Hershey's With Almonds

Around Back

Green, red, yellow, green, red, yellow, green, red, yellow, Chinese lanterns hung at various heights around the perimeter of the backyard. They looked like UFOs hovering midair if you squinted. Only the occasional flytrap interrupted their repeating pattern. Hanging along side them in the thin July air was the faint sound of polka music. It was barley audible to the ear but the second half of its syncopated rhythm managed to quietly assault its way into our heads. Similarly, the light smell of sizzling meat on a grill permeated the yard and snuck its way into our nostrils. The large backyard was mostly empty but a moderate sized dilapidated jungle gym took up space at the center of the open yard like a sunken ship frozen in time at the bottom of an ocean floor. An old slide lay nearly horizontal in the dirt alongside monkey bars and various pieces of splintered wood. Torn strands of yellow cargo netting were spread randomly atop it all.

Mike stood next to it, a musket pointed to the sky above the woods. He was whom we were there to see. On the phone he had simply said to meet him “around back”. He patiently steadied his hand as if he were taking aim at a particular cloud. Before long he didn’t seem to be moving at all, a mannequin in the middle of the yard. I looked at my friend and little sister with a puzzled expression.

“Uh, should we approach him?” I asked.

My sister, who had been timid so far had now reached a state of nervousness, “Let’s just turn around,” she said.

We stood still and waited a little longer. The only thing more deafening than the silence was the burning, dry heat.

Without further discussion Anish broke the silence yelling the thoroughly thought out greeting of, “Uh, Mike?!”

Startled, Mike jumped straight up parallel for a fraction of a second to his unintentional musket fire. Once grounded, he swung himself around, his free hand on his heart, the other hand choking the barrel of the gun.

“Fuck!” he yelled, realizing who had scared him. He walked over to us.

“Hey man! What are-“ I tried to ask him just what he was doing.

“Happy fuckin’ fourth!” he cut me off, extending his hand in greeting. His handshake was incredibly strong. Marine trainee strong.

Anish tried to finish the question that I had started, He pointed at Mike’s gun asking, “So what are you up to?”

“Just celebratin’ the US of A! Want some Italian sausage with peppers?”

My stomach growled, “Is that what that smell is?”

“Yup, dad’s grillin’,” he pointed over to the corner of the yard. His dad was indeed sitting in the shadows, next to a grill and a small junky boombox.

“How about you Anish? Or Liz?” He offered the grilled food to them.

“I’m a vegetarian,” responded Anish.

“Still? What’s that about man?” Mike responded before looking to my sister. “How about you?”

Still very startled by the strange events and surroundings she shook her head and pointed at the gun, “What were you doing out there Mike?”

“Just shootin’ off my musket,” he said in a strange tone as if it were obvious in it’s simplicity.

We made our way to the edge of the yard, towards the grill and polka music and Mike put together a sausage sandwich with some peppers and onions. His dad sat in an old lawn chair, wearing a few of his old war medals and puffing a cigar. He offered one to Anish and I without so much as a greeting.

“You boys want a cigar? They’re Cuban.”

“No thanks, we don’t smoke,” Anish responded politely.

“Why isn’t he eating?” Mike’s dad asked Mike before coughing up cigar smoke.

“He’s a vegetarian dad,”’

“Still? You are a man, aren’t ya’?”

“Heh, yeah…” Anish forced up a chuckle.

There was a short silence while Mike scrapped together bits of meat off of the grill and onto a roll. The grill’s flame was barley an ember anymore and so Mike picked up the bottle of lighter fluid, recklessly squirting it all over the grill and food.

“So what are you fags up to tonight?” asked Mike’s father. Liz grimaced at the slur. “Oh sorry honey,” he apologized.

“We’re not gay dad…” Mike told him.

“So what are you doin’ then? You have guests over and you don’t do anything?”

“We’re eating. We’re talking. Let me enjoy my friend’s company dad.”

The sandwich was delicious as was the dessert of French pastries that Mike’s mother brought out for us. We all sat and ate and laughed about old times and assumptions of the future.

Finally, after midnight, we started to gather our things and make our way to the car. We stood at the gate to the backyard and we each shook Mike’s hand.

“When’s your vacation over?” asked Anish, “When are you going back to the Marines?”

“Tomorrow morning actually,” Mike answered.

“Oh wow…”

“Yeah… that’s why I had you guys over here tonight. So I could remember what I’m working for when I’m there.”

Under the lights of the Chinese lanterns, with the Italian sausage in our stomachs and among the polka music, somehow Mike was right.