FLASHBACK

It was time for my buddy Tim and me to be up to no good again. Our last debacle with the brewing of homemade beer had blown over, and it appeared that we had once again cheated fate and made it through without being held responsible for our misdeeds. During our high school years we had teamed up on several occasions involving ourselves in many pranks and transgression, none of which came up to the standard constituting a capital offense. 

 

This latest indiscretion involved wine that technically did not belong to us, but seemed so neglected that it would have seemed irresponsible of us not to take advantage of the windfall. Directly adjoining Tim’s parent's house was another property that had a wine cellar that was off by itself and underground.  The door to the cellar was overgrown with vegetation and appeared not to have been opened for years. It was as if the owners of the property had no idea that this remote cellar even existed.

 

Rather than allow wine to go to waste, Tim and I felt that the proper thing to do would be to liberate it and share the bounty with friends that were going to be attending an unsupervised party directly across the street from where the wine originated. On the surface, our plan seemed rather ill-advised, but we had such a long history of involving ourselves in ill-advised activates and getting away with it that getting caught was not in any way part of our consciousness.

 

After rescuing several bottles of wine from the dark confines where it had been allowed to wile away time unappreciated and forgotten, we stowed our bounty in the trunk of Tim’s car. That night we drove across the street to the party and immediately passed out the wine to many eager outstretched hands. The party was a complete success. A few fights broke out, which is considered the obligatory entertainment for any unsupervised high school party worth its salt. A few girls were crying, most likely upset with their inebriated boyfriends. But generally speaking everything went well, no one was seriously hurt, no windows were broken, the police didn’t show up. The following day at school the party was the buzz of the campus.

 

A couple of days after the festivity I found myself at a local establishment called The Burger Pit. The place was the hangout for the local high school crowd and was completely crammed with people on this occasion. Not the usual clientele, I noticed a gentleman attired in a well-cut suit mingling in the crowd seemly asking questions. I got close enough to get wind of the conversation and soon realized that he was a detective interrogating people about the party and where all the wine came from. The blood drained out of my upper body and seemed to pool in my feet. I made a beeline for the door and headed over to Tim’s house with the disturbing news.

 

It seemed like an impossibility that we wouldn’t get found out. We hadn’t exactly done a superb job of covering our tracks. Having manually passed out the contraband in person, it just didn’t seem feasible that one of my classmates would not have spilled the beans on where the wine came from, especially considering they were being quizzed and cajoled my an officer of the law. Several days elapsed and the knock on the front door to my parent’s house never came.

 

I just found it hard to believe that the local law enforcement could be so inept. One thought that came to mind was the benefit of the fact that Tim’s father was the mayor of the town where the impropriety came to light. One possible scenario would be that the police found out who was involved and confronted the mayor with the evidence and then were gently asked to drop the whole affair. Maybe this happened or maybe not.

 

Shortly after the, I hate to call it a theft, but in retrospect, I guess I must call a spade a spade, there was a gruesome murder in town. The local priest was stabbed to death while giving a confessional. In light of this horrendous crime, our act of teenage aghast could have been dropped. For whatever reason our crime went unpunished and Tim and I were allowed to mature into law-abiding citizens and pillars of our communities.

Reviews

[Shelley Holt-Lowrey]

A classic Zeeke. Loved it from beginning to too short end.

Here's an odd metaphor... Your stories... Like a gourmet salad. The right mix of common lettuces and more rare and ofter bittersweet herbs. Just how I see it. Reading your work is an enterprise in being entertained. Always.

Cheers!