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They had driven to Chico late the night before, and after
warm greetings and short conversation we went to sleep. It
had been a long night of driving for them and a longer night
of cleaning my insidiously cluttered apartment for myself.
The next morning we awoke and made a breakfast of vegan
waffles. Rejuvenated by sleep, we talked cheerily of what
had developed in our respective lives. Chito and Bean at the
time were roommates with an incredible set of stories. They regailed me
with stories of beatings, macings, stolen car tires and
insults that almost made me blush - and I expected nothing
less. At this point Bean was in full force with Chito
peeping in with the occasional comment or insult. The two are perhaps two of the most spirited people,
woman or man, that I have ever met. Outspoken to say the
least, they have no problem with stating what either of
their opinions are on a subject in no uncertain terms.
Conversations were, needless to say, interesting. The three of us whittled away the day talking and
watching television. We listened and introduced each other
to bands (a time honored past time for hardcore kids such as
ourselves). It was in our preparations for dinner that the
infamous "Zach Edge" (his requested nickname) joined us.
With an entire night before us, and an uncommon combination
of friends, we wrestled with our plans. A union as rare as
this was hardly to be squandered on something so mundane as
renting a movie; an activity more virile was in order. We
sought a plan that would be a blessed union among water
balloons, a super soaker squirt gun and moving vehicles. A trip to the store and a half hour later we had two
trash bags full of ammo and a fully loaded SuperSoaker
boasting near a gallon of ammo. This was squirt gun of epic
proportions. Nearly as long as I was tall, it released a
stream that could rock parked vehicles and pick a man off of
his feet and deposit him in a tree or balcony.
It was like holding a battleship cruise gun in your hands,
that blasted water instead of shells. It is probably the
deadliest thing in man's creation short of dioxin, and we
had it in our arsenal. In Zach's car, we began patrolling for victims. Targeting
roaming party goers, we attacked with precision, accuracy
and the occasional expletive that will go unmentioned.
Bean and Chito comprised a two-pronged water balloon barrage
while I manned the gigantic water gun. The car vomited
aquatic projectiles, devoid of mercy or compassion. We were
the pirates of Chico, Calif. Our campaign was going well until Zach turned down a side
street. Before I could let a voice in warning, Bean let a
balloon fly. Aimed at a passing group of freshmen party
people, the potato sized projectile hit a 100 pound, high
heeled woman of maybe 19 years. Tagging her head, the
balloon rocked her delicate frame. The others giggling, my
head fell into my hands at the thought of a fast approaching
dead end. "Why the f**k didn‚t you tell us it was a dead
motherf**king end?" Chito exclaimed. "Had I time to explain this before terminator over here
blasted that girl in the head, I would have." I replied,
exasperated. After a heated exchange and cries of regret, there was
nothing left to do but turn around and head out the way we
came in. Zach wheeled the car around 180 degrees, pushing
into what seemed like certain doom. Locking the doors and
rolling up the windows, I had images of an enraged mob
dancing in my head. Pitchforks upraised and torches in hand,
they were going to peel the top of the car open like a
sardine can and massacre all of us inside. My parents would
read letter describing my demise from the police: Dear Mr. And Mrs. Grace, We regret to inform that your son was killed due to a
lynching of the severest type. While the exact motive has
not been determined at this point, we suspect squirt guns
were involved due to massive amounts of plastic bonded to
the burned form of your son's body. We extend our utmost
apologies in this time of sorrow, and will continue
diligently in our investigation of your son's untimely
departure. Our Sincerest Condolences, Chico Police Department. But, as the car crept past the crowd, they proceeded by
us with indifference. This amazed us to say the least. Had
the same thing happened to me, I would have attacked the car
like my name was Mad Max. Diving onto the hood snarling, I
would peel through the frame like soft butter until I got at
the impudent slobs whohad assaulted me. The fools before us,
however, had thrown retribution to the wind and went on
their merry little way. This only proved to feed our collective egos and the
rampage continued unabashed. My moment of glory came when,
while rounding a corner, I let the squirt gun loose at head
level and soaked the better part of 20 people partying in
the front yard of their corner house. This came with
exaltations of mirth from within the car and surprise,
sprinkled with anger, from the street. Zach slipped the
clutch, lunging the car forward as two men chased after us
on foot to no avail. The way the rest of the night went has become a blur of
memories. We unloaded both bags of balloons and most of
the super soaker. We decided staying out tempted fate beyond
our reason, so we consequently called it a night, or
almost... The super soaker was at its final bit of ammo when our
little assault team headed towards a 24-hour restaurant to
catch some late night snacks. We pulled up to a stop sign when
I saw the events unfold in slow motion: her back tensed as
she hulked the monster to her shoulder, the orange barrel
wheeling into firing position. The poor girl must not have
been more than 6 feet away when the stream of water the
diameter of a dowel rod blasted out. Zach exclaimed with
astonishment as we sped away down Main Street. I have stood at that same corner countless times before,
waiting for a ride or some other bit of miscellaneous
business. Had I been in her position (and I could easily
could have been), how would I have felt? Or better yet, how
bad would that have hurt? In the end, I guess the point would be, look out for
maniacs toting squirt guns that are as tall as they
are.
By Dane K Grace
