THE S CLUB

“You don’t read enough war comics to know dip- shit about the military,” badgered Neil. Chris stood hunkered over a hole he was assigned to dig. “Three Feet Deep! You know why?”

“No,” said Chris like a worm peeking out often apple.

“Cause I want the victim to have three feet worth of momentum when he falls on the pointed stakes at the bottom of the pit.” He stopped. “Did I make myself clear?”

It was evident that Neil was going to make fighting men out of us yet.

“I think,” suggested to Madge, “that we should try and get a new fort.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well Goddamn if I know either,” she said. “We have had a fort in every possible place. Every nook and Hell Hole in a two mile radius.”

“Sometimes,” I said, “I wish we lived close to a shopping center so we could go to the movies instead of building fort and being bossed around by Neil.”

“Tell me about it,” she said wagging her head.

“We got dirt bombs, “I yelled to Neil. Neil jerked his headway from Chris.

“It’s about time,” he shouted.

“Dirt Bombs” are meteorite like clumps of dried earth usually found around dug up trenches of construction sites ‘Dirt Bombs,’ as you might know, are neat. Upon impact with the ground, ‘Dirt Bombs’ explode like grenades with little bits of dirt flying out every which way. Often times, they remind you of a stray bullet in Westerns when buckshot hits rocks and things and little clouds billow up. Neil had decided that we were going to play “War Maneuvers” that day. “Dirt Bombs were the necessary armaments such a game.

“Now this is how we are going to play,” he said. “I’ll take half the bombs and you three take the other half. I’ll defend the other half. I’ll defend the fort and you guys attack me.”

This is always the dilemma with forts. We never have a rival gang. Only Farley and she isn’t supposed to know about the fort in the first place. So we have nobody to fight but ourselves.

“What do you mean not fair?” he seethed with a street intense belligerence. “It’s three against one. You guys are the Viet Cong trying to regain your village and I am a Green Beret.”

“You calling me a Chink!” shouted Madge so hot you could fry an egg on her forehead.

“Listen little Chickie, just fight.”

“Will fight ya,” she said snarling. “Fight ya to the finish. Come on, Guys.” she said grabbing the bombs and heading out to the field.

“O.K. Edmund,” said Madge, “You attack the front.”

“But watch out for the hole, I dug,” cautioned Chris.

“Now, Chris, you and I will attack from the side. Try to keep his attention while I circle around and attack him from the behind,” ordered Madge

Chris yelled his Apache yell as we broke from our huddle and ran toward the fort.

The first bomb was thrown and it veered too far to the left to do anything.

Madge yelled, “Cut it ” and Chris and her split off to the sides. I galloped toward the fort. I screamed and I forgot that I was in Eighth Grade and that as childish as this way, I was captivated for the moment. I hurled one choice dirt bomb in Neil’s direction, it lobbed high and it would have hit him. If he hadn’t side stepped it.

A dirt bomb whizzed by my temple.

Chris chucked one and then another at his brother. The dirt bomb cracked open right in front of his boots. Neil’s eyes widened with a fevered sibling hate. The scent of blood was imagined in his festering nostrils. “O.K Chris,” he shouted, “take this.” He threw one bomb after another like a rabid baseball pitcher. Chris ducked and threw another but in doing so, he crushed the remaining bombs he had left. Having the only recourse to run, he turned and sprinted away. Neil then walloped him with a hard dirt bomb right in the center of his ass. Chris jumped, “Ow that smarts,” he said in imitation of Huckleberry Hound.

Neil laughed and was then jolted by a sudden knock in the back of his head.

His face and eyes eclipsed into a sorrowful red. His lips quivered uncontrollably like a shocked baby who not having his way.

He dismissed “Madge” as a “girl” and forgot about how cunning and what a good throw she can be.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” he almost bawled.

“Tough shit, Fatso,” she said.

“There must have been a rock in that dirt bomb,” he said.

“So?” Madge mimicked.

“You are not supposed to shoot a man with his back turned,” he cried.

“You set up the rules, asshole.” Madge retorted.

“Well then now, I am gonna make up my own rules,” Neil said with his fist clenched and his eyes obviously watering.

“Cry Baby,” Madge sang.

“You know I got safes,” he said. His masculinity all bunched up inside. The edge of his voice skimmed a vulnerable, desperate, flaccid but still dangerous fervor. “I really can take care of you, Bitch.”

“Big words for a big mouth,” spat back Madge.

Neil turned toward her, he walked slowly. He was going to kill her. He was Goliath’s revenge on David. His smile was lop-sided, his gaze reptilian. “I am going to get you for this.” I thought for a second that I may have to defend her. I grabbed a dirt bomb.

“Eat shit,” said Madge

The welt on the back of Neil’s head was red and throbbing.

“This is the last time you are going to mess with me,” he said.

Madge gave Neil a Bronx cheer.

Neil’s arms were poised like a panther just as it pounces. A feral moan rang out of his body. Birds scattered. Sweat ran down my arm and made the dirt bomb in my hand muddy. I brought my arm ready to release it. I looked at Chris and Chris looked at me.

Neil jumped up. I threw the dirt bomb. The six-o-clock siren blew. Madge scampered away. The dirt bomb missed Neil. And we all ran home laughing like savages because we not wanting to catch hell for being late for dinner.