“Look up there at that patio,” said Bubba-Bubba. The Old Bastard’s patio was a brick and concrete extension of the back of the house. Three brick pillars supported it across the front, three on each side and three across the back. The pillars extended above the patio, with wrought iron railings between each one. Concrete steps ran down the left side. The patio was as solid as a fortress. “You’re not thinking about blowing that thing up, are you?” asked Billy. “With what, a bag of Black Cats? You see those four banana plants he’s got on the corners and the sides? Those things are his pride and joy. He covers them up in the winter and babies them in the summer. I saw him up there taking the covers off of them just last week,” said Bubba-Bubba. “My mom’s a diabetic. We’re gonna load up four of her syringes with Weed-B-Gon and take out those banana plants.” “What’s Weed-B-Gon?” I asked. Bubba-Bubba looked at me like I was the dumbest kid in town. “It’s weed killer, Tommy. My father uses it to kill the kudzu around the side yard. He has to be careful not to get it on the other plants because it’ll kill anything. “What about squirrels and chipmunks?”
“It won’t kill squirrels or chipmunks, dopey. It won’t kill any animals. It’s plant killer. Besides, who cares?”
“Squirrels come up to our bird feeder at the kitchen window. I watch them in the morning when I’m eating my cereal. I like squirrels.”
“Forget about the stupid squirrels and chipmunks. Everybody find out if they can camp out tomorrow night. We’ll hit ‘em then. We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes.”
“It’s almost 5:00. I wanna watch The Popeye Club,” said Billy. Bubba-Bubba rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head. “Fine, Billy, you watch The Popeye Club. Look, are y’all in on this or not? This is serious.” We all agreed that we were in, and would meet back at the pitching rubber in fifteen minutes.
“I’m good,” said Brain. “Me too,” I said. “I told Momma it was a requirement for my Camping Merit Badge.” “I’m in,” said Bubba-Bubba, “Where’s Billy?” “Probably inside watching the Popeye club,” answered Brain. “Oh, well, forget him. Here’s what we’re gonna do,” said Bubba-Bubba, and the three of us sat down in a circle around the pitching rubber. Just then the screen door opened and Billy came down the steps. He walked up and sat down in the circle with us. Bubba-Bubba glared at him. “I had to watch ‘em play Ooey Gooey,” said Billy. “Well, maybe we’ll start calling you Ooey Gooey. Are you in or not, Ooey Gooey?” sneered Bubba-Bubba. “Sure, I’m okay. All that Momma said was to watch out for haints. And don’t call me Ooey Gooey.” “Okay, here’s the plan,” said Bubba-Bubba. “I’ll fill up four syringes with the Weed-B-Gon. We’ll meet up by the creek at 5:00–”
“5:00?” howled Billy. “But, I wanna watch the P–”
“Forget the Popeye Club, Ooey Gooey!”
“Don’t call me Ooey Gooey!”
“Shut up! Now, like I was saying, we’ll meet up by the creek at 5:00. We’ll go over everything one more time and then strike out about a half an hour after dark. Everybody wear their Army gear. Tommy, can you bring both tents?” “Sure,” I said. I had a domed pop tent and an Army surplus pup tent. “Okay, let’s seal it,” said Bubba-Bubba. He drew a circle in the dirt around the pitching rubber. We all clasped our right hands over the circle and said, “Everybody,” at once. The deal was sealed. Operation Weed-B-Gon was on.
The next afternoon, I rode my bike home from school. I passed Bubba-Bubba’s house and got a lump in my throat. This whole thing was pretty scary. If we got caught we’d probably go to jail for chemical warfare or trespassing. I pulled my bike into our driveway and opened up the basement door. I parked my bike by the pole in the basement and shut the door. I went upstairs. It was Friday, so I didn’t have any homework. I drank a Coke and watched cartoons for a little while. Then, I went into the kitchen and pulled a pack of hot dogs out of the fridge. I put them into my Porky’s Lunch Wagon lunchbox, along with a few buns in a Baggie, and then filled the matching thermos with sweet tea. I took the lunchbox into my room and pulled my Official Boy Scout backpack out of my closet. I put the lunchbox in it along with my toothbrush and first aid kit. I stuffed one of my pillows into the pack, buckled it shut and then tied my sleeping bag around the top of it. I changed into my Army uniform and combat boots. I then strapped on my helmet and my ammunition belt. All were genuine and came from the Army Surplus Store. I took my canteen into the kitchen, filled it with water and then hooked it onto my ammo belt. I then carried the pack down into the basement and opened the basement door. I grabbed the two tents and placed them and my pack outside. I shut the basement door, made sure my house key was in the front pocket of my ammunition belt, and then turned the handle and locked the door. I pulled my pack onto my back, grabbed the two tents and, carrying them under my right arm, headed into the woods beside our house.
I walked down the path and passed by the huge hole in the ground that we had dug and made an underground bunker. It filled up with water and now served as a foxhole when we were playing army, provided it was dry. What we were about to do was way beyond playing army. This was real chemical warfare.
I walked down the hill, crossed the creek to our usual campsite and dropped the two tents and my pack. I pulled the pop tent out of the bag and was putting the poles together when I heard someone coming down the hill. It was Brain. He, too, was in full Army fatigues. He had his B-B gun strapped to his back. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Yeah, I’m ready, I guess,” I replied. He dropped his gear onto the ground. “Here, I’ll help you with those poles.” “Thanks,” I said. “Are you scared, Brain?”
“Nah, I’m not scared. Are you?”
“A little. What if we get caught?”
“Yeah, I thought about that. Do you think we’ll go to jail?”
“Probably. It’s trespassing. They might raise the charges up to chemical warfare or something.”
“You think they could do that?”
“Probably. My old man says that cops can do anything they want.”
Just then we heard rustling of leaves to our left. It was Billy. He didn’t have an Army uniform. He was wearing jeans, a black windbreaker and a plastic helmet with netting. “It’s 5:30,” he said, “Where’s Bubba-Bubba? He’d better not call me Ooey Gooey again.” “I don’t know, he ought to be here by now,” said Brain. “Here, help us with the tents.” We pulled down the lever to set the pop tent, then staked out the pup tent and set the poles. Billy and I rolled out our sleeping bags in the pop tent. Brain rolled his out in the pup tent. We gathered wood and stacked it into the round fireplace we had made of rocks. “We’d better not start a fire if we’re leaving a half an hour after dark,” I said. “We’ll eat when we get back.” “But I’m hungry now,” protested Brain. Of course he was. The boy ate like a horse. “I’m gonna eat my can of Viennas.” The rustling of leaves to the right told us that Bubba-Bubba was on the way up the path along the creek from his house. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, “I had to wait until the coast was clear with my parents to get the syringes and load ‘em up.” “You sure you weren’t watching The Popeye Club?” asked Billy, sarcastically. Bubba-Bubba opened his mouth for a retort, but I quickly said, “Alright, alright, knock it off.” Bubba-Bubba was the oldest, the shortest and had a textbook case of The Napoleon Syndrome before anybody knew what that was. There was no doubt that he was in charge. But, it was his dime store baseball, his mother’s syringes, his father’s Weed-B-Gon and his idea. So, he was Sergeant Saunders on Combat and the rest of us were Kirby, Littlejohn and Braddock.
“Here, Tommy, you carry the syringes in your ammo belt. That way, nothing will happen to them going over the fence and up to the patio.” I got another lump in my throat. This was really happening, and I was carrying the chemicals. I took the four syringes and put each one into a separate pocket on the belt. “We’ll go back up the path and stop at the top of Tommy’s driveway and make sure the coast is clear. No flashlights once we get out of the woods. We’ll cross into Billy’s back yard from the side next to Brain’s house. ” “What if my old man’s got the garage door open?” I asked. “Then we’ll go back down the hill and follow the creek path to my yard and come back up the street. We’ll cross over the Sprayberry’s front yard and go into the back yard from that side. Then we’ll wait at the fence behind the big tree and make sure he’s not out on his patio. “I’m taking my BB gun,” said Brain. “Joop says that The Old Bastard has a rabid dog and it bit his dad on the butt.” Bubba-Bubba looked at Brain like he was from Mars. “If he’s got a rabid dog, why haven’t we ever seen it?” he asked.
“Joop says it lives in the basement.”
“Joop’s full of it and so’s his old man. If it bit him on the butt why didn’t he start running up and down the street, foaming at the mouth?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he got a rabies shot. I’m still taking my BB gun.”
“Fine, just don’t drop it and make a racket and blow the whole operation.”
“I’m putting leaves in my helmet netting,” said Billy.
“What for?” asked Bubba-Bubba.
“For camouflage.”
“What do you need camouflage for? It’ll be dark, nobody can see you.”
“Maybe he’s got a searchlight.”
“He doesn’t have a searchlight.”
“I’m still putting leaves in my netting.”
“Okay, so are we all clear?”
We nodded we were, and about a half an hour after dark we started up the hill. We stopped at the top of my driveway. The only light from the house was in the living room where my parents were watching the news on TV. “Alright, let’s move out,” said Bubba-Bubba. “Bubba-Bubba, wait,” I said. “Are you sure you really wanna do this? This is chemical warfare and trespassing. We could go to jail.” “Sure, I’m sure,” he said, “You’re not chickening out, are you?” I swallowed hard and said, “No, I’m not chickening out.” “Good man,” he grinned. “Now let’s move out.” And the four of us walked quietly in single file down the side of my driveway, crossed the street and went up the hill between Billy’s house and Brain’s house.