THE THRILL OF A LIFETIME

It was a big ole bruiser of a car, way back then. Way back, when little boys were out in the world being loud & getting dirty. The old cruiser was cherished unconditionally, as men are wont to do with their toys. The little boy was cherished unconditionally, as mothers are wont to do with their boys. Thank the Lord.

This day was a blessing. The sun lurked, creeping back from a weeks vacation, peeking from behind clouds to see if it was welcome. It was. This little boy would be confined no longer. His mother's heart sang a song of joy... the Hallelujah Chorus if truth be known. Muddy floors & clothes be damned.

Now this day had been anticipated & planned for. A clever boy, he hadn't wasted time pouting and moping. Rather, he had built various and assorted boats, trying them out in the sink until they were seaworthy, or at least puddleworthy. He was the captain of this armada, crafted from assorted junk gleaned from nooks and crannies. And he was itching to take on the world.

But wait! He had laid by supplies as well. A jelly jar filled with kerosene, snitched while his mom was busy, stashed in his boot. Two partial books of matches. One salvaged from the depths of the couch. One stolen from his dad while he snoozed off a few bottles of Blatz Beer. These were hidden in his box of dead bugs where his mom NEVER trespassed.

He preferred sturdy wooden kitchen matches, felt a thrill when they flared to life. His mom wasn't a complete idiot however, and kept them safely stowed. Not about to be out maneuvered, he spent illicit moments studying his dad's matchlighting techniques. Holding onto that magical bit of cardboard tightly, hands cupped just so. Just so thrilled when he finally got the hang of it, heart thumping at nearly burned fingers.

And dumb luck was on his side as well, for he wasn't even old enough to read the warning "close cover before striking", much less know better than to practice his pyromanic skills in the closet. Yes, luck and God had gotten him to this point. Now fate stepped up & took his hand. "Let's go out & play" she whispered in his eager ear. And so they did.

There, out front, in the street, the rain had left a miniature ocean. Textured & colored by the sky's reflection, shimmering with rainbow swirls of gasoline & oil. Hidden from his mother's view by his neighbors hulking Hudson, he was nearly delirious with anticipation. He knew better than to touch that massive pride & joy, having tested each limit life had offered up to him by trial & error.

He set his fleet to sail, arranged just so, ready to do battle. Scampering to & fro with assorted props, firing off spitball canons, spewing sound effects. He spilled his hoard of kerosene onto the water, mesmerized by his vision of the grand finale. Anticipation brought him to a frenzy of adrenalin.

It isn't difficult to imagine the moments before the climax. His little fingers quaked as he pulled the matches from his pocket. The wind puffed out several as he crouched intently, his hands cupped. He turned the other way, not about to be thwarted. His face glowed with excitement as he set blaze to that vast puddle of possibilities.

"BOOM" he cried, imagining the screams of terror as make-believe mariners realized their destiny. Shrieking as he ran back & forth, watching his ships incinerate. Totally focused on his fiery drama. Totally caught up in the moment. Totally drawn into his own private world, a world that he ruled.

KA-BOOM!!! The climax was so much huger than he could have imagined! The neighbor's wonderful old car now a vast ball of flames, thanks to a leaky gas tank. That little boy hit the bushes full speed ahead, his heart beating like a metronome cranked to the max, marking time as his name echoed through the neighborhood, long into the twighlight. A part of him lurks there still, pondering the thrill of a lifetime.

~finis~