---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Dear Reader” Down in the Dirt, v155 (the March 2018 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the issue book At Midnight the Down in the Dirt Jan.-Apr. 2018 collection book		get the 418 page Jan.-Apr. 2018 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Moon Shot

Mike Sharlow

    On April 21, 1972 Apollo 16 landed on the moon, and although the excitement of going to the moon was waning it was still broadcasted on TV. Three days ago, on April 27^th it returned to Earth. When I walked outside to the alley behind the apartments, I saw Steve with a tennis ball cannon. Steve wanted to be an astronaut, so I think he was inspired by the recent moonshot to build the cannon.
    The cannon was made from pop cans. In the early 70’s pop cans were made of tin. They were rigid like soup cans. The top and bottom was removed with a can opener. The cans were then attached end for end with duct tape. A hole was punched a about a quarter inch from the bottom of the cannon with a nail. Then the same nail was driven through the middle of the bottom can, so that when you dropped the tennis ball in, it was stopped at that point. Lighter fluid was used as fuel and squirted into the hole at the bottom. Then you shook the cannon dispersing the fluid and filling the lower part of the cannon with vapors, primarily the section just below the nail. Not wasting anytime, you dropped the tennis ball down the hatch before all the fluid evaporated and the vapors dispersed too much. Then you lit the cannon (a lighter worked best) at the hole where you squirted in the lighter fluid. And if all went as planned, the vapors exploded with a WHOMP! and the tennis ball shot two to three hundred feet into the sky.
    I came out just in time to see Steve light his cannon. Even in the daylight I could see the flash of ignition, as the tennis ball shot into the pale blue sky. The wind forced it east on its decent, and it bounded off the apartment complexes carport roof it bounced down the concrete alley with Steve chasing behind, the plastic soles of his cheap K-mart tennies cracking on the pavement.
    I stood next to his cannon and examined it, waiting for him to come back.
    “You see that!” he blurted excitedly. “If I built a bigger cannon, I could shoot a tennis ball into orbit, maybe the moon.”
    At thirteen I was no rocket scientist, but I was sure there were all kinds of reasons why that wasn’t possible, but I didn’t want to say anything to dampen his excitement.
    I watched Steve squirt lighter fluid into his cannon, loading it for another launch. I was holding the tennis ball for him. It was singed from multiple launches and smelled like lighter fluid. Steve shook the cannon, and I noticed that the duct tape was unraveling a bit.
    “How many times have you shot it?”
    “Five.” He dug into his pocket for a book of matches like he was digging a hole.
    “I have a lighter,” Billy said. I didn’t see him walking up behind me.
    By this time Steve had found his matches with the Mini-Mart ad on the cover in red lettering. The Min-Mart was across the street on Cuyamaca. I had taken those matches too.
    “Here we go.” Steve struck a match against the striker until the match head wore off, so he tossed it. “Damnit!”
    “Take my lighter.” Billy reached out, but Steve ignored him. Steve didn’t like him very much. I knew this, and knew why.
    Steve tore another match from the book and placed his index finger directly on it to get more friction. The match ignited but stuck to his finger. “OUCH! SONOFABITCH!” He shook his hand, but the match still stuck until he rubbed against his jeans. Then he stuck his finger into his mouth to suck away the heat. Steve was Yugoslavian, fair skinned with white blond hair. His face was pink with anger.
    “Dumbass!” Billy laughed out loud.
    I began to laugh, so I turned around and dropped to a knee to re-tie my shoes, even though I didn’t need to. It took a few seconds to get a straight face before I turned around. “You get burned?” I knew he did. He held up his dirty finger to show me. He had a burnt black spot the size of a matchhead on the tip of his finger. It was as black as the dirt under his fingernail.
    “Use Billy’s lighter.” I took the lighter from Billy and handed it to Steve.
    “You probably need more lighter fluid. The other stuff probably evaporated up,” Billy said and placed his hands on his hips like often did when he had a point to make.
    “I know.” Steve shot a couple more squirts into his cannon, shook it up with the tennis ball in it, and flicked the lighter at the hole.
    It happened so quickly. Even in the brightness of the day, there was a flash, then a WHOMPF! BANG! And the cannon blew apart in three places where the duct tape held the cans together, likely where the duct tape had begun to unravel. Steve fell back, scrambled to his feet, and ran to where Billy and I had retreated. He was blinking wildly and smelled like lighter fluid and burnt hair. His eyebrows, eye lashes, and bangs were singed.
    “Ay caramba!” Billy said. He was Chicano, and occasionally, he spoke in Spanish. I learned all the curse words from him.
    “My mom is gonna kill me.” Steve examined his shirt and pants, as he sniffed, wondering where the burnt smell was coming from.
    “The tennis ball’s on fire.” Billy pointed, as it slowly rolled away, emitting a curl of black smoke as the rubber burned. A tumbleweed had rolled down the hill next to the alley, and was in the path of the flaming tennis ball. The ball rolled into the tumbleweed and quickly ignited it. With the westerly breeze the tumbleweed began to roll again, a fiery ball heading towards a carport filled with cars.
    “What the hell?” Steve put his hands to his head and grabbed fistfuls of hair and bolted after the tumbleweed. Billy and I chased after him. Steve jumped on the flaming tumbleweed with both feet, causing it to break apart. I stomped on anything trying to get away. Billy danced around, every now and then stepping on an ember. The tumbleweed was crushed into charcoal spots in the alley. Steve and I now smelled like a campfire, Billy not so much.
    We hadn’t noticed, but Steve’s little sister had been watching us. “Karen! Come here?!” Steve yelled, but she ran off towards their apartment. We all knew she was a tattletale. I wasn’t worried about myself, and I’m sure Billy wasn’t worried about himself, but Steve was ready to panic. “My Mom is gonna fuckin’ kill me.”
    “Your mom is puta loca,” Billy said.
    “Huh?” Steve didn’t understand, but I did.
    “Your mom is fucking crazy.”
    Before we got back to the pieces of Steve’s smoldering cannon, Steve’s Mom had come out to the alley. She yelled at Steve in broken English with a thick Yugoslavian accent. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but the message was clear. As she yelled, she pointed at him and then the direction of their apartment. “I have to go,” Steve said. He grabbed the remnants of his cannon and his lighter fluid, and made a wide girth, as he walked up to her. She lunged at him and slapped him on the head. “Ma, enough with the hitting!” he held up his arm, and what was left of his cannon, to deflect her blows.
    Billy and I spent the next couple of hours constructing our own cannon. We dug in a couple of apartment dumpsters to get enough cans. Billy got the lighter fluid from his house, and I got the duct tape.
    We launched the cannon eight times, with varying success. We didn’t just shoot the cannon to the sky, we also aimed it at things like the dumpster. Billy shot at people, his neighbors in his apartment complex, Eddie and Donnie, the eight and nine-year-old street urchins. The dirty neglected boys giggled with delight as they ran barefoot from behind a dumpster into the open across the alley than back again. If Billy hit one of them, the impact would have blown weeks of filth off them in a cloud of dust.
    On my turn, I loaded the cannon with an extra squirt of lighter fluid. I dug out my Zippo from my pocket (that’s why I had lighter fluid) to light the cannon. I got? on my knees, reached from arm’s length, and turned my head. As I lit the cannon, I prepared for it to blow. thought the cannon might blow, but it didn’t. The cannon let out a loud WHOMP-FUMP! And blasted the tennis ball in a flash of fire, leaving a momentary vapor trail. The tennis ball shot higher than any other launch. I wish Steve could have been here to see? it He might have been as awed and inspired as I was the first time I looked through his 40x refractor telescope last October and saw the mountains and craters on the moon. I went home and asked my Mom and Dad for a telescope for? my birthday. I got a six-inch reflector. It was cheap, made? out of a cardboard tube and plastic lenses, but it was 150x. The mountains, craters, and seas on the moon appeared as if I could reach out and touch them. I saw the rings of Saturn, the giant red spot on Jupiter and four of its moons. Mars was a red dot, but I easily imagined the lines of the canals.
    The tennis ball landed in the Flying Hills Elementary School playground adjacent to the alley. Billy and I ran it down with Eddie and Donnie chasing behind. We retrieved the scorched ball. It looked like the Apollo re-entry module’s blackened heat shield.
    “We should put bugs inside to see if they survive,” I suggested.
    “We could catch a couple of flies by the dumpster.” Billy pulled out his pocket knife and stabbed into the ball.
    “There’s bugs in there?” Donnie leaned forward to get a better look.
    “No stupid,” Billy said, as he began to slice into the ball.
    “Just cut out a small hole.” I showed Billy by making a circle with my thumb and index finger, as we walked back to the alley.
    Eddie and Donnie were excited about helping us catch a couple of flies. Both climbed directly into the dumpster which disturbed a minion. This wasn’t necessary; there were plenty buzzing around the outside, but it did give? Billy and me more opportunity to catch some, and Eddie and Donnie looked and smelled about the? same climbing out as they did climbing in.
    “Here,” Eddie opened his hand and dropped a dead fly onto Billy’s palm.
    “It has to be alive, stupid.” Billy threw the fly into Eddie’s face.
    Donnie snagged one and plucked the wings off. “Here, it won’t fly away.”
    “Leave the wings on. We can get them in the ball with wings on,” I said.
    When we caught three flies and had them inside the tennis ball, we replaced the chunk Billy had cut out and duct taped it back on. We poked a few small holes for air. We had no idea how much air a fly needed to have to live, but we did know that if we put bugs in a jar and didn’t poke holes in the lid they would die a lot quicker than if we did. Of course, they always died. Apparently, bugs weren’t meant to live in captivity, but the three wouldn’t be in there that long. If they survived the journey, they would fly out of the hole once we unsealed it.
    I fueled the cannon, even gave it an extra squirt. Billy got on his hands and knees to light it up.
    “Let me! Let me do it!” Eddie jumped up and down.
    Billy grumbled something in Spanish and handed him his Zippo.
    “Be careful,” I said. I knew how much lighter fluid I used.
    Eddie got on his hands and knees and flicked the lighter. He couldn’t get a spark to light the wick. Impatiently, Billy snatched the lighter from his hands, flicked the lighter once and got a flame. At first, I thought he was going to light the cannon himself, but then he handed it back to Eddie. “Don’t let it go out.”
    Eddied clutched the lighter in his left hand with dirty sticky fingers, and he shielded the flame with his right hand, which to me appeared to close to the flame, close enough to burn his hand. A layer filth was probably insulating his skin from the heat.
    “Hurry up!” Donnie blurted at his brother.
    Eddie was startled, and as he lit the cannon, and he bumped it. When the cannon ignited it was leaning about thirty degrees in Donnie’s direction. A thirty-degree angle had the top of the cannon at approximately the same height as Donnie. Donnie had long thick light brown curly hair. It was almost an afro. I think it was probably only brushed or combed for special occasions. Most of the time it was left to its own devices and allowed to grow something like a Chia pet.
     I had never seen anyone’s hair on fire, not in a ball of flames. The ball hit Donnie in the head and knocked him off his feet. The blast of the cannon was like a flame thrower.
    Eddie screamed, “Head’s on fire!”
    Donnie was stunned for a second, then he leaped to his feet and bolted towards his apartment. Billy and I chased. I caught up to him first and tackled him?. I slapped his head, patting out the flames. Billy helped when he caught up. Billy lit one of his sister’s doll’s hair on fire. Eddie looked something like? that; a victim of apocalyptic fire bombing. Fortunately, Donnie’s hair was so thick, there were? only a couple of spots where was singed down to the scalp.
    “I’m going home,” Donnie walked towards home. “I’m telling Mom, Eddie.”
    “I didn’t do nothin’.” Eddie whined.
    “You shot me in the head!
    Billy and I laughed. Donnie had yet to see himself in the mirror.
    “It’s your guys fault too, and your stupid cannon. I’m tellin’ my Mom.”
     It then must have occurred to Billy what Eddie and Donnie’s Mom would say and do, so Billy decided to follow Donnie home to do damage control. Being neighbors, Billy felt comfortable doing this. I followed Billy. I wanted to watch him bullshit Eddie and Donnie’s Mom. By the time he was done talking to her, she would be blaming her sons for what happened to Donnie.
    The apartment door was open a crack. Billy peeked in then quietly pushed the door open just enough to slide into the apartment. He quietly waved me in behind him.
    “My Mom doesn’t want us to have anybody in the house.” Eddie stepped forward.
    “Ssh!” Billy raised his hand, and Eddie flinched and cowered.
    I followed Billy through the door? into the dark apartment?. The brown curtains were shut, successfully blocking most of the light of day. A small streak of sunlight leaked through a? part in the middle of the curtains. Once my eyes adjusted I could see the clutter. Dirty dishes were piled on the counter. Clothes were scattered on the living room carpet. A layer of dust covered everything like fallout. All homes have an odor. This one had a funky smell combined with the sourness of booze and beer and stale cigarette tar clinging to everything. I turned and saw Billy by the couch. Eddie and Donnie’s Mom was splayed out on her back, passed out. Her long dark hair was disheveled. She was wearing a purple vinyl jumpsuit. It was unzipped beyond her crotch. One dark nipple was hanging out. Billy was studying the dark moss between her legs. She was a beautiful woman, despite the sad state of mess she presently was. I felt excited but also Catholic shame. I stepped closer to get a better look. Titillation overcame guilt. I needed to impress this image to memory. Billy put his face closer to her muff, close enough to smell. She murmured and groaned, probably felt Billy’s heavy hot breath. We panicked and bolted out of the apartment. Behind us, as we ran, we heard Eddie and Donnie’s Mom yell, “What the fuck happened to your hair!”
    We hid under the carport for my apartment complex, as we caught our breath. Billy laughed and stared at me wide-eyed. “Did you see that?”
    “Yeah,” I said. I was still processing it, and when I was finished I would never forget it. We talked about it in detail, wishing we had had stayed for more. We wanted more. We wanted it all.
    I wish we could have shared this moment with Steve. As he had revealed and shared the close-up beauty of the moon with me through his telescope, I wished I had been able to share the close enough to touch intimacy of a woman with him. The lunar landscape had inspired me to explore more of the heavens. The landscape of Eddie and Donnie’s Mom’s naked body close enough to touch fired a desire in me to explore, to touch. Aspiring to be an astronaut, Steve would understand and appreciate this need for discovery. It gave purpose to building cannons, and sneaking into Eddie and Donnie’s apartment was like walking on the moon. Like an Apollo moon shot, I know Billy and I would find a way to return, and I would bring Steve.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...