Wingnut

“Who on earth is Wingnut?” Mom asked. I told her that he is a kid at the end of the street who doesn’t have any friends. I told them all how I had seen him fall of the wall, and how I carried him into his house and heard the weird barking sound that his mother had made.

I told Wingnut about my idea of Operation Payback. He didn’t move or say anything; steadily his face lit up into his full-faced grin.

“That’s a great idea. That’s the best ever; let’s do it.”

“Ahh! Don’t make me laugh,” he stammered. “It hurts.” The expression on his face was quite hilarious, as he tightly puckered up his mouth and squinted his eyes, until his eyebrows both sloped up at a steep angle towards the center of his face. I started laughing uncontrollably and slapped my hands on my knees as I doubled over in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

I hurried to face the music of whatever it was that I had done or not done. It was always totally unpredictable, as my mom used her special mom senses to sniff out problems, and the eyes in the back of the head thing really seemed to help her nail me for something.

Wingnut began to accelerate, and panic filled his chest as he realized that he had no brakes. He sped out of control and flashed past the stop sign at the end of the street, hurtling past the traffic flow. Three cars swerved violently, missing Wingnut by a hair’s breadth; others jammed on their brakes, leaving black skid marks on the road as the wheels locked and smoked to a halt.

The old Dennis lunged forward immediately, and motored off across the scruffy, overgrown lawn, with Wingnut trotting behind it, frantically grasping at the levers in an attempt to stop it.

Through a dizzy haze and watering eyes, I could see that the windshield had come free in his hands, and had flown over his head and landed on the mossy ground behind him as he fell.

We nailed together a complete box frame that fitted all around the outside of the bike. We attached cross braces at right angles to the crossbar, just behind the handlebars, and one at the back, just behind the seat.

We turned the loaded go-cart to our left and headed for the open pasture. It was easy going except for the scattered cow poops that were difficult to avoid. They were as large as dinner plates with a dry crust on the top, like a freshly baked pie.

“We already have a plan,” I stated boldly.” The plan’s called Operation Payback. Perhaps you would all like to help us with the plan.”

“Ahh! There’s something on my neck!” I screamed. I turned a little to let Wingnut take a look; he squinted in the darkness, lifting up the brim of his hat so he could see. Then he screamed, scaring me half to death. “Spiders!” he squealed.

Down they swooped at startling speed; dive-bombing us, two or three at a time. With each swoop they took; they got closer to our heads. Wingnut was swinging the stick with all his might. I could hear it swishing through the air with each revolution. Without warning; the string snapped and the rotating part flew off and went spinning off end over end, crashing onto the ground in a cloud of dust.