwriting had been a simple matter as Verne had been taught penmanship by the same nun who had instructed Maria Montessori, who had also been Bertie’s father’s cricket coach back in the days he spent at the convent school.

The next afternoon, he slipped the pages into his jacket and headed off to the bar to wait for his chance. Sure enough, the Frenchman sauntered up the beach at 2:00, climbed the steps and sat himself down at a table in the bar. He smiled at the Englishman with whom he had spent such a wonderful afternoon the day before, sitting at one of the small wicker tables.

Marcel, he of the magic levers, was nowhere in sight. This caused Verne a moment of concern, but was quickly remedied by another gentleman who appeared to be in charge of the levers in addition to the libations. The author was about to open his mouth and order a drink, when the gentleman behind the bar placed a large Rum Swizzle before him.

Verne smiled broadly at his new acquaintance and said “Ah Monsieur Wells, do join me for another afternoon discussion.” Bertie smiled, picked up his glass and joined the man at his table. Six more Rum Swizzle’s followed, and a short time later found Monsieur Verne sleeping happily below the cooling breeze of the rotating paddles.

Bertie laughed quietly, and headed off to the hotel where he managed to replace the pages of Verne’s work, with his own. He exited the hotel and after having a quick pee (the machine had operated flawlessly so far, but one just never knew with these things) made his way into the trees where he had stashed the vehicle. As he closed the door and turned the key, he felt a great sense of satisfaction, knowing that his books would never again be compared to any of those written by Monsieur Verne.

London, 2012
The tall man with the wavy hair and gray beard approached the slatted blinds and peered through them. He shook his head as the guide called out to him “Sir please if you will, the museum asks that you not touch the displays.”

The man nodded and stepped off of the podium, passing the sign which said “A replica of Jules Verne’s submarine ‘The Nautilus.’ The author, believed to have been suffering from the effects of rum poisoning during his stay in the Caribbean, ignored the advice of his literary agent and insisted on creating an underwater vessel fashioned in the shape of a shell and made entirely from teak blinds.”

Denied

School had ended for the day, and sister’s Lottie and Eva Shtupenhausen were finally free of their academic confines. The two had been hard pressed to sit still throughout the course of the day, requiring their teacher Miss Rhody to separate them on three different occasions. The first time had been when Eva had leaned out of her chair and smacked Lottie across the ankle with her ruler. Eva was a brilliant tactician and knew that Lottie had a spectacular blister fussing inside of her boot. One hard, well aimed smack delivered to the outside of Lottie’s boot would slow her down just as effectively as a glass of prune juice consumed prior to a trip across state lines.

Upon receipt of the ruler’s smack, Lottie had quickly shoved her fist into her mouth in an effort to stifle the scream which had forced its way up her throat and into the dark caverns of her maw. She looked at her sister from the corner of her eye and made it clear that retribution would be swift and painful.

Eva didn’t care in the least. She was determined to do whatever it took to disrupt the long effortless strides of her older sister. Lottie’s legs were six months in to a gargantuan growth spurt and were capable of out running her even while suffering the effects of an angry blister being rubbed raw by poorly tanned leather.

The girls had jogged home, keeping pace with one another until the moment their house came into view, at which point they broke into an all out sprint. Lottie, having been forced to a slower pace by the aggravated blister, sought to level the playing field by reaching out and grabbing Eva’s shoulder, twisting her dress as she pulled her backwards, gaining the lead. Undeterred, Eva grabbed a hold of Lottie’s wrist and twisted as she worked to break free of her sister’s grasp.

The two were neck and neck as they stormed up the front steps of their house. Lottie grabbed a hold of the door and yanked it with all of her mite. Fearing her sister’s victory, Eva reached forward and pulled on Lottie’s braid, causing her to lose her grip on the door’s handle, but not before pulling it free from two of its three hinges. Unable to fight the momentum created by her own strength, Eva found herself falling backward off of the porch, while bringing Lottie along with her.

Lottie, who had landed on top of Eva, was the first to get up and on the way, managed to grab a handful of dirt which she threw into Eva’s eyes. She made her way confidently up the front steps, but forgetting that her younger sister was made of extremely stern stuff, had slowed her pace considerably. Wiping dirt from her stinging eyes, Eva ran blindly past her sister where she collapsed on the floor, just inside the door. She felt around the floor frantically in her blind state until she found that which she was looking for. Dirty tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed the book and began to pull it into her chest.

Eva sat on the floor desperately trying to wipe the dirt from her eyes with one hand, all the while hanging onto the book with the other. Lottie pretended to have given up and began to turn her back on her sister. Feeling that success was finally within her grasp, Eva relaxed her grip on the book for a moment which was just enough time for Lottie to continue her rotation and tear the book from her sister’s hand.

“I had it first” screamed Eva kicking her feet against the wooden floor.”

“Too bad” laughed Lottie as she balanced the book on her arm and began rifling quickly through the pages, looking intently at each one before turning to the next.

By now Eva had recovered her vision and stood over her sister’s shoulder watching the pages fly by.

A grin of excitement began to form on Lottie’s face as she got closer to the page she sought. The corners of her mouth had started to curve upward, and small beads of perspiration had begun to form over her upper lip. Her hand slapped at the pages as she turned them faster and faster. Suddenly her smile disappeared completely as she looked down at the spot where the sheet should have been. Instead, all that remained was the tattered edges of a page that was no longer attached to the book’s spine. The girls stared at the book in complete horror.

Suddenly their anguish was interrupted by the sound of a quiet snickering. The two sisters looked up to discover their mother standing in the door way to the kitchen. She stood before them, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, sleeves rolled up neatly and her apron tied firmly around her waist. She smiled at the girls, while in her hand she held up a sheet of paper which had until recently been attached to the very book that Lottie held clasped to her chest.

Eva’s hands flew to her ears as if she were in the throes of an excruciating headache, while next to her, a solitary cry issued slowly from her sister’s mouth. Their mother raised her eyebrows as she held before them a page torn from the latest Sears, Roebuck and Company catalogue.

Displayed in the picture, standing for all to see was the Prince of Prairie Town, none other than local male model Jesse Taylor, decked out in the store’s latest frontier apparel. The caption below read “No girl can resist the supple leather wrist lets and elegant chaps made from Alpine goat fur worn by a rough and tumble snake hunter.”

The girls sighed as they watched their mother fold up the picture and stuff it into her linen chemise, forced to wait an entire year for their next opportunity.

The World Trade Center Remembered

For anyone who happened to grow up in New York and later settled in the D.C. metropolitan area (and there are many others beside myself), September 11th packs a double whammy. The images of the burning towers, the obscene hole gaping from the side of the Pentagon, and the enormous smoldering crater in Shanksville, PA are everywhere this weekend. The power of these images is indisputable, and difficult to erase. For my children, they have become the ultimate symbol of the deeds of evil men, replacing those images from my own childhood of the Holocaust and town lynchings.

Fortunately having grown up in New York, I had visited the World Trade Center many times and have many happy memories of the buildings prior to 9/11. Still, I was surprised to find one such memory surface the other night, while watching the nightly news, when my daughter commented that she hadn’t known that there was a subway that ran underneath the WTC.

My former sister-in-law, like nearly everyone who has worked in the financial markets in New York, had at one time, worked in the World Trade Center. Having worked in Manhattan for nearly 30 years she has seen and experienced her share of the bizarre. One day, as was her routine, she left her office at rush hour and headed to the subway located at 5 WTC. The human traffic on the platform was moving at a considerably slower pace than usual. My sister-in-law (let’s just drop the ‘former’ for style purposes) who stands about 5’3 in heels was unable to see over the heads of the other commuters and was therefore incapable of determining the exact cause of the bottle neck. She inched her way along with the rest of the exhausted people trying to get home, until she finally came upon the problem – in fact she nearly tripped over it. Moving slowly along the platform was a tiny, elderly woman. She was well dressed and did not appear to be homeless or suffering from dementia. Attached to the woman’s hand was a leash. Curious to see what kind of dog was being dragged through the WTC subway at rush hour, my sister-in-law looked down to find at the end of the leash, not a dog, but an enormous, white rabbit.

The image was certainly bizarre, but what struck my sister-in-law as being even more remarkable was the fact that everyone on the platform gave her the space that she and her four legged friend required. No one bothered the woman with a dirty look, an unkind word or an offer to shove her onto the track. Commuters simply went around her in the same way that they would have gone around a broken piece of machinery or a large crack in the pavement. For someone who grew up reading A LOT of Beatrix Potter, this is a powerful image – stunning!

And so for now I’ve chosen to keep this image of the World Trade Center front and center in my mind, for it truly is a thing of beauty. A mass of tired, stressed out New Yorkers, schlepping along the subway platform, ties askew, briefcases weighing heavily in their hands, blisters no doubt forming on the back of the feet from their high heels, patiently moving around an elderly woman and her rabbit.

I’ll continue to pray for those souls lost on September 11th and I’ll thank God (anyone’s God) for the people on that train platform who exhibited such beautiful peace and grace at the end of hard day.

This is how I will remember the World Trade Center.

Sadie's Greatest Day - Sort of a 4th of July Story (while it doesn't take place on the 4th, it does relate to firecrackers)

The life of Sadie the M80 came to an abrupt end at around 8:15 pm, when she exploded in front of the Heckman’s home, creating a spectacular noise and nearly causing Judge O'Hara to be cited for indecent exposure. At the time of the explosion, I was in the kitchen, foraging through the freezer for a Popsicle. Uh-oh, I thought to myself, upon hearing the noise. The “boom” set off an eruption of barking from the elderly schnauzer across the street.

I‘d never actually seen his reaction, but the sound of it was well known by the neighbors who lived near the O’Hara home. As Drew O'Hara would tell it, the sound of firecrackers would elicit such excitement and anxiety in Rudi that he would run directly to the dining room, where he would race frantically around the dining table, barking and defecating for 20 minutes. This in turn would send Drew’s father, Judge O’Hara racing out into the streets searching for the perpetrators of the crime. As Rudi became older, the O’Hara’s had to give him sedatives during the summer months, as there was concern that he would eventually fall dead at the sound of a car backfiring.

The noise created by the M80 seemed unbelievably loud for a firecracker, and sent me scurrying to the windows in hopes of seeing the explosion’s devastation. To my disappointment, there was no sign of an explosion, nor the culprit or culprits who set off the bomb.

The day had begun like any ordinary summer day on Long Island. Having eaten a bowl of Captain Crunch, and performed my morning ablutions to my mother’s satisfaction, the two of us hopped into the family’s station wagon and headed off to Manorhaven. Manorhaven was a public swimming pool which was located in the town next to ours. My friend Suzanne and her mother were going to meet us there and we would spend the afternoon hopefully wearing ourselves out swimming, while our mothers, stretched out on lounges, read Good Housekeeping, Ladies Home Journal, and exchanged neighborhood gossip.

After roughly two hours in the pool, Suzanne and I were summoned from the water by our mothers. We stood before them, water dripping from the ends of our hair and skin, while displaying blue, oxygen-deprived lips. Upon the receipt of $2 each, we were sent to the snack bar, located outside of the enclosed pool, on a small strip of beach which was part of the Long Island Sound. Once there, we were expected to take a break, get a snack, and let the blood in our bodies resume its normal circulation.

Suzanne and I sat at a picnic table eating our French fries while watching the kids on the beach play in the sand. We wrapped ourselves in our towels, which constantly slid off of our shoulders. This made eating French fries somewhat of a challenge.

Standing in line at the snack bar, were two boys from our neighborhood, Bobby Mallory and Michael Flynn.

“Did you guys go to the market across the street and get cherries?” Suzanne asked excitedly. Having just graduated from the 8th grade, Bobby and Michael were old enough to cross Manorhaven Boulevard on their own. At ten years old, Susanne and I were not yet allowed to go across the street, where there sat a small fruit stand, known for its’ incredibly tart, black cherries.

Bobby lifted his gaze from the contents of the bag and looked at Suzanne. “Uh, yeah.”

“Oh my God, those cherries are sooooo good! My mom always takes me over there to get a bag for the ride home.” She said gushing, her skinny legs swinging back and forth under the picnic table bench.

Both boys stared at her for a moment and then went back to perusing their bag. Once their order was up, they proceeded to take their trays, towels, and paper bag down to the beach. Unfortunately, the bag had become wet, while brushing up against Bobby’s towel and a small tear had appeared on its side.

When we realized that they were not going to respond to Suzanne’s comment, I held up my hand and looked at my fingernails, which still contained a slight trace of blue. “Are my lips still blue?” I asked.

Suzanne leaned in and scrutinized the color of my mouth. “No, they’re good. How are mine?”

I nodded, “they’re good.”

“Let’s go back to the pool,” Suzanne stood up and wrapped her Pink Panther towel around her shoulders.

As I was getting up from the table, I noticed what looked like a fat, red battery with a short string attached to it, lying under the table.

“What’s that?” asked Suzanne.

“I don’t know it was under the table.” I handed it to Suzanne for her inspection. She held it up and turned it around.

“It’s a firecracker.”

“Really, I’ve never seen a firecracker this big. All of the ones that I’ve seen look like birthday candles.” I said taking the firecracker back. “Is it a cherry bomb?”

Suzanne shook her head, reaching around and pulling her towel back onto her shoulders “No, a cherry bomb looks like a cherry. I think that’s an M80.”

“Oh.” I nodded, pretending I knew exactly what she was talking about. “What’s an M80?” I asked.

“It’s like a bomb I think. They’re really loud, and illegal. You can go to jail if you get caught with one. It must be Sadie’s.”

“Who’s Sadie,” I asked.

“I don’t know, but she wrote her name on it.”

When we got home from the pool, I was surprised to see my neighbor Mary Ann home from camp. When she saw me getting out of the car, she came running over, waving a package of bubble gum cards. The cards that Mary Ann held in her hands were not just any “run of the mill” bubble gum cards. They didn’t depict the faces and stats of baseball or football players. Instead, each card reflected the packaging of a well-known product, with the illustration and product name slightly skewed – so Purina Cat Chow was changed to Putrid Cat Chow, showing three cats passed out in front of a food dish which was full of fish skeletons, etc. At the time, Wacky Packages were highly sought after and collected by kids all over the country, making them difficult to find.

The two of us sat on my front steps, absentmindedly swatting at mosquitoes while we looked at Mary Ann’s cards.

“Plus I‘ve got three more packages that I haven’t opened yet,” she said, blowing an enormous pink bubble.

“Wow, can I have one?” I asked, holding on to the “Crust” toothpaste card.
“Nope - mine! “

“Please, you have two other packs. Come on, I’ll trade you.”
Mary Ann looked dubious. “Trade what?”

I thought for a moment and then remembered Sadie the M80 lying at the bottom of my pool bag.

“Okay, I have something to trade, but if you don’t want to trade for it, you can’t tell anyone that I have it.” Mary Ann’s curiosity had clearly been piqued by my added warning.

“OK,” she said suspiciously.

“Swear.”

Mary Ann nodded impatiently. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” She sped through the pledge, showing little sincerity, while crossing her heart with the requisite X.

“OK. I’ll trade you this for a package of the cards.” I said, presenting to her the oversized firecracker.

Her eyes grew wide “Holy shit! Where did you get that?”

I shook my head. “Unh-uh, can’t tell. Do you want to trade?“

“Yeah, I’ll give you all three packages of Wackys for that.” Mary Ann was clearly impressed by my offering.

“Okay, go get ‘em.” I felt very pleased with myself, certain that I had bested a 13 year old.

The exchange having been made, Mary Ann pocketed the M80 and went home for her piano lesson.

While Mary Ann’s nimble fingers were making their way across the ivories, her younger brother Tom’s, had been busy rummaging through her desk, when he stumbled upon the M80. He took it out and turning it around in his hand, whistled to himself.

When Mary Ann had finished her lesson, she returned to her room only to find Tom sitting on her bed grinning from ear to ear while waving the firecracker at her.

“Tom what are you doing in here, and give me that please.”

“Nope, not a chance!” he said bouncing up and down on his sister’s bed.

“Tom, that thing is dangerous, now hand it over.”

“I’m not handing anything over. This is mine now.”

Mary Anne moved forward in an attempt to snatch the firecracker from her brother. She was no match for Tom, who easily flipped backward over the mattress, landing on his feet on the other side of the bed.

Mary Ann crossed her arms, “Fine then I’ll tell mom.”

“Go ahead, and I’ll tell her about how you got that hickie on your neck . . . that you’re trying to hide with your collar . . . it’s a little warm for a collared shirt, don’t you think?” He asked raising his eyebrows.

“You little shit! You are dead!”

“Nah I don’t think so.”

Not wanting her mother to know anything about a hickie which may or may not have been healing on her neck, Mary Ann gave in. And so the M80 passed hands from sister to brother, and young Tom knew exactly what he was going to do with it. He flew down the stairs and out the door, the shoelaces on his untied pro-keds whipping along, all the way to the Marshall’s house.

Taffy Marshall was a college dropout who spent his days living at home with his mother, smoking pot and playing the drums. Marshall was also known . . . for raising snakes.

Tom skidded to a stop on the front steps, rapped on the door and waited. A few seconds later, Taffy appeared wearing a pair of cut-offs and an Emerson, Lake and Palmer t-shirt, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. “What’s up Doc?”

Out of breath, Tom managed to huff out his request. “Hey Taffy, I want to buy a snake, but I don’t have any money, I have something better.”

Taffy took the cigarette out of his mouth and scowled at Tom “Something better than cash?”

Tom pulled the M80 out of the pocket of his camp shorts and held it up for Taffy to see.

“Whoa, not bad!” said Taffy, admiring the firecracker. “Who’s Sadie?”

Tom shrugged “I don’t know.”

Taffy studied the firecracker closely, “Okay young man, come on in and pick out a snake. They’re up in my room.” Taffy dropped the M80 on the table by the front door, and the two of them went upstairs so that Tom could pick out a snake.

A few moments later, Mrs. Marshall arrived home from work and was on her way inside when she noticed Bobby Mallory crossing the lawn with a box in his hands. Bobby had been in a bad mood, ever since he discovered that the M80 he had purchased that day, was gone – probably having fallen out of a hole in its bag.

“Is that for me?” She asked nodding at the box of Amway SA-8 Laundry detergent.

“Yep, my mom asked me to bring it over to you.” He answered.

“Come on in and I’ll give you a check to give to your mom.”

So Bobby followed Mrs. Marshall into the house and waited in the front hall for her to return with a check. As he waited, he noticed the M80 lying on the table. He leaned over and grabbed the firecracker. He turned it over in his hand and nearly choked when he read the name on it.

“Oh man, this is just too fucking much!” he thought to himself, quickly sliding it into his navy and orange striped sweat sock. Mrs. Marshall returned with a check and Bobby was on his way.

Astounded by his luck, Bobby was anxious to set off the M80 but knew that for maximum results, he’d have to wait until about 8:00 pm when everyone was home and had finished their dinner. Having finished his own meal, he sat down in the den with his father, and watched Howard Cosell eviscerate the efforts put forth by the New York Yankees. Once the news was over, he got up and told his father that he was going over to Michael Flynn’s house to play pool.

Bobby went outside, hopped on his Schwinn and rode down the street to his friend’s house. The two boys headed downstairs to the basement where they proceeded to play pool for about 20 minutes, at which point, they decided that the time had come.

Instead of going back upstairs and out the front door, they used the outside cellar stairs so as to leave in secret.

They cut through the Anderson’s back yard, avoiding the carp pond and its swarms of mosquitoes. As they approached the house, they ducked down and ran very carefully so as not to attract the attention of Mr. Anderson who was sitting on his jalousie porch, watching an episode of “The Odd Couple.”

Once the boys reached the side of the house, they waited, making sure that no one was in the street or surrounding yards and driveways, who could see them.
As they looked around, Bobby ran his hand down his sock to reassure himself that he bomb was there. “Shit” said Bobby. “I don’t have it? It must have fallen out of my sock when were running through the yard.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Well we have to go back then and find it.”

The two boys crouched down again and ran as fast as they could, back the way they came, keeping their eyes on the ground. Unfortunately, in their absence, the Anderson’s had let their beagle out into the back yard. Daisy had been quietly patrolling the yard for squirrels, when sensing intruders, looked up and started a frenzy of barking. The boys, intent on finding the firecracker and remaining unseen, didn’t see her until it was too late. With no other choice, Bobby and Michael broke into a full sprint through the yard and the bushes that separated the houses. Just before they were to make a 90 degree turn at the Weavers house, Michael spotted the M80 in the grass, reached down, grabbed it and dashed out onto the street.

Having managed to cross the street without getting hit by a car, the boys sat down on the edge of Mrs. Taylor’s lawn and waited until they had caught their breath. Mrs. Taylor was an elderly widow who was subjected to endless rounds of Ding Dong Ditch once the weather became warm.

“Should we set it off at the pit?” asked Michael. The pit was an empty lot that had become a hang-out for neighborhood kids.

Bobby thought for a moment and shook his head. “No, ‘cause once we set if off, we’ll have to climb back up the hill. It’ll take too long for us to get out, and by then, we’ll be caught.”

“Why not just set it off here? We can light it and then just run back the way we came.”

“No, because once it goes off, everyone will look out their windows and see us running.”

“We’re fast. Come on, let’s just light it and run. No one will see us.”

Bobby sighed and said “Okay. Right here you think?”

Michael looked up and down the quiet street, nodded and said, ”It’s quiet, it’ll be cool.”

“Alright, which way are we running?”

Michael looked around the street and said “We should cross the street, go back through the Weavers, and around the side of the Anderson’s. No wait - Daisy’s probably still out.” He thought for a few seconds. “Okay, I know. We’ll cross the street, turn down Bellows Lane, and go through the Schnitzers. They’re always away in the summer.”

Bobby nodded and said “Okay, ready?” He took a matchbook from his pocket, tore off a match, and with a shaky hand, held it to the M80. When he heard the sound of the fuse hiss, he hurled the bomb as far down the street as he could, watching for a second as it landed in front of the Heckman’s house.

The two boys took off in the opposite direction. They had rounded the corner of Bellows Lane and were heading for the Schnitzer’s driveway, when they heard the explosion. They didn’t stop, but instead tore past the garage, dodged the Weber grill set out on the patio, took the stone steps two at a time, and charged through the trees dividing the Schnitzer’s house from the Smiths. They broke through the Ryan’s yard, ending up on Inness Place, just in time to see Judge O’Hara running down his front steps, wearing a Lacoste shirt, his boxer shorts and a pair of black Gucci loafers. Fortunately for the boys, the Judge turned left and was headed in the opposite direction, having no idea that the perpetrators he sought stood just a few yards behind him, standing paralyzed with fear.

And so it was, that after a few minutes, with a line of neighborhood children sitting on the edge of our lawn watching, the police arrived to investigate reports that firecrackers had been set off in the street. What they found, was Judge O’Hara standing outside his house in an agitated state wearing his boxer shorts. Saved by his reputation, and the corroborated accounts of many neighbors, he was ultimately spared the citation, and more importantly, Rudi the Schnauzer lived to see another summer come and go.