1969 Part II

by

Doug Larson

I don’t remember her name.
Fact is, I don’t think I ever knew it.
We gave her Hell.
She didn’t deserve it, of course
she just got caught between our dribbling hormones
and boredom.
Our bus driver.
I mean, she wouldn’t let me on the bus that day
but who would?
Me, with a working spear gun in my hand
hormones dribbling everywhere
and common sense in short supply.
I didn’t hold that against her.
We were just boys
and boys will be boys.
That morning we left a good half hour early
on our bikes.
We wanted a good head start on the bus that would be coming our way.
We needed time to prepare our trap.
Oh yeah.
We rode down the hill and turned north on P.V. Drive
hung a left past the golf course with its rolling greens
and country club estates.
Kirk waited back by the stop sign.
The last checkpoint before the road dips
and winds the last mile or so
to the sea.
The rest of us rode on ahead, and pulled off the road
just ahead of the hairpin turn.
We stashed our bikes in the trees, and climbed up the hill
the road snaking past just below us.
The plan was that Kirk would ride out ahead of the bus
slowing it just before it reached our perfect ambush
where the eggs we had been carefully transporting all morning
would be accurately exported from our anxious fingers.
We were so pumped up with adrenaline
hiding there in the trees like the G.I.’s in Vietnam
we could hardly stand it.
When we spotted Kirk coasting slowly down the road
and that big yellow bus-
God! The windows were even open! -
it was like an epiphany.
My heart was pounding like a hammer as it cruised by
and with an assembled yell like an Apache war cry
we let fly.
-
I guess you could say there would be Hell to pay.
We probably knew it at the time
but our collective fear was lost in the thrill of the moment.
We were just boys
and boys will be boys, after all.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Smiles
by: Nick Cantarella
from: Bloomfield Hills, MI, US

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