This being (yet) another. Oy vey!
It’s painfully obvious who came up with the lame-brain idea. Why we still listened to him remains a much bigger mystery. By this deep into the summer, especially, you’d think we’d have learned our lessons, Crazy Ed being synonymous with trouble, but no, gluttons for punishment are we, much more so when bored. Tonight, sitting on the front steps trying to see who could hold onto a lit match the longest before toasting their fingertips, we were certainly bored, bored to tears.
Then, Eddie started in. “You guys up for a little excitement in your lives, or are you gonna sit here doing nuthin but play with yourselves all night long?” His unsolicited comment ending with an “Dammit!” as a lit book of matches practically fried his fingers off, enough so to immediately emit the nasty odor of burning flesh, as he stomped around cussing and frantically flapping his hand in the air. Moron.
His inquiry met with utter silence mixed with unanimous rolling eyeballs. We’d been down this road far too many times before. But like so many things with teenagers, all it takes is one to show interest and the rest of the herd follows. In this case, Brain was the “one” and Big Patrick and I were apparently the sheep. Much to our chagrin.
His idea was right up there with the Aptucxet debacle, only significantly more dangerous, yet we listened.
“You guys know that water tower at the Bourne rotary, right next to Ho-Jo’s?”
Crickets. Not a sound, much less a nod. Nonetheless undaunted, Ed continued, “Well, at the top there’s a little utility room where you can see all the way to the canal and stuff. It’s an amazing place to party! That is, if you’ve got the balls to make it to the top. The ladder’s a little shaky…”
Oh good, just what we needed to hear. Obviously the dingbat had done it before; my only questions were about the suckers who evidently climbed with him and what their survival rate was.
“Listen, you crazy m-effer, that sounds like either a death or prison sentence, and I ain’t fond of either.” I felt compelled to assert, (in place of Mary Ellen not being around), Brian nodding his agreement. “Be nice to go just one night this summer without getting in trouble, ya know…?” I concluded.
“Did I mention I’ve got beer in the trunk? Cold Rolling Rocks all around, boys. Whadaya say, you ladies up for it?” Eddie taunted, with a big, shit-eating grin on his freckled punim. “Or are you chick’n?!”
“Fine, we’re in!” jumped-in Big Patrick, without consulting a soul, including mine who would’ve declined!
And per usual, ladies and germs, that was that! As my stomach churned.
We waited until it was darker, and then took Eddie’s car—Patrick shoving me out of the way as we raced toward the car, even though I called shotgun! Eddie revved the Roadrunner’s powerful engine then peeled rubber until the tires were smoking as we left the parking lot—so much for being inconspicuous—a word not in Eddie’s vocabulary.
Beer’s all around, loud music cranking from the radio, and Patrick’s mixture of loud belches and farts kept us well entertained on the short jaunt to our destination. Of course we had all seen the water tower before, perched upon a large hill, but other than Ed, never up close and personal.
Two things immediately struck me, there didn’t seem to be an access road up the hill (How do we even get up there?), and the skinny ladder attached to the tower’s side seemed to go up forever before reaching the top, somewhat akin to a high-wire act without safety nets. Crazy!
The first issue was solved when Eddie pointed out a narrow, graveled path (not an actual road) barely wide enough for a two-wheeled vehicle, let alone a car. Nonetheless, he forced the Roadrunner into the tight confines, ignoring the awful screeching of tree limbs severely scratching to his car (It was covered with gobs of “bondo” putty anyhow, the original hideous lime green “paint job” long faded like a distant memory.), and shouting like a banshee all the way up the hill, his car bottoming out at least twice.
“To hell with the water tower, I thought, we’re gonna die before we ever get there anyway,” and for a while, it looked like I was right!
The car arrived at the top a few minutes before our kidneys did. By then, we were all hysterically laughing as we exited the car and looked up and up…
“Jeezus H. That thing goes on for-ev-er!” Brian stated the obvious while straining his neck to look up, until his ever-present felt hat fell off.
“No way am I climbing up there,” I quickly joined in, hoping in vain to gain support, of which came none.
“Gimme one more beer, and I’m as good as up there,” boasted Patrick, immediately earning him a viscous high five from Edward, both their palms turning bright red!
“Then it’s settled. Gentleman, we’re climbing up!” summarized Eddie.
“Ahhh sugar!” I reflexed. “Here we go again.”
Immediately after, we encountered our first problem. The metal ladder started a good ten-foot higher than the ground, meaning someone’s shoulders were about to get hurt. Accordingly, Big Patrick and Crazy Eddie bucked up—once, twice, three… Shue! Eddie won, so it was Patrick’s broad, often sunburned shoulders we would be abusing. Worked for me.
And before anyone asks (because I was skinny): “There’s no friggin way I’m going up there first!” My line of demarcation, firmly drawn in the sand.
“That’s ok,” chimed in Brian with that perpetual giggle of his, which made everything he did sound fun, even immense danger. “I’m game! First-to-the-top wins all the beer, suckers!” And onto Big Patrick’s sturdy shoulders he went, albeit a bit wobbly at first, as they inched themselves closer to the ladder’s bottom rung with me and Crazy Dude trying to keep them steady, when Brian, giggling so hard he was shaking Patrick, turned back to ask, “Hey, who’s bringing up the brewski’s?” The question answered itself as he turned his head to see that Eddie had a backpack strapped on and was giving a hearty, shit-eating grin along with a thumbs up. At least he was good for something…
“Don’t fall with all MY beer, pea brain.” Giggle, giggle, and giggle.
Looking up, man-oh-man that tower was freaking high (I would later find out some 200 feet!), and the ladder looked to be from another era, not good, not good at all. I was literally shaking awaiting my turn, as I watched Brian barely grab the bottom rail and hoist himself up, his progress announced by a large arm fart sent in the direction of Patrick’s face! As you can imagine, lots of swearing and good-natured shouting quickly ensued. What the heck were we even doing?
Then, gulp, it was my turn. Eddie helped get me on Patrick’s shoulders while The Big Guy warned me of certain and painful death, should I decide to expel any smells or bodily fluids in his direction whatsoever, his bright crimson face underscoring his threat. So I climbed up, as slow as molasses, inch by inch, rung by rung, grip by grip, holding on for dear life, my hands bruised, as I nervously ascended!
Even as strong a kid as he was, Big Patrick struggled mightily to get Eddie on his shoulders, the two of them looking like a high-wire act gone bad. Finally, Eddie was stable enough to somehow grab the rung and hoist up, the heavy backpack shifting dangerously as he did. The next trick, getting Patrick up, was much more difficult, and poorly planned. If it wasn’t for him finding a large tree branch to drag over, there would have been no way for him to join us. But he did.
Ok good. So, now there were four morons on the ladder!
I was so busy hanging on for dear life that it didn’t occur to me that we might be seen and reported to the Cops. Gawd knows that would have been strike three for all of us, but up we went throwing caution to the wind. But by the grace of God, somehow we all landed “safely” on the top platform, a million zillion miles from the ground, and you know something? The view was beautiful and we were on top of the world! Maybe this was a cool idea after all. We could see the canal!
Eddie pointed out the flush, little door leading into the “utility” room. Fortunately, the door was unlocked (or maybe it always was?), so we all squeezed into its tight confines, along with his backpack of beer.
“Ahhh, this is the life. Ain’t it, boys?! Told ya it was cool” said Eddie, staking his claim to victory.
And for a long while, perhaps an hour or more, we sat up there drinking beers, telling dirty stories and having an absolute ball sitting on top of the world.
Everything was cool and copacetic, that was, until, it wasn’t…
It was a matter of light. Or in this case, complete lack thereof.
You see, our ascent into the heavens had been significantly aided by several powerful spotlights stationed around the tower’s base. At precisely ten p.m., according to Brian’s trustworthy Omega watch, the lights suddenly went out! I’m not talking about one or two of them; I’m saying every single one went black and we were left a zillion miles in the air, in a tiny room, a little bit buzzed, in total and complete darkness! Not good.
We were, to put it mildly, s-c-r-e-w-e-d!
“Ahhh, shit!” I think we all said it at the same time.
