Long Islanders

29 - Exploding Signs

"Look!" John exclaimed, slowing his motorcycle to a halt. He pointed to the sign propped up against the tree by the sidewalk. Scribbled on it in large black letters were the words M80s – Cheap. Sitting in the truck bed of an old pickup truck was a young man, probably late twenties. Behind him in the back of the truck sat a couple of crates of the explosives.

Jimmy stopped his motorcycle beside John's and frowned at the truck. Despite being technically classified as fireworks, M80s were still extremely powerful explosives. "How'd he get those?"

"Who cares?" Nathaniel said, halting his bike. "They're cheap! Come on, we could pull some great pranks with those!"

Jimmy gave Nathaniel a skeptical look. "Pranks with dynamite? Come on, Nate, that's far, even for us."

John shrugged. "We don't have to throw them at people to have fun, Jimmy. Come on, let's find out how much this guy thinks cheap is."

John, Nathaniel, and Jimmy got off their motorcycles and eased the kickstands down before walking over to the pickup truck. The man watched them approach him and hopped out of his truck bed. "Hey, guys! Interested in some M80s?"

"Yeah, man," Nathaniel called back as the three boys reached the truck. "How much?"

The man named a price, which all three boys said was fair. These were explosives they were talking about, after all. So after a brief deliberation that, for John and Nathaniel anyway, was nothing but a shrug and a "What's the harm?", the three boys decided to purchase the M80s.

So the explosives were bought. And Jimmy thought of the harm of buying the M80s while riding back toward Stanwich with his friends.

I have M80s in the bags of my motorcycle.

I am carrying dynamite on my motorcycle.

Dynamite.

Holy crap.

Jimmy slowed his bike. "Hey, guys," he said. "I don't want my M80s. My dad will kill me if he finds out I have them. You's guys want them?"

"Sure," Nathaniel shrugged. "I'll take 'em."

"So will I," John jumped in. Jimmy took the M80s out of his motorcycle saddlebags and handed them to his friends, who split them and tucked them away with their own dynamite. Then they continued their ride, heading to their separate houses once they hit Stanwich.

Later that night, Jimmy was sitting in the living room watching a television movie with his family when there came a knock on the door. "Get that, will you, Jimmy?" his mother asked.

"Fine," Jimmy grumbled, standing up. He walked out of the room and down to the door, swinging it open. Nathaniel stood on his doorstep, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Guess what?" he demanded.

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"I blew up the Mike Lane sign," Nathaniel bragged.

Jimmy glanced behind him and then quickly stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. "You what?" he demanded.

"I blew up the Mike Lane sign," Nathaniel repeated. "I used the M80s and blew it up! You should have seen it! It was awesome."

"What'd you do that for?" Jimmy demanded.

"Because I had dynamite?" Nathaniel answered, furrowing his forehead. "Besides, it was fun!"

"Don't come here and tell me you blew up the sign," Jimmy hissed. "Don't make me an accomplice."

Nathaniel shrugged. "Whatever, man. I'm gonna go tell the Rossi brothers." He turned and left, leaving footprints in the newly fallen snow as he cut across toward his yard.

And in the morning, when Jimmy rode past the Mike Lane sign, the green street sign had been blown off the pole and was sitting in the branches of a neighboring tree, twisted and bent. Despite himself, Jimmy couldn't help but laugh.