Fireworks

The fact that there are certain things you should never give to a teenage boy, was far from my mind. Before me was a red package wrapped in cellophane. You could see the thick painted sticks, eight of them, evenly spaced apart. The tops of these sticks supported brightly colored cylinders with the diameter of a quarter and about six inches long. They had names on them like: baby killer and sun destroyer. No wonder they were illegal. My mind Raced with images of their flight and explosions.

This was before I had been introduced to mortars, which also seem to find their way into the hands of people who shouldn't have them. Jim and John, I'm talking about you.

Given the illegal status of theses glorious items, I knew I would need to space out their use. I couldn't resist trying one, though. I slipped it out of the package, grabbed the matches from the kitchen and moved into the back yard. It was a moist spring day. The mulberries were still green on the trees and the long grass held onto the morning moisture. I looked around for witnesses, but there were none.

I knelt down in the middle of the yard and pressed just enough of the stick to get it to stand upright. If I pushed too hard it wouldn't take off, but if I didn't push hard enough it would fall over. I found just the right pressure and checked again. I was in the clear. I moved my back to the wind, struck the match, then lit the fuse. I stumbled back, but refused to blink. The small flame disappeared and with a hiss the rocket ignited. It half a second the flaming, flying combination on gunpowder and cardboard was piercing the sky and then exploded reigning down sparks and a spent stick. I was fulfilled, but I could do no more today.

The next call to action happened when we discovered the neighbor's to the back of our house were throwing firecrackers in our backyard. Firecrackers!?!? How insultingly weak. Beside the garage behind our house there were odds and ends. Bricks, wood, sticks and pipes. One pipe came from under a sink or something, because it had an S shape to it. I pulled it out of the pile and located my munition.

It the back yard we could see them. The enemy. The we're throwing fireworks and smoke bombs into our grass. We ran back there, Justin and I and my new weapon. We yelled at them, but they refused to be cowed. They danced out of sight, dodging back into view treating to throw something at us.

This would not do!

I rested one bend of the pipe over my shoulder, it allowed me to aim the business end with my right hand without the full held of the metal. With my left hand I slid the rocket into the front of the pipe. It fit perfectly. I needed to be quick getting it lit and into the pipe.

There he was the little blond annoying neighbor boy. He was getting braver, stupider. I got it lit, slipped into the pipe and had just enough time to aim. I wheeled on him and he got a look of confusion on his face. The rocket launched beautifully from the end of the metal pipe and with only a little twist hit the boy directly in the chest. Half a second too late, he dodged backward, his brain just realizing what had happened. The rocket, still powered by the ongoing thrust, deflect up and the spiraled like a crashing plane into a bush.

It was at this point, what should have been an awe inspiring rain of sparks, became an explosion of fire engulfing a bush, which was somewhat reminiscent of the story of Moses.

We were all stunned for a moment, but when the shock wore off, we scattered to our homes. It was unspoken, but the burning bush started a life long cease fire between us.