I wrote this a while ago... I'm sorry it's so long
There are moments, when nothing but elonated descriptions and overused phrases can be said: when uncharted emotions live in the motion of the moment, the consequence of the circumstance. How indescribable it is, is indescribable itself. It should be said that only inside those vehicles of passion is where life is actually lived, and earth doubles as merely a waiting room for the in-between.
What is sad and estranged to us is that those pinnacle moments are always underplayed, sometimes crudely passed off as a childish inhibition at a time in our lives when we didn’t really understand life. That is not true.
When we were children, we were Gods.
Once upon my childhood…
There was a stratagem that led to the vapors of hate now dampening the seat of his pants, the slashes on his palms, and the proud trill in all of their voices.
There was indeed, a great plan to rescue those five boys’ ball.
It all began while the army spent leisure time in the yard that afternoon after lunch in mess hall. They destroyed the existing barriers of childhood creativity, inventing fantastic new games with a ball that was not just any ball. A majestic ball affectionately and respectfully named “The Mopball.” It was the one sure-fire escape from the rigors of dealing with their commanders, now cleaning the kitchen inside. It symbolized the longevity of their childhood, and an unbreakable bond between them. No matter how dilapidated and old it got, it never lost its power to ignite a broad spectrum of imagination in that army of over metabolized, nerdy brothers.
And today was no exception.
Sweat poured, arms flailed, boys flew. The new game of the day rallied on, and by consequence of the ball’s guarantee, passion and intense competition sparked in (the greatest arena ever created) the backyard of 6909 Marble Canyon.
The game was at its climax when the impossible became possible and the unthinkable was thinked. After a curiously powerful strike from one of the soldiers, the five watched in disgust as the high priest Mopball narrowly cleared the top of the bordering wall between the great arena and the mere 6907 Marble Canyon.
Yes, of course jumping the wall and playing fetch would be a perfect solution. That is, if two of hell’s demons didn’t infest the soldiers’ landing pad below. Legend has it that Lucifer himself sent his two absolute finest demon’s “Rottweiler” and “Someotherbigdog” specifically to steal the high priest Mopball from the neighboring protectors, and those boys would have you know, the legend is most decidedly true.
No time was to be wasted. An immediate order for the war tactics and procedures was in place. Failure was not an option. It was a classic “capture the flag” scenario. The childhood relic would be saved by day’s end, and Satan would meet his match.
It wasn’t until everyone was in their places that things started to seem a little grim. The youngest two soldiers placed strategically behind the furthest wall of the devil pit, two more back in the arena, and the last primed to perch the barrier.
Damsel in distress, Mopball was positioned three fourths way across the evil lair, whimpering, and the two evil hounds guarded it grunting, slobbering and being generally disgusting as evil-ball-snatching- Satan-worshiping guard imps will most naturally do.
And so it began, the rescue was underway. Everything happened so fast. Each task, one after the next, left no room to breathe. The youngest two, far away, began their diversion, nervously yelling little-boy insults to non-English speaking, confused, yet all the more enraged captors. The wall croucher crept into position, ready to make the plunge then vaulted the wall landing as softly as possible, and by the grace of God, the enemy continued unaware. Hearing the screaming of pre-adolescent squealing voices intermingled with returned determined roars, the lone soldier shook as he crept closer.
And then it happened.
By what can be only described now as an impossible bit of intuition, the barking and squealing suddenly subsided. An odd and blatantly too peaceful moment with a blaring soundtrack of silence gave the army misleading hope. The evil guard “Rottweiler” slowly turned around and stared the lone soldier directly through his eyes and pierced his soul. It was a miracle his pants remained dry.
“Oh shit.”
Only milliseconds later, after snatching the high priest Mopball from the evil lair floor, there was nothing left for the soldier to do but… well, flail. Flail like no one had ever flailed. Run to salvage his small and short but well-liked life. Hysterical screaming soared through the air in arches across the sky. Sonic shrills of pain gathered together to form one word between the panicked four remaining soldiers: Run! And indeed he did just that. Faster than he ever dreamt possible, those child-hooded legs bounded across the endless yard, and about 25 miles an hour slower than his chaser.
Realizing Mopball was worriedly looking up at him in his hands, and without remembering how he got there, he launched the rescued victim over the wall. Mission not quite accomplished. He approached a four-foot-high surface next to the border wall and miraculously leapt in one bound to the top. It was close. Much, much too close. The sort of close that depicts doom and it was at that exact moment that the soldier flung himself head-first over that last 7 foot wall that the evil imp made his pounce. Exactly what they had set out avoid was indeed happening. In mid air, the demon’s teeth made contact with the soldier’s bottom and scratched along the surface spreading demon ooze across the denim. The soldier recognized that horrible sensation as his sub-conscious (and smarter self) gave up hope. He felt the teeth drag. Dragging to grab hold and destroy the family next-door. Every brother felt it. Miracles seemed to be the theme for the last two and half minutes but it looked bleak that there was any left in God’s bag of tricks.
There was one. In complete utter disbelief every witness including the dogs felt their stomach sink, either in disgust or intense relief as the teeth failed and left the airborne child to fly free over the barrier. As the beast slammed face first against the wall, the soldier landed safely on the other side on top of his awaiting brother and a pile of rocks.
Immediate, deafening cheers rang victorious and the exhausted soldier touched the muck spread across his butt and looked at his hand, thinking it an oddly beautiful sight. A procession went underway to pay a never-to-be forgotten tribute to the army’s efforts of that afternoon. Chanting and dancing a tribal dance, the high priest Mopball was raised in the air, and lovingly embraced by his saviors. The look in their eyes darting between brother to brother was the only worthy description of the way their blood felt pumping through their hearts. Grinning, the slimed soldier looked over his shoulder as the brothers, arm in arm, trekked inside. He knew the demons would self-loathe for the rest of the evening. Mission, so definitely, accomplished…
(I was the kid with the slimed pants, which is why I remember it so well.)
What is sad and estranged to us is that those pinnacle moments are always underplayed, sometimes crudely passed off as a childish inhibition at a time in our lives when we didn’t really understand life. That is not true.
When we were children, we were Gods.
Once upon my childhood…
There was a stratagem that led to the vapors of hate now dampening the seat of his pants, the slashes on his palms, and the proud trill in all of their voices.
There was indeed, a great plan to rescue those five boys’ ball.
It all began while the army spent leisure time in the yard that afternoon after lunch in mess hall. They destroyed the existing barriers of childhood creativity, inventing fantastic new games with a ball that was not just any ball. A majestic ball affectionately and respectfully named “The Mopball.” It was the one sure-fire escape from the rigors of dealing with their commanders, now cleaning the kitchen inside. It symbolized the longevity of their childhood, and an unbreakable bond between them. No matter how dilapidated and old it got, it never lost its power to ignite a broad spectrum of imagination in that army of over metabolized, nerdy brothers.
And today was no exception.
Sweat poured, arms flailed, boys flew. The new game of the day rallied on, and by consequence of the ball’s guarantee, passion and intense competition sparked in (the greatest arena ever created) the backyard of 6909 Marble Canyon.
The game was at its climax when the impossible became possible and the unthinkable was thinked. After a curiously powerful strike from one of the soldiers, the five watched in disgust as the high priest Mopball narrowly cleared the top of the bordering wall between the great arena and the mere 6907 Marble Canyon.
Yes, of course jumping the wall and playing fetch would be a perfect solution. That is, if two of hell’s demons didn’t infest the soldiers’ landing pad below. Legend has it that Lucifer himself sent his two absolute finest demon’s “Rottweiler” and “Someotherbigdog” specifically to steal the high priest Mopball from the neighboring protectors, and those boys would have you know, the legend is most decidedly true.
No time was to be wasted. An immediate order for the war tactics and procedures was in place. Failure was not an option. It was a classic “capture the flag” scenario. The childhood relic would be saved by day’s end, and Satan would meet his match.
It wasn’t until everyone was in their places that things started to seem a little grim. The youngest two soldiers placed strategically behind the furthest wall of the devil pit, two more back in the arena, and the last primed to perch the barrier.
Damsel in distress, Mopball was positioned three fourths way across the evil lair, whimpering, and the two evil hounds guarded it grunting, slobbering and being generally disgusting as evil-ball-snatching- Satan-worshiping guard imps will most naturally do.
And so it began, the rescue was underway. Everything happened so fast. Each task, one after the next, left no room to breathe. The youngest two, far away, began their diversion, nervously yelling little-boy insults to non-English speaking, confused, yet all the more enraged captors. The wall croucher crept into position, ready to make the plunge then vaulted the wall landing as softly as possible, and by the grace of God, the enemy continued unaware. Hearing the screaming of pre-adolescent squealing voices intermingled with returned determined roars, the lone soldier shook as he crept closer.
And then it happened.
By what can be only described now as an impossible bit of intuition, the barking and squealing suddenly subsided. An odd and blatantly too peaceful moment with a blaring soundtrack of silence gave the army misleading hope. The evil guard “Rottweiler” slowly turned around and stared the lone soldier directly through his eyes and pierced his soul. It was a miracle his pants remained dry.
“Oh shit.”
Only milliseconds later, after snatching the high priest Mopball from the evil lair floor, there was nothing left for the soldier to do but… well, flail. Flail like no one had ever flailed. Run to salvage his small and short but well-liked life. Hysterical screaming soared through the air in arches across the sky. Sonic shrills of pain gathered together to form one word between the panicked four remaining soldiers: Run! And indeed he did just that. Faster than he ever dreamt possible, those child-hooded legs bounded across the endless yard, and about 25 miles an hour slower than his chaser.
Realizing Mopball was worriedly looking up at him in his hands, and without remembering how he got there, he launched the rescued victim over the wall. Mission not quite accomplished. He approached a four-foot-high surface next to the border wall and miraculously leapt in one bound to the top. It was close. Much, much too close. The sort of close that depicts doom and it was at that exact moment that the soldier flung himself head-first over that last 7 foot wall that the evil imp made his pounce. Exactly what they had set out avoid was indeed happening. In mid air, the demon’s teeth made contact with the soldier’s bottom and scratched along the surface spreading demon ooze across the denim. The soldier recognized that horrible sensation as his sub-conscious (and smarter self) gave up hope. He felt the teeth drag. Dragging to grab hold and destroy the family next-door. Every brother felt it. Miracles seemed to be the theme for the last two and half minutes but it looked bleak that there was any left in God’s bag of tricks.
There was one. In complete utter disbelief every witness including the dogs felt their stomach sink, either in disgust or intense relief as the teeth failed and left the airborne child to fly free over the barrier. As the beast slammed face first against the wall, the soldier landed safely on the other side on top of his awaiting brother and a pile of rocks.
Immediate, deafening cheers rang victorious and the exhausted soldier touched the muck spread across his butt and looked at his hand, thinking it an oddly beautiful sight. A procession went underway to pay a never-to-be forgotten tribute to the army’s efforts of that afternoon. Chanting and dancing a tribal dance, the high priest Mopball was raised in the air, and lovingly embraced by his saviors. The look in their eyes darting between brother to brother was the only worthy description of the way their blood felt pumping through their hearts. Grinning, the slimed soldier looked over his shoulder as the brothers, arm in arm, trekked inside. He knew the demons would self-loathe for the rest of the evening. Mission, so definitely, accomplished…
(I was the kid with the slimed pants, which is why I remember it so well.)