Indian Hill Read online

  “Dude, you’re a genius,” I exclaimed as I slapped him on the back.

  Too bad the genius was short lived. We entered the sparsely populated library, making sure that our presence was noticed by being a bit loud upon entry. The head librarian was quick to shush us and look us up and down in that disapproving way adults do. Paul even made sure to go up to her and ask her for assistance in helping us locate a book for a report we had to do. When she realized that maybe these young hooligans were actually here to study, her demeanor softened a bit. We both made sure she got a good look at us and talked to us for a bit before we retired off to the far reaches of the south corner, and surprise, surprise, right next to the basement door.

  The basement was far more disorienting then I would have expected. It seemed to be the repository for lost books… globally. Random stacks of books rose from the floor like literary stalagmites. We took great care to avoid those; one spill could alert the librarian something was amiss, or bury us. The window, which I figured would be painted shut, flew open with the slightest push. The fates were definitely shining down upon us, at least that was the theory at the time. We took extreme caution to make sure that our operation went completely undetected; it would do us no good to be caught running around Ratsniffer’s neighborhood moments before some ghastly deed was done. We even took to diving in hedges before passing cars.

  “You sure you know where Ratsniffer lives?” But before Paul even responded I saw his car, a brand new white Cadillac. How he affords that thing I had no idea.

  “Dude, put these on,” Paul said as he handed me a pair of surgical gloves.

  “Good call. You really thought this out.”

  “Shhh…” Paul said as he pulled me to the ground.

  “Dammit!” Ratsniffer was in his living room watching TV in full view of his new Caddy and us. “Now what? Do we abort?”

  “No fricken way,” Paul said. “We just stick to the rear of the car, he can’t see us from there.”

  “Yeah, but passing cars can.”

  “Then we’ll have to be fast. Here, put this on,” Paul said as he handed me a ski mask.

  “You have way too much time on your hands,” as I handed the mask back to him.

  “Would you rather do in-school suspension until we graduate?”

  “Good point,” I said as I put the hat on.

  “I’m gonna run over to his rear bumper. I’ll motion you when to come.”

  My heart was thumping. Before this everything was just talk and bravado, now we were going to actually do something. I thought about backing out, but just then Paul motioned. Well, I couldn’t leave him hanging, so over I went. My heart was racing so fast I almost didn’t hear him.

  “Slide!” Paul semi-shouted.

  “Wha..?” And then I saw Paul doing the universal slide symbol for baseball, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. I slid so hard I went half under the huge car. My heart was hammering, my leg was cramping underneath me but I didn’t dare move. From my vantage point I could see that Ratsniffer had gotten out of his Lazy Boy and was peering out the window. He really did have a sixth sense for trouble. Luckily for me Ratsniffer was suffering from a malady I really wouldn’t understand till much later in life, night blindness. If he put his hand out the window he most likely wouldn’t be able to see it after the flooding of light in his living room. But I’d swear to this day that he was looking right at me. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was more likely the end of the commercial break, he left the window and returned to his seat.

  “Paul.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I crapped myself.” We both laughed hysterically as he dragged me out from under the car.

  “Alright, let’s get this started,” Paul stated as he pulled the can of spray paint out of his pocket. “You keep a look out and I’ll do my artistry.” I began to peer over the bumper at Ratsniffer who was most likely engrossed in a ‘When wild animals screw’ documentary when I heard Paul mutter “Aw shit.” Without taking my eyes off Ratsniffer I asked him what was wrong.

  “The nozzle on the paint is frozen, do you have a lighter?”

  “Come on man, what kind of special op would this be if I didn’t have a lighter?”

  “Then get over here and dethaw this thing.”

  I lit the lighter carefully to shield the bulk of light from Ratsniffer’s direction while Paul kept the pressure on the nozzle just to make sure that it wouldn’t refreeze on this blustery winter night. And then it happened, our rude shove into hardcore crime. The nozzle unleashed its load into the waiting arms of the Bic's flame, paint spray can instantly turned into flame thrower and as luck would have it, it was aimed squarely at the car’s tail pipe. Yes, the same make and model that was later recalled for excessive fuel spillage through said tail pipe. Paul and I barely had time to notice the blue flame as it snaked its way straight to the fuel injectors. The rest, as they say, was history. We had barely traveled fifteen feet when the first explosion ripped the hood clean off. It would have been an awesome sight if we weren’t in such a rush to leave the scene. The second explosion was much more pronounced and we would later learn smashed windows two houses down from Ratsniffer’s. We had barely made it to the library before we heard the familiar blare of the town fire siren. By now sweat was pouring off of us.

  “Ginner, we can’t go up into the library looking like we just ran a marathon.”

  “Dude, we’re gonna have to take that chance, we can’t mess around now. We definitely have to make it look like we were here all night. Wipe the sweat off and let’s go.”

  We had barely managed to grab our seat when the cacophony of police and fire sirens wailed by.

  “Oh my, I wonder what happened,” Miss Crinkage, the head librarian said as she came shuffling to a window near us to see what all the fuss was about. “Oh dear, it appears to be a fire,” she said as she squinted. I let out a heavy sigh of relief. Paul looked at me with questioning eyes and mouthed ‘what?’ I made two circles with my fingers and held them up to my head and mouthed back, ‘no glasses.’

  “Oh,” he sighed back. We hoped her limited eyesight would not be able to detect our glistening foreheads or rosy cheeks. We did little more than stare at our respective books, but we dared not leave until well after the fire was dispelled and the police had done all of their questioning. We wanted to make sure that our time line was as solid as possible, because we were definitely on a short list of suspects that Ratsniffer would point out. And a short list it was. We most definitely headed straight to the top, primarily because we were ultimately the suspects closest to the proximity of the crime. Ratsniffer already had us convicted but of course the complete lack of evidence and the rock solid statement by the head librarian pretty much kept our heads off of the chopping block. After that incident Ratsniffer backed off of us and actually took a job to be head Dean at a private school in Connecticut. We weren’t going to miss him.

  The rest of the school year hauled ass, especially with us not having to look over our shoulders all the time. And to be honest we had been pretty freaked out about the whole incident, we were only aiming for a little graffiti, not arson. So for at least a few months Paul and I became model students. Our collective parents were duly impressed.

  CHAPTER 6 – Journal Entry 6

  Summer hit with all the oppressive heat and humidity that only the New England region can deliver, but generally as kids you don’t notice it too much. Playing baseball took up the majority of our time, that and a thing we liked to call night games. At night we would play this game called jail. There were two teams and the object was for one team to hunt down the other team and put them in ‘jail.’ But the real reason for the playing of this game was Lacy Mullins. Paul and I both wanted her; she was literally the girl next door type. And any chance we could have to chase her was well worth the effort. Lacy wasn’t overly pretty, she just had something about her. She was sort of sultry, I mean as sultry as a fourteen year old can g
et, anyway. She mainly dug Paul but when they had an occasional spat I was more than happy to lend a shoulder to cry on. I didn’t truly realize it then but this girl put a lot of stress on my and Paul’s relationship, and had we not had such a strong bond the fate of our planet might actually have turned out vastly different, all for a girl, wouldn’t be the first time I suppose.

  The summer all in all was the last truly innocent or better yet naïve summers of my life. To me I still seemed to be a kid, I still loved to play baseball and expand my baseball card collection. Besides a little macking with Lacy, the opposite sex was still a complete mystery. My parents were still omnipotent, the thought of driving seemed eons away. And so, we cruised controlled our way into the 10th grade, high school. And like a punch drunk fighter who has cold water splashed on their face, my eyes were beginning to open up wide. Much of that awakening can be attributed to a girl named Alice Potter. She was a transfer student from Pennsylvania. The first time I saw her I knew she was trouble, but as a young teenager, not much machinations of the brain are present. Most of my thinking was being driven by the excessive hormones my body was producing. I’m not sure what she saw in me, maybe it was that we were so completely different; she was a flower child burn out. You know the type, suede jacket with the fringes, sundress, hell she even had flowers in her hair. And a sly smile that melted my heart. I was hooked and we hadn’t even kissed yet. The rumor mill had her pegged as a slut that would do it with anybody any time, I think that only heightened my desire for her. Her bright auburn hair complimented her eyes. And the way she moved her ass, hell even I knew I was in way over my head, but where the penis leads the body will follow, and somewhere in all that mess is the brain completely covered over in moss and virtually useless. She taught me more in the three whirlwind months we went out, than obviously the two girls before and most of the women I would later meet. She was my first love and she broke my heart in such a way that I never thought I would trust a woman again, and truly for the most part, I don’t. Christmas pretty much sucked, especially with me sulking through winter break. My mother actually expressed some concern over me, but that quickly faded as she realized that she still despised my father; the hate consumed most of her existence. Just hearing her talk on the phone to her friends or sisters about how much she hated him was a constant reminder. But God has a plan for all of us, so I’m told. He taketh away and he giveth.

  CHAPTER 7 – Journal Entry 7

  A freak cold snap… We went back to school in January in one of the worst cold spells recorded, it was the kind that when you opened the door and took your first breath the snot in your nose would quite literally freeze. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I had begged my mother for a ride, but she had refused. She hadn’t taken me to school since the third grade, and she saw no reason to start now. So there I was at the bus stop dancing around like the other ten idiots trying to keep from freezing solid. I was in entirely too much misery to take too much notice of my fellow sufferers, they weren’t any people that I hung out with anyway. I recognized all but one. I tried but I couldn’t recall ever seeing him in school. Oh well, must not have made that big of an impression, and to be honest I didn’t care much beyond the thought of the once again late but heated school bus making a hasty arrival. The bus was packed which at this point was a great relief; more bodies meant more body heat. I don’t think I stopped shivering until we finally got to the school, and then I had to get off the damn thing. I was going to have to make sure that I begged my mother for a ride tomorrow, station wagon or not, this was ridiculous. I trudged my way up to the third floor where my home room was, I just wanted to get rid of my books and my jacket and gloves and all of the other gear that rounds out a day in frigid New England. I sat down at my chair, which by the way was now one removed from the back row. It used to be the back row, but an extra row had been added in the off time due to a teacher’s illness. The school administration had not been able to replace her before the start up, so in their infinite wisdom they had simply dispersed students throughout the rest of the classes. I turned to see the person who had enviably taken my favorite seat from me. It was the kid from the bus stop. He couldn’t be from around here, I knew everyone in my class, whether I liked them or not, and he was neither. I just didn’t know him. I guess the Yankees hat should have given him away. Nobody with half a brain wore a Yankees hat in the heart of Red Sox country even in the winter.

  “Hey, my name is Dennis,” as he leaned over his desk and extended his hand. I had almost been ready to turn back around without taking the proffered hand but that gesture would have had cataclysmic effects further on down the road, and I also would have missed out on the person that would share co-best friend honors. Not that I knew it then. And he still had that friggen Yankees hat on. But we shook hands and went on from there. I told him my parents were going away this coming weekend (not together I might add), and I was having a party and that he was more than welcome to attend. He thanked me and told me that he had just moved to the area and would look forward to meeting some new people. I told him that if he had any inclination of getting somebody to actual talk civilly to him and girls to even look at him, he might not want to wear that hat. He laughed and assured me that it wouldn’t matter what hat he wore, girls loved him no matter what and everybody else could go screw themselves. We both knew it was male bravado, but we laughed anyway.

  The week stayed in the below zero range; my mother never budged on the whole ride thing. Dennis and I never talked much at the bus stop more than your average pleasantries, it was just too miserable. Homeroom really wasn’t the place to develop relationships either, everybody was too busy wiping the snow from their shoes and attempting to rid the chill from their bones. Early January in New England can be among the most severe weather in the nation and this one was no different. The school week trudged on by, and I was actually too busy concentrating on conserving body heat that I didn’t piss off one teacher. It had to be a record. Friday came at last. I reminded the appropriate people about the party so that they would disseminate the information. Dennis assured me that he would be there. To be honest, at the time I didn’t care one way or the other. My dad left right after dinner Friday night to parts unknown, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wouldn’t have to worry about him till late Sunday night. My mother could be the trickier of the two, she played cards every Friday night, and she was about fifty/fifty when it came to spending the night over at her friend’s house a few towns over. If she did not stay the night, I could expect her home like clockwork at 1:45 a.m. That might put a damper on the events to unfold but it sure wouldn’t stop them. My mother got a late start getting out of the house, that was the most nerve racking part. I had told people to start showing up at 7:30 p.m. and she was just walking out the door at twenty past. Dodged that bullet, now I had the gut twisting time of being in an empty house. This is the time when you wonder if people like you or not. There are no guarantees when you have a party even in near frigid temperatures, if people don’t like you they won’t come. So you sit there in anticipation of the first guests’ arrival. Inevitably they are your closest friends, which can be a blessing or not. If they are the first and only to arrive you can be labeled a loser by the ones that are closest to you. So I waited. 7:30 p.m. came and went, not a big deal, nobody shows up on time right? 7:45 p.m. came and the bell rang. I opened the door. It was Dennis. ‘Oh great,’ I thought to myself, ‘now the new kid is gonna think I’m a loser.’

  “Hey, Dennis how you doing?”

  “Not bad, sorry I’m late,” as he walked into the house. “Where is everybody?”

  “Well, you know how it is, you tell everyone 7:30 and nobody shows till 8.” At least I hoped that was the case.

  “Yeah,” he said but I’m not sure if he said that more to allay my fears or in agreement. Oh well, I guess only time would tell.

  “Want a beer?” I asked.

  “Sure, what flavor you got?”

  “Mostly Moosehead, but there’
s some Budweiser in there.”

  “I’ll take a Moosie.”

  I no sooner turned to get the beers and the doorbell rang once again. It was Paul and another one of our friends, Kevin Thomas, but what was of much more interest to me was the line of people coming down my street. My first official party looked to be getting well under way.

  “Dude,” Paul said as he pulled me aside. “Who’s the guy in the Yankees hat?”

  “That’s that new guy Dennis I told you about.”

  “He better hope nobody wants to kick his ass when they get drunk.”

  “Yeah, that definitely takes some balls to wear that thing around here.”

  “Balls or stupidity, sometimes the two things can be so closely intertwined as to be indistinguishable from each other.”

  “Dude, big words,” as I high fived him.

  “Did you like that?” he said with a big grin. “I’ve been working on extending my vocabulary.”

  “Save it for the girls, Einstein. Want a beer?”

  “I never thought you’d ask,” as he put an arm around my shoulder and we headed into the kitchen. “How did you get all this beer?”

  “I told my sister I was having a party and she bought it for me.”

  “When?”

  “While she was home for her winter break from college.”

  “You’ve been sitting on this stockpile for a week and you never told me? I’m hurt,” he said mockingly.

  “You know if I told you, you would have wanted to raid it from the get go, and we’d be high and dry for the evening.”

  “You’re probably right my friend.”

  “Probably?” as I raised my eyebrow at him.

  “Just get me a beer so I can scope out some honeys.”

  The party was cranking, the girls were gorgeous, and the beer was flowing. The cops hadn’t busted it up and I was sucking face with someone. Damn, I hoped she wouldn’t ask me what her name was, cause I didn’t have a clue. Midnight was rapidly approaching and my mother would call like clockwork to let me know if she was spending the night at her friend’s. Luckily I had just enough presence of mind, though not much, to lower the music and let everybody know what was going to happen. I wish I had a video camera because what was two minutes ago a loud beer guzzling, girl chasing event now turned into a quiet waiting game. Everyone was literally staring at the phone, hoping that it would ring so that the fiesta could continue. Twelve o’clock came and everyone, even Chris Smith who was puking in the bathroom, held their breaths. Okay twelve o’clock and ten seconds, alright twelve o’clock and twenty seconds. How much longer could we hold our breaths? At twelve o’clock and forty-two seconds the phone finally rang, and everyone let their breath out. I put my hands up to hush the already church-like crowd.