We spent most of the night filling up water balloons.
Trent was the quarterback of the sophomore football team, lived about a block away, and was having a backyard party. Normally we would spend Friday night looking for girls, but they were all at Trent’s party. He was a year older than us, and no matter how cool you are, you can’t compete with that.
As we left my house and rounded the corner a Jeep came screeching to a halt, spilling out its human contents. “Where do you guys think you’re going?” the voice asked from behind the headlights.
It was the Seville brothers; seniors.
We could not hide our intentions, our cargo was conspicuous. What I saw next was so inspiring that all these years later I can still picture it, in slow motion of course. One of the Sevilles took a balloon from Johnny’s hand, hopped back up into the back of the Jeep, and proceeded to send said balloon 100 yards down the street from a launcher mounted on the roll bar. I’m sure the brass at the pentagon felt the same way on the stealth’s maiden flight, a mix of awe and giddiness.
We resumed our advance with new confidence. Our numbers were increased and our allies were obviously superior.
The sound of late summer fun could be heard on the other side of the fence as we all took up position. The signal was given and latex grenades took flight up over the roof, over the fence, and out of the best assault vehicle a suburban kid had ever seen. One advantage balloons have over artillery is that there is no loud boom, nor in-flight whistle to warn the targeted of impending doom; just sweet silence.
We could actually hear the first splash, followed by high pitched screams, and low voiced curses.
The plan was to run back to my house; fast.
It started out well but as we turned to bolt, the Sevilles turned on us. They were behind us, still had extra balloons, and shouted, “there they are,” pointing at us. We were trapped. Sophomores from the party in front of us, seniors behind us, time for plan B, the suburban scatter.
It is standard that when being pursued in a residential neighborhood you hop a fence and make your escape through back yards, trusting that you will regroup later. Every man for himself.
Proverbial wisdom says that when being chased by a bear you don’t have to be fast, you just have to be faster than the next guy.
I have never been fast nor have I ever been faster than the next guy.
Brian got to the wall right before the pack of angry football players caught up to us. He didn’t have time to hop over, but he did have time to dive into the bushes, I only had time to put my hands up in surrender.
There they were, a sophomore and senior coalition, holding me hostage with ammunition I had filled myself. They had me, but they wanted more. “Where’s the rest of ‘em?” they demanded, arms cocked, ready to throw.
I may not have been fleet of foot but that night I was quick. They did not know where Brian was, I did. They did not know Brian used to beat me up in elementary school, I did. Brian didn’t know what I was going to do, I did.
From his hiding place in the bushes Brian could not see me. I pled loudly, “I don’t know where they are, I swear!” all the while pointing to the shrubbery.
I was one of the proud few to finish that night with dry clothes. It was strange how all those upperclassmen had seemingly given up the chase and simply discarded their balloons in the bushes. How odd.
The party goers were drenched, my comrades were wet; covered in twigs, and I think the girls all went home in the Jeep. We walked slowly, and sloppily, down the street.
“Ball tomorrow?” Kirk asked. I nodded yes and went home.
11 thoughts on “BETRAYAL”
Those were the days, when kids only had to worry about water balloons.
“I love the vivid detail in your story and the hilarious ending. Reminds me of
Paraguay where during the Carnival season, the entire population engages in an
all out water balloon war. People throw balloons off of their balconies and
kids will chase you down the streets and peg you with their water bombs. My
comp and I had to change our clothes several times a day because we were among
the few crazy enough to be out in the streets.”
Man, those were the days…
My suburban home was surrounded by hills and golf courses.
Life revolved around both.
I once had to jump over a fence when I came face-to-face with a large Mastif named ‘Jake’.
“Hi, Jake.”, I said to the dog as I hopped the next fence.
“(Swearing)”, the other boys yelled as Jake chased them from HIS yard.
Back in the day, the worst one would get would be a black eye or bloodied lip – today, kids get taken to the morgue.
Good times, my friend. That night started a war with other casualties such as shaving cream balloons broken in cars, eggs and a lost NY Mets hat. We were hardcore, indeed.
The eggs mentioned by El Capitan Kg ended up on MY suburban!
The giant water balloon that was pitched into Megan’s VW convertible caused a fair amount of consternation as well. (Good times.)
Isn’t it marvelously interesting what mothers learn about adult children by reading their blog.
Mom, I have just scratched the surface.
KG, Mets hats deserve to be lost and none were harder than we.
Biggie, I think that VW convertable should get its own post… what about a big boulder, a car chase, and someone else’s red car?
UBJ, dogs did create an added challenge to “the suburban scatter”, but it was part of the deal.
Val, right? Now we worry about litigation.
Definite yes to the VW post. (I wonder if Ms. Simon has forgiven us yet.)
I’ll pass on the “boulder.” Besides, it was actually a very small rock that floats on water.
Great story, even better storytelling i think you just found yourself a new reader.
I love this! I actually just drove past Trent’s old house on Floyd drive yesterday afternoon and wondered if his folks still lived there. I had totally forgotten about that incident until just now! Blocked it out of my mind actually after the terrible things they did to us upon capture. Thanks a lot Dalyn!!!
Where are you at these days anyway? We just got back from a 5000+ mile road trip around the US and I wanted to drop in on you.
We have lived in Philadelphia for about six years now. You are welcome at my house any time. It’s nice to have people around who already know all my stories