Water Guns at Midnight

I put soap in the bucket in the middle section if the giant, stainless steel, three section sink. Wash, Rinse, Dry, Outside it is perfect, dark and warm, but in here, in the preparation area of Arby's, everything is fluorescent and artificial. I turn the water as hot as I can stand it, because it makes cleaning the slicer easier.

I walk back to the front, slipping by the cart full of shake machine parts and place the hot soapy water behind the large metal slicer. The meat is already weighed and gone. The heat lamp has been turned off and flipped up. I removed the slop cup and wipe out the area where crusty scraps collect. I wipe it down as well as I can, the hot water loosening and letting the grease drain down. My mind is not on the work at hand, which at this point I could do blindfolded. It is on what will take place when I get out of work.

Tim and James, Eric and Jason, Justin and Andy, and more. They were mostly all going to be there. Additionally, some people from work, like Shelly, who would one day be my wife, but I don't know that yet. We are rounding up all the super soakers we can, we have a couple five gallon containers with taps to fill them up with. We have the perfect place to go, Smith Elementary. This is going to be an event.

I slip on the white cut proof gloves while imagining who else I can call and how much fun we are going to have. When the gloves with the warm water, the seem to cling to you hands and immediately get clammy when you pull them out. With one hand on the blade cover, I loosen the giant bolt holding it in place and remove it from around the razor sharp blade. With all the parts clean I take them back to the dishwasher, maybe James or Pete. I don't remember.

In twenty minutes we are walking out the door. The slicer has been rebuilt. The floor has been swept and mopped. It is clean, or at least clean enough. Outside, many of my friends are waiting, the others we will round up and Scott's house before we make it to the school.

Smith School is in the middle of a neighborhood, a quiet neighborhood, so we park right in the lot. We park under the giant lamps without any fear. We gather our guns, probably two a piece on average and a few of us take turns carrying the heavy stained, white water containers. We walk into the playground through the open gate. It is perfect. There is the open field, with playground equipment on one side. The back half, though, is all woods with tons of wining paths and little hiding paths. Between these two battle grounds is a creek, low enough to walk across, but not without getting your feet wet. A single bridge connects them.

We get the containers off the ground on a piece of equipment, we decide on the game and divide down into teams. If you get hit, raise your hands and get off the field. If a spot is more than a dime, you are considered hit. We not fire in the woods not on the normal playground. You can only cross at the bridge. We are off. Dozens of us hollering and shooting and hiding and laughing in the dark woods.

We play for an hour or more before it happens. It starts with a bright light being shined into the woods. There is confusion. Is it a neighbor? College kids? The police someone says. "Let's go see what is going on," I say. "Oh man, what am I going to say." I think.

I can see some of my friends already making their way across the playground. Some could have ran and make it back to their homes, but no one did. We were in this together. I round up the stragglers in the woods tell them that loud voice the hear is the police now calling us out of the woods. We need to go.

By the time I, and the stragglers, make it to the locations of the police cars, two, the scene laid out is kind of surreal. On the ground, the two large plastic containers set turned over, the water draining out. The guns are all laid out on the ground, like a plastic gun show. Thirty, or so, guns of various sizes all laid out, their barrels pointing in the same direction. My friends look on, while a few of the officers are opening the water tanks of the guns and sniffing them.

I step up to the police officer who seems to be directing the others. I ask him what is wrong. He asks me if I know we were trespassing. No I tell him. I really didn't, there was no sign. He tells me you can't be on school property after dark. I then ask him why they are smelling our guns. He tells me sometime kinds will put other things in them for vandalism. I tell him were were just playing games, it is al, water. He is done with me, though.

"Chief, we've got a whole mess of them down here... I don't know more than a dozen."

Chief. My mind explodes. I know the chief. Chief Sloggins had been the choir director of my church. I went to school with his daughters, I even shared a locker with Liz.

"Is that Chief Scoggins?" I blurt.

The officer turns from his radio and looks at me. "What?"

"Is that Bob Scoggins, the chief of police?"

He doesn't even answer me. He turns back to the radio and say, "Chief, they say they know you."

It five minutes, a third police car is there. We are one shirtless meathead away from making it onto reality TV. Our guns are still splayed out, the water drained. My friends are talking in clusters. The night is still beautiful, but a little soured. Mr. Scoggins gets out of the car, asks me how I have been, confirms that I have not been in trouble with the law, and then tells me he'll write this up as an honest mistake. I thank him and he pulls away.

We gather our guns and water containers, pile into the few cars we brought and move the party to Silverman's.