You don't have to turn on the red light

When I was fourteen my friends and I would without fail sneak out of our houses most weekend nights. Sometimes it would be to meet girls, but normally that wasn't an option. Usually we would just break into a house that was empty and for sale and hang out and play cards. There were so many funny things that happened I could really make every blog entry a nostalgic story. But I think I will just recall one of my favorites for you now. . .

Jules

Jules was a stout little Lebanese trouble maker, and maybe a little bit of an idiot savant. He could play the piano like Roberta Flack. But he had the sensibility of a moth that gets stuck in your bathroom. Adults really loved him because he was a lot of fun at a dinner party and could charm a whole room with perfect renditions of classic piano hits. Us boys loved him because he could make napalm out of pomade and he had an arsenal of BB guns that could stop the Red Army.

I feel like I'm writing like Steven King right now. Forgive me. Steven King novels or film adaptations of his work always seem to reminisce about a more innocent time. The soundtrack usually consists of golden oldies. Well let me say now, there was nothing sweet about our dealings. If you must imagine a soundtrack--imagine "Flight of the Valkeries" in that scene from Apocalypse Now, where they are booming Wagner from Bell Helicopters over an old world jungle being lit up by fire. The soundtrack from Damien Omen would be apropos as well.

One particular night Jules and I got particularly decked out. Full camo. BB guns. Gasoline. Enough carabiners and and rope to outfit the 19th century British Navy for a year. Why we needed all that stuff, I can't say. But we certainly used it. Just because we had it. We rappelled down the slightest of hills. Just because we could. Chatted on walkie talkies, even though we could hear each other whisper.

At some time around 3am we found ourselves in a park. We noticed a suspicious vehicle. A VW van parked in the darkest part of the parking lot. There was clearly activity. Suddenly Jules busted out this black fanny pack. He zipped it open and revealed what I would call now a creepy rape kit. But at the time I just saw a bag with electrical tape, a cheap camera with a flash, bundling twine, a few knives, and a flashlight with a red filter. Jules took out the flashlight and turned it on. To me it looked like a clearly visible red light. Jules insisted that the light was invisible to the human eye. I asked him how we could see the light? He seemed perplexed. In his mind he was holding some secret military technology. Jules was sure that only me and him could see this light.

Instantly I felt dread because I knew I was about to witness a mistake. And I couldn't talk Jules out of it. Very seriously he looked at me and said, "I'm going to go check it out." As I watched him tumble away like a Ninja Turtle, I braced myself--because I knew the situation was about to unfold in a way Jules could not foresee.

I watched him creep up to the van, hiding in the shadows. Slowly he peered into one of the windows. . . and then it happened. Jules turned on the red flashlight. The van was flooded with red light. In an instant I could see a women's breasts. I heard lots of yelling. Then a man in a black shirt with no pants got out of the van and chased Jules into the bushes. I could hear Jules scream as he disappeared into the night being chased by a man with a full on erection. Deep down I knew it was funny. But I couldn't laugh. I was afraid that guy would come after me too with his hard-on and his arms waving in the air. I hunkered down in a bush and waited for things to cool off.

Later on I met Jules back at his house. Apparently he still didn't think the people could see the red light. He said, "I don't know what happened. I think they heard me."