"Here I Go"

It all started innocently enough. I was about 10 years old and had a tendency to dabble in troublesome antics more frequently than necessary. My mother is a middle child. She has four exceedingly acid-tongued, grudge-holding, gossipy sisters who are always fervently seeking to sink their claws into devastatingly susceptible prey. Naturally, my mother is the mediator of the clan: the one who everyone scurries to when things aren’t going their way.  

So here I was, at my cousin’s graduation party. It was a cousin I didn’t particularly like, so as a result I was rather bitter and grumpy when we first arrived at the towering monstrosity that posed as my Aunt Delilah and Uncle Humphrey’s house. The house they reared my four petulant and shrill girl cousins. I was cynical. I was bored out of my skull. And thus, I began to ardently seek out entertainment. I was in the mood for mayhem, for something uproarious and unforgettable to occur. A tremendous and comical event that I can tailor into the Perfect Anecdote: a timeless story that I will repeat to my friends and relatives (on my father’s side) for many, many years to come. 

To start off, I decided to take a few laps around the colossal backyard, chock-full of roses, daisies, chrysanthemums, dandelions: sprouting up every which way. The vivid flowers encompassed the entire backyard. So I decided to attempt to eavesdrop, observe, and be my thoroughly plucky 10-year-old self. I was on a mission, and so help me, I intended to accomplish it! I couldn’t care less that this goal of mine was utterly quixotic and not to mention, incredibly fatuous but nevertheless, I yearned for entertainment and by golly, I was going to get some entertainment if it was the last thing I did! I drew the conclusion that if I was going to have to suffer through a party sans any humorous anecdotes and spellbinding scandals well, I mind as well be at church! So I guzzled down what was left of my Coke, flung it into the nearest trash bin, and padded across the expertly manicured lawn with a devilish glint in my eyes. 

I stood sulking by the back porch for quite awhile as I simultaneously darted my eyes around the backyard, fanatically seeking prey. (I suppose you could say I resembled my aunts in this aspect.) And then out of the blue, I spotted my two younger brothers and two younger cousins playing an incredibly chaotic game of bean bags. I smirked to myself as I basked in their howling and cackles. Almost instantly, I dashed over there to egg them on and stir up trouble: two things I was more than content to strive for achieving whenever I found whatever situation I was in to be unbearably mind-numbing. 

“Hey you scalawags, what are you up to?” I barked at the four young boys scurrying around, clutching the colorful bean bags rather tightly in their puny, claw-like hands.  

The youngest of the four, Max, the youngest cousin on my mother’s entire side of the family grimaced at me and let out a snort that compelled me to grimace right back at him. Yet surprisingly, he did not lunge at me in a valiant yet irksome attempt to “gouge my eyes out” as my brother Aiden so expertly words it. (Although this is something that Joey does indeed attempt to accomplish to this very day. He is a rather vicious, hot-tempered fellow if you couldn’t tell already. Or at the very least, Max certainly takes pleasure in clasping his little hand over your eyes so tightly that you find yourself shrieking and wriggling like a mentally unhinged person for quite some time.)  

“Lilly, you should play bean bags with us,” my cousin Donavon, (who is Max’s older brother) suggested to me, his eyes drastically widening in anticipation. 

“Well, of course I’d be more than willing to start up a rousing game of bean bags with you guys,” I retorted, my voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Okay, then let’s start playing already,” my brother Otis spat impatiently. 

“Wait a minute,” I told them. “I have a better idea. I’m going to make a bet with you all.” 

It was blatant to me that “bet” was certainly the magic word. I knew I had done well. (This is a little something I’ve picked up over the years living with three boys; and that includes my father.) 

“Yeah, okay! I’m game. So what’s it going to be?” my brother Aiden breathlessly inquired. 

“Well. Let’s see…” I stalled, in an effort to be as exasperating as possible…another forte of mine at my young age. 

“Okay, so here’s the deal: whoever gets the most bean bags up on Aunt Delilah and Uncle Humphrey’s neighbors’ roof wins a big, fantastic prize from yours truly,” I carefully explained to the youngsters. 

Instantly, the young boys ogled the massive stack of brightly colored bean bags that was laying in the grass inches away from them. Simultaneously, a mischievous glimmer flickered in each of their eyes. They didn’t care what this so-called prize was. They probably knew deep down the “prize” that I had dangled as bait for them was most likely nonexistent but nevertheless, these boys were cutthroat.  

Well, that was half the battle, I thought to myself wickedly. 

Soon enough, before I could bellow out, “GO!” the boys had darted over to the bean bags and began to repeatedly attempt to hurl them onto the neighbors’ roof. One by one. That was the way to get it done.  

By then, I was already keeled over from chuckling my head off. I was practically curled up into the fetal position in the corner by my aunt and uncle’s back door. My work here was almost done. 

Yet, of course like amid every one of my disobedient adventures, I had to furtively slink away from my mother who I had caught shooting me a withering stare just moments ago.  

Avoid Angry Mom, I boldly told myself. Avoid Angry Mom and you will succeed. Subtlety was the key.  

Soon enough, I spotted three yellow bean bags innocently perched on the obscenely giant white house next door; courtesy of Max, Otis and Donavon And the next thing I know, Aiden had rapidly chucked the remaining bean bags all at once onto the roof in order to “get the rest down.”  

Traitor, I thought, continuing to wildly cackle to myself. 

Clearly, Aiden’s foolish planned failed miserably, the outcome being every single bean bag being perched in the gutter or on the roof of the swanky house, the “Private Property” sign menacingly tacked onto the fence practically mocking me. 

Well, as you can imagine the night ended very tumultuously. My oldest cousin Ethan ended up scolding the boys until he was blue in the face, wagging his finger like a maniac as he ordered them to sit in a “timeout” until the end of the party. This was following my desperate and less than graceful escape into the basement to watch a movie with the other, more civilized kids. Although, to be fair, the boys got an easy break, given that Ethan was much too busy swigging bottles of Budweiser to even detect that his captives had darted off into the great beyond soon after they had been ordered to sit in a time out. 

Although I had to endure a tongue-lashing in the end, a verbal sparring match with my mother, if you will; it was all worth it. At the end of the night as we pulled out of my aunt and uncle’s driveway to head back down the dirt road, I had the privilege of spotting out of the corner of my eye the mysterious next door neighbor lumbering up a tattered, rickety ladder that was perched on the gutter of the house. The sun was waning, the bushes swaying in the crisp summer breeze, the stars glistening in the pitch-black night sky, as I let out one last hearty giggle.