Bobby and I hatched a plan.

16 months apart in age, Dad frequently referred to us as “Bert and Ernie”.

For one reason, we were pretty much attached at the hip. For another, we spent a fair amount of time hatching plans together.

They were usually plans that resulted in Mom lamenting that we were “giving her an ulcer”, or assurance (not asked for) that she, “used to be such a good person!”.

I digress.

The Plan:

We had noticed that the Kmart about a mile away from our house kept cases of pop out front.

We had also noticed that same Kmart closed down at night and left those cases of pop out.

Our plan was to get up in the middle of the night, ride our bikes down to that Kmart, snatch up a couple cases of pop, ride home and enjoy our sugary bubbly goodness until we burst.

The night of the plan arrived. I don’t remember who got up first.

We had planned to walk our bikes out of the back of the garage, through the yard to avoid opening the electric garage door and risk waking up the parents.

Success.

Undetected.

At the driveway, we confirmed the plan: if we saw headlights, we’d ride in to the ditch and hide there. If the Kmart parking lot lights were too bright, we’d head back home.

Check!

Away we rode, him in front of me.

We got about a half mile away and I saw headlights shining ahead of me. I rode in to the ditch.

I stayed still, waiting for the car to pass.

The lights grew brighter, and as it started to pass, red and blue lights added to the summer night sky.

“Shit!”

I slowly poked my head up out of the ditch and was horrified to see Bobby still pedaling down the road on his bike.

“Damn it!”

As soon as I was back in the safety of darkness, I hopped back on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could in the opposite direction back to the house.

I put my bike back in the garage exactly where it was, went back inside, sneaked back in to my room and in to my bed and laid perfectly still under my covers.

My heart was pounding.

Shit.

My mind was racing.

What was happening to Bobby?

Would they take him to jail?

Would they let him off easy? He wasn’t a criminal. He had no record.

Maybe they’d just let him go home.

My bedroom was in the front of the house and so my room lit up even though the blinds were closed when a vehicle pulled in to the driveway.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe they’ll just let him come in quietly.

I heard a knock on the front door.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I mess up my hair, jump out of bed, go out to the living room and open the door slowly and looking as sleepy as possible.

“W-what’s going on?”, wiping the fake sleep away from my eyes.

“Good evening. Would you ask one of your parents to come to the door, please?”

“That’s–that’s not a good idea. What happened? What’s going on?”

“M’am” I was not yet eleven. “Please get one of your parents.”

“Oh. Ok. Sure. One sec.”

FUUUUUUUUUUCK.

I remember so many individual and specific details of my childhood.

I do not remember what happened after that.

I know that Bobby ratted on me and I went down with him. I know there was hell to pay. But I have no memory of what happened. Just a sense that it was really bad as my entire body becomes electrified when I conjure up the memory of that day.

—–

The next thing I remember is day breaking. And trying to decide if I should or if I even would be able to go back to sleep.