In the meantime, however, I'll post this really short story that I wrote for my WRI101 class about one of the many escapades from my tween years. It's a little more formally written, but it's a fun little story. An appetizer for the entree that I will serve your table after I decide what to cook. (That metaphor was way too convoluted, I apologize.)
When my brother, Mitch, was in high school, a few of his older friends introduced him to the art of “gobbling,” a high-profile neighborhood prank consisting of “borrowing” Christmas lawn decorations from as many neighbors as possible and setting them up in an unlucky target’s yard, all under the cover of night. A few weeks after Mitch’s seventeenth birthday, Christmastime arrived, and he was chosen as leader of the year’s “gobbling” mission. Naturally, my pre-teen rebelliousness inspired me to volunteer as his sidekick.
This year’s setup was to be the largest yet, and my brother’s cronies spent days sneaking a reindeer from this house, a blow-up penguin from that house, and storing them in our garage. I watched over the merchandise with a careful eye and a secret satisfaction. By the time the chosen night rolled around, I was ready for the thrill of the “gobble.”
Less than fifteen minutes after our one o’clock arrival, my brother’s car was empty and the target’s front yard looked like Whoville after a hurricane. It was fantastic. The victim, one of Mitch’s childhood friends, was a nice enough kid with a three-legged-dog, and we were sure the display would have him chuckling for days. We admired our work for a few moments before getting back into the vehicle for a speedy—and successful—escape. I felt like a badass. My brother drove down the street casually, music blaring, as he offered me a fist bump.
That’s when we saw the blue lights.
“Shit,” Mitch said under his breath. “Where the hell’d he come from?”
I hushed up, eyes growing wide, blood draining from my face. My brother pulled over, the police cruiser following.
A flashlight tapped on the window, urging Mitch to roll it down. He obeyed, dejected. Surely we had been foiled. It was nice knowing you, Mom and Dad—we were looking at jail time.
“License and registration,” the officer stated, rather than asked. He was a tough, leathery guy, wearing short sleeves in the freezing winter night.
“Here you are, sir.”
The officer lit up the car with his flashlight, staring into our pale faces.
“Why are you kids out so late on a Tuesday night?”
“We were just leaving a friend’s house, officer. My sister isn’t feeling well,” Mitch replied coolly. The officer flashed the light at me and I managed a fairly realistic cough, hoping to earn his sympathies. He returned the blaring light to my brother’s face. He knows, I thought. Here it comes.
“Pop your trunk.”
“Um, did we do something wrong?”
“Just pop your trunk.”
The officer was gone for only a few seconds before we heard the trunk slam shut and he reappeared at my brother’s window.
“Alright. Where are they?”
“Where is what, sir?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“The baby Jesuses. Where are they?”
We were lost. His friends had stolen a lot of property, but they never messed with nativity scenes. That wasn’t kosher. My brother didn’t answer, I suppose because he didn’t know how. The officer got angry.
“Where are you hiding the baby Jesuses!?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mitch was remarkably calm; clearly, he’d dealt with law enforcement before. His innocent tone got to the officer.
“Okay, okay. I believe you.” Only a hint of suspicion remained in his eyes. “Several baby Jesuses have been stolen from this neighborhood and placed in mailboxes around town. I’m canvassing for suspects.” I could tell this made him feel important.
“I’m sorry to hear about that. That’s awful.”
“Yes, yes it is.” He was obviously offended by the baby Jesus scandal. He paused for a moment before regaining his authority. “Get your sister home and in bed, kid. Have a happy holiday.”
“Thank you, sir. Good night.”
My brother rolled up his window, put his car in drive, and inched away from the scene. It was several minutes before either of us spoke. It would be several months before I stopped pulsing with fear at the sight of flashing blue lights.
The next morning, the target and his three-legged dog found out they had been “gobbled.”
Mitch and I woke to find a baby Jesus in our mailbox.
1 comments:
I love the reference to Milky at the beginning! <3 :*)
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