Mischief: ‘on a live wire right up off the street, you and I should meet’ – smashing pumpkins

We’ll just creep alone on the little wall that overlooks the neighbor’s house. I wonder why we were doing this, why we were being so sneaky. What’s wrong with a little fun? They’re just eggs and toilet paper – I mean, hell, we figured they could even use the toilet paper to wipe the eggs off.

I don’t know, maybe this is wrong…nah. Everybody should do something like this just once. Screw the rules.  “…just once.”

Ah, the rebelliousness of that moment when we don’t even care what we’re doing and just do it. There’s nothing else in the world like a little mischief. We feel all big, and yet, as soon as the eggs splatter against the walls, we all start giggling like little school girls talking about first loves.

“Run, run!! Ha, ha,” a door bursts open and the neighbors start yelling.

“I sware to God, I’m going to call the cops, you little punks!”

Little punks. Little punks! We’re not little! Guess we’ll have to make a weekly outing of this. Ha, little punks. What do they know? We’re really just autonomous rebels seeking to free the whole world of its sobriety, and these old bums should be grateful that we started to free them of their sobriety first! I mean, I’ll bet every parent and old folk did something like that when they were our age. No fun ever killed anyone, right?

Ah, the weekend and Friday’s free-spirited fun.

What? It’s Monday? Oh well, Monday should be just as crazy as Friday in my book.

“The cops! Run!”

I didn’t think they’d actually call them. This is crazy. Run, run…should’ve worked out…oh man, what was I thinking…Mom and Dad are going to kill me. Pant, pant…God, I sure can’t breathe. Need…fresh air…gasp…I think I’m enjoying this.

Smack! I think my face just hit the ground. Hmm…this grass tastes kind of good; no wonder the dog eats it. Brodie is a good dog…if he’d just stop pooping inside the house. …figures that Mom and Dad wouldn’t have him trained. It’s not that hard…just a little…discipline. Oh yeah – the cops. Hmm, don’t see anybody. Maybe it’s okay to get up. I’ll just be really, really quiet, and…CRAP, THERE THEY ARE! RUN!

Oh crap, did I say that out loud?

Don’t panic, don’t panic. Just act normal. You’re just some suspicious teenager walking home, even though this your friend’s neighborhood and not yours and you aren’t sure where your friend is and maybe they won’t even notice you.

Whistle. Whistling makes everything normal. Whoofuu Tufuu…my whistling sounds nervous. I didn’t know it could do that.

“Hey, hey…you, kid! Get over here for a second – I want to talk to you.”

“Oh, hi officer.”

Woah, how many donuts did you have today? You look like Chief Wigam…bet I could run from you, fatty.

Uh…I’m running. I wasn’t serious about that. Why am I running? Hello, brain to legs, what are you doing? Can’t turn back now; gotta keep going.

Whew, lost them…and there’s my car. Everything’s okay.

Yeah, there’s a little guilt. Fine, I admit it. …just a little bit. But man, when I die and go to Heaven, and St. Peter asks me why I egged that poor man’s house, I can proudly say, “I had to retaliate against the oppression my world had created. I had to maintain the stereotype for my generation…or who would we be?”

Or maybe I’ll tell that to Beelzebub. Either way, it’ll make a good story.

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