"You boys better not have those damn BB guns out there"

“You boys better not have those damn bb guns out there.” My mom stepped out on the porch with a head full of curlers and a kent cigarette hanging out of her mouth. “ I mean It! If I get one more phone call about you guys shooting trucks someone is getting thumped.”
Don and I knew we were busted. We had a great set up be we also knew it would not last, nothing sweet ever does. Our house was surrounded on two sides by a wrap around porch. Some kind of bush bordered the porch. I really don’t know what kind of hedge it was but I know the old man sure liked to keep it neat. What we like about it was its height. We could kneel on one knee, lay our bb guns on the hedge and shoot trucks driving by. It was great sport. We would hear those big old tractor trailers downshift as they entered town from the west and we knew we had a bout 10 seconds. Cock, aim. Fire. Ping, ping, ping, ping all down the length of the trailer. We never shot at the tractors, nor did we go for the window, not that we didn’t hit one sometimes, we just never aimed at them.
“We need a new plan.” Don remarked as we put our guns I the garage. “As long as mom is home, we have to find a way to not get caught.”
“What if we wait until it’s dark?” I looked up at him pretty sure I had a good idea.
“Maybe” he said as he jumped on his bike and was gone apparently not giving my obviously excellent idea a second thought.

As soon as supper was done that night I was l was lying on the floor watching TV. Don tossed me a walkie talkie and said “C’mon numbnuts I have an idea.” I followed him to the garage wondering what the heck was going on. “Take this bb gun and get in our usual position, I am going up the street to Pierce’s alley with this walkie talkie. When I see a truck coming I will tell you when to fire..”
“Wasn’t waiting until after dark my idea?” I asked as I poured a handful of bb’s into the barrel of my red rider.
“Hell no, you have never had an idea good or bad.” Don answered smacking me on the back of the head and he was off.
Gun cocked, walkie talkie at my foot I was ready for battle. Just as I was thinking we usually don’t many trucks coming down the highway at night the radio cackled.
“Big truck coming, stay crouched behind the bushes and come up firing on the count of ten.”
Scrunched down cradling my weapon of choice I began counting. ….8, 9, 10 I stood straight up and without thinking, without so much as checking out my target I started firing. By the second squeeze of the trigger I knew I was in deep crap, by then it was too late. Ed Day, our small town’s night cop was slamming on the brakes of his cruiser right in front of my house. My first shot had cracked the passenger side rear-view mirror, the second one completely shattered the “bubble machine” on the roof of his old LTD.
The front door to my house, the tires on the cop car, and my bladder all squeeled at the same time. Big Ed flew out of the car waving his flashlight, “who the hell is shooting at me?” he roared scanning the nearby yards for an attempted murderer. If he would have looked a little more closely he would have found one, no not me, my mom.
“Whack!” the first slap stung my right check, the second and third ones were apparently only for effect because the first one smarted so bad I was numb. By the time Big Ed figured out what was wrong I was on my knees, not begging for mercy, just trying to hide.
Now, I could go on and relate my punishment, my humiliation, and my anger at my brother who came loping up 10 minutes later looking as innocent as a baby seal, but I won’t. What I’ll tell you is I never shot a bb gun again.