I was walking home through a shortcut behind a tiny barnyard in my neighborhood, by cutting behind the gas station and through a fence slot. Preston and his goon Darrell had advanced on me before I’d know they were even there, but sensing them I flung around and recoiled like a scared animal. They both tapered out of a suspicious lunge, and I could tell by their expressions, even in the darkness, the situation being shocking and ironic that they had mistaken me for a victim of some faceless violent crime. “What the fuck?” I yelled at them.
Preston cringed and widened his eyes signaling for silence impatiently with a finger. “what the fuck dude?” I whispered, still half ready to bolt. Preston, a long haired hooded tall kid, having grown up in the house accross the street from mine, had taken me once along stealing car stereos, joined along on boy scout repelling weekends, and even gone to church on several instances when we were still in elementary school.
Darrell, taking initiative to speak at sub volume “Joe! Holy shit it’s Joe, huh” This tan skeleton was the pitcher on my little league baseball team, I’d umpired softball games for his sister and knew his parents who’d worked in the concessions stand at the very same games. On more than one occasion he’d brutally beaten friends of mine for simply trying to assert their hardcore status among the student body and though I’d become occasion to his random paintball or waterballoon attacks growing up He and I’d never really had a negative confrontation. Seeming ready to burst into a laugh without confessing himself he stood there like a bad mime waiting for Preston or I to join in.
Standing once again at attention I breathed out finally saying “Dirthead fucks you scared the shit out of me.” They both started laughing and nudging each other, these guys were the shit of our neighborhood, known crackheads without shame. When there wasn’t something readily available or convenient to steal or scam, they’d often, along with the rest of the company they hung around with, steal and plunder from themselves, the others’ family or spouse, or whoever it took to keep business flowing. They were booth wadded up in black denim and sweats, covered in dead grass and dirt, and obviously out creating mischief.
“Dude” said Preston gulping on his laughter like a fish “Surprise Dude! Did we surprise you?” The complete mockery of what a bullshit lie would consist of, but these kinds of formalities were readily exercised at our young age, the polite thing to do of course is playing along and salvaging at least one party’s pride, and it was a pleasure to do so, just so long as I wasn’t going to get beat to shit.
“Surprise!” Said Darrell in a little whispering squeal.
“Wow.” I nodded to them both. “That’s quite a surprise guys, good job.” The sarcasm covertly interlaced. I felt not unlike Frodo did when Bilbo went crazy and tried to take the ring back, like I’d caught a childhood buddy in the act of trying to assault and rob someone that lived somewhere in our neighborhood. Humorous and Ironic, still unfortunate for the next poor bastard to pass through between this slot in the fence.
I saw them nod at eachother 3 times and they both said “Surprise!” in this pathetically quiet pant, after which they graciously continued with their Beavis laughter.
“Hey,” said Preston, “Don’t spoil the surprise for anyone else K dude?” His face looked like he was speaking to a 14 month old baby with ear tubes.
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