I'm Okay....Really.

"I'm Okay...Really."

As a boy I was considered by many, your typical "Runt." By this I mean the type of boy known for destruction of valuables, defacing of property, and other atrocities. Of course, none of this was an attempt at maliciousness, but rather in the name of adventure.

Ah yes, most of my childhood was spent with my friends Danny and Chris. The three of us continually snooping around for the next thrill.

Unfortunately, these random acts led to many supposed "Accidents," as some called them. We preferred thinking of them rather as "Experiments." Of course, as painful as some of our "Experiments" would end up, we refused to let our outward appearance give rise to doubts as to whether or not we knew what we were doing. Instead we acted as if all was successful and replied with, "I'm okay....Really." The reputation that we had made for ourselves had one down side though. People always appeared more tense when we were around for fear we would be dead before they made it to the scene.

Most of the time we spent together consisted of bikes and bombs. By "bombs" I mean the common firecracker. These, when pondered for any length of time in the mind of a young boy, grow into large scale, military spec, weapons of mass destruction. They were used to annihilate the enemy, which regardless of their extensive arsenal were terrible shots and never once grazed us with even a piece of shrapnel. In fact, once when Mom yelled "Supper!", we pegged off a whole platoon of them in mere minutes and still had time to wash our hands.

Our bikes on the other hand were normally old "trash picks" that we would try to restore to working order and then paint so the previous owner wouldn't regret throwing it away.

Much of what we did with bikes and bombs took place in the alley between our house and the neighbors. In the alley, no one cared about paint on the ground or used "bomb shell" fragments.

The alley had one problem though. There was a window on the side of our house about six or seven feet above the ground. It was our kitchen. If she wanted to, Mom could spy on our top secret experiments in the alley. We always had to move with caution.

One afternoon, Danny and Chris came over and brought a new find. A free-style bike that was missing just a few insignificant parts that I probably had in our basement.

" Whoa, looks like the pickins' have been good!" I said.
" Yeah,it was over on Whitehead ave." Danny replied."I snatched it just before the garbage man got there."
" Look what else we got." Chris said reaching in his pocket. He retrieved a handful of M-80's. The coveted "Bunker Buster."
"Now you're talkin'. Let's try 'em." I said.
Chris and I hunkered down with the M-80's in hand and Danny ran to the basement to get some tools, parts and spray paint.

Chris pulled out a lighter he lifted from his dad. He tried it a few times, but it seemed to be out of fuel. "I'll go get some matches." I said. I too ran for the basement and passed Danny on the way who was returning with the tools.
Meanwhile, Chris was still trying to get the lighter to work and Danny was now excitedly preparing the bike for restoration. I on the other hand was having trouble locating the matches in the basement.

Several minutes later, Danny had painted half the bike in a sharp "fire engine" red, when all of a sudden the nozzle clogged. "Oh stink!" He muttered.

Pulling a safety pin from is book bag,(void of books, might I add) he began pressing and poking to unclog the paint can.

"What's wrong over there?" Chris said, apparently noting Danny's frustration.
" The stupid thing clogged." Danny replied.
For the brief moment that Chris looked up in Danny's direction, his thumb was in mid-roll off the lighters starter. At that moment it finally worked. The fuse he held over the lighter was instantly engulfed in a brilliant, blue orange flame. Chris heard the faint sizzle of the fuse and looked down, immediately surprised by the fuse which was already half consumed. He instinctively hurled the firecracker into space. It soared gracefully through the air and came to rest in the middle of the alley, right behind Danny who was bent over, fiddling with the spray can! It was already too late for Chris to warn him.
CRAAACK!!!!

Danny jerked with fright, every muscle in his body tensing. Including the ones in his fingers that clutched the pin. All the cans pressure escaped in a split second sending red paint all over Danny, the ground, the walls and even the window!

Danny and Chris, for fear of blame, vanished, abandoning everything in the alley.

By this point, I was rounding the corner, full speed, with a handful of match books. Before I could process the scene in my mind, I tumbled over Danny's half-painted bike and landed flat on my face with arms and legs sprawled. I was now covered in paint from the bike and the ground.

In the seconds that preceded, Mom had been preparing dinner and heard the bang. She saw paint splatter violently on the window. She had bolted to the window in horrific anticipation just in time to see me land with a thud.

We were half way to the hospital when Mom calmed down enough to stop hyperventilating and hear me say, "I'm okay... Really."