Chapter 10

Friday Night and Saturday Morning

As I sat astride Bucephalus, I tried visualizing it; galloping out of the darkness astride a huge, jet black gelding, remembering my riding lessons of years gone by, keeping my seat, steering the stampeding horse with my legs and the one hand I'd have free for the reins, holding the blazing highway flare so it's sparks wouldn't burn me or the horse.

And all I could think of was The Charge of the Light Brigade.

You know! "Half a league, half a league, half a league onward," and "Cannons to the right of them, cannons to the left of them, volleyed and thundered," and especially "Into the valley of death rode the six hundred."

I was a vision of barbaric nobility. My mousy brown locks had been cropped, bleached a golden blond, striped with bright crimson dye(school colors, get it?) and the whole ensemble moussed to stand up in a crazy crest.

I was, of course, as required by the rules of The Program, stark naked.

Talk about an entrance!

Picture this:

Setting: The school's floodlighted baseball diamond at dusk. The grandstands along the baselines are packed with students, while lined up along the backstop behind home plate is the football team in their flashy warm-up sweats. Naked cheerleaders are spaced along the baselines, stirring the crowd to a fighting frenzy. The band is in rank and file in the outfield, playing stirring tunes, until suddenly all falls silent.

In the shadows of the trees that border center field, I am already mounted on Bucephalus, named after Alexander the Great's war horse. Daddy is on my right, holding the as-yet unlighted flare. Stephanie is to my left, steadying Bucephalus, holding his bridle.

"And ACTION!" calls the director, metaphorically speaking, because all of this is being run by cues and, I might add, without rehearsal, so only God himself knew if it was going to go off without a hitch, and He wasn't talking.

With an abrupt crash of cymbals, drums rum-tum-tumming, the band splits, the two halves swinging smoothly to form an aisle from center field toward the pitcher's mound with its ten foot pile of scrap wood and old furniture that is The Bonfire to Be.

The drums fall silent. There's a breathless hush.

A lone, muted trombone sounds the charge, the notes echoing across the field, a lonely, challenging sound!

ta-da-ta-da-ta-da-ta-da-ta-daaaah!

Carl! My pulse quickens.

Silence, and then;

Unmuted, brazen, all the trumpets and all the trombones repeat the call louder!

Ta-Da-Ta-Da-Ta-Da-Ta-Da-Ta-Daaaah!

Recognizing his cue, daddy strikes the flare, it bursts into flame, causing Bucephalus to shy a bit. Daddy carefully hands the blazing torch to me. Even at arm's length I feel its heat on my naked body. My tummy is all aflutter, along with some other parts of me. I'm very, very conscious of being atop about a ton of very powerful and nervous horse.

The instruments gleaming in the field's floodlights, the whole band repeats the call, summoning me, concluding with a clash of cymbals!

TA-DA-TA-DA-TA-DA-TA-DA-TA-DAAAAH! CLASH!

Releasing his bridle, Stephanie slaps Bucephalus's rump and I rock back in the saddle as he surges forward - no I was NOT about to try this bareback! - and the stampede is on! A thunder of hoof beats and out of the darkness I appear, leaning forward now, a spectral pink figure riding a black horse, brandishing a flare spouting red flames, sparks and smoke. I'm dressed like Lady Godiva, my hair, standing up even in the stiff breeze thanks to a ton of gunk, looking like it is on fire itself, thanks to the garish 'do.

This is the shy, modest, demure Beth Finch you've gotten to know over the past week?

I don't think I'll include this incident in my college applications. In fact, the whole week is probably best ignored. It's none of it my fault, it is all my evil twin's doing.

On the other hand, though, maybe this will be the "hook" that grabs the attention at Harvard! Gotta think on this.

Before I go on, I have to explain it had taken a lot of work by a number of people to pull this production together in one afternoon. So I'd like to take this opportunity to thank them.

First, I'd like to thank my hairdressers, Steph and my mom. Without them, especially mom, I wouldn't be where I am today.

Carl, call him my director, did some very important phoning to set things up with the band and the school custodial and grounds staffs, to whom I also extend my heartfelt gratitude.

Meanwhile, my producer, daddy, bless his heart, pitched in by calling some of his clients. Like I told you, he's an accountant and, as it turns out, he knows some very influential and useful people. He's such a pussycat, he'd do anything for me!

Thank you Fanucci and Kai, fireworks specialists. Fannuci and Kai, they light up the sky! For information and prices, call 555-1438.

Oh, and we mustn't forget Steph's role as horse wrangler, for it was her ebony gelding I was astride.

The band blared! Bucephalus galloped, his mane flying to whip me in the face and breasts. I steered him around the pile of lumber and, as I passed home plate, I somehow managed to toss the flare on to the heap of wood which had, with forethought, been encouraged toward flammability with a good dousing of kerosene.

Circling back around the incipient conflagration, I reined Bucephalus to a halt where second base would be, just as flames leaped skyward with a crackling roar! Poor Bucephalus, his eyes rolling and ears laid back, ad libbed nicely, rearing up, pawing the air, almost unseating me, adding a nice dramatic touch to the scene.

Trust me, I've seen the video - definitely way cool! Though it scared the pee out of me when he did it, I tell you!

Somehow I managed to calm him before he stampeded right back out into the darkness with me clinging desperately and ignominiously to his back. Leaping off him, I swung him away from the fire, released the reins, and gave him a swat, trusting he'd find Stephanie out there, somewhere in the darkness. He needed no more encouragement to get himself elsewhere at a gallop, I assure you!

Oh, and, though we staged it all without ASPCA oversight, I assure you, no animals were harmed during this production.

Standing at second base, naked as the day I was born, hands on my hips, feet apart, the light of the roaring blaze washing over my bare flesh, I watched the flames soar into the sky. I felt like a Viking woman, an Amazon, a Valkyrie out of Wagner's opera Siegfried. I was a pagan goddess!

The crowd went wild!

"Beat Eastern! Beat Eastern!" I yelled when the noise died down.

"BEAT EASTERN! BEAT EASTERN! BEAT EASTERN!" the cheerleaders screamed, taking up the chant.

"BEAT EASTERN! BEAT EASTERN! BEAT EASTERN! BEAT EASTERN!" the crowd roared.

I went into a mad dance, circling the roaring blaze, feeling its heat on my naked backside, my nude flanks, my bare breasts and pussy as I twirled and pranced in a primitive, pagan dance, screaming "BEAT EASTERN!" at the top of my lungs. To add to the drama I impulsively swept up a blazing length of wood, scattering sparks, almost setting my hair on fire for real, brandishing overhead like a flaming sword.

Oh, it was GLORIOUS! As I danced, the band closed formation, drums beating furiously, forming up at the edge of the infield, striking up a fight song when the cheering began to peter out. I continued to stir the crowd, waving my arms and the makeshift torch, circling the flames. The cheerleaders filled in with more cheers between band numbers.

Finally I pitched the blazing stick back into the fire and took up a stance at home plate, facing the backstop, the crowd, the football team a few yards away, proudly, bravely staring right into Freschetti's eyes, not giving an inch to him. He was as naked as I was, a dark hairy figure among his sweats clad teammates.

Forming my hands into a megaphone, I turned toward the crowd on the first base side.

"Who we gonna beat?" I asked.

"EASTERN!" the crowd on that side roared.

"How we gonna beat 'em?" I asked the third base crowd.

"BAAAAADD!" the third base crowd roared.

Okay, so that should be "badly," an adverb. So sue me!

Left - BEAT!

Right - EASTERN!

I kept that up as the flames behind me slowly died, swiveling back and forth, back and forth, my throat getting raw, until all I needed to do was turn and point

Left - BEAT!

Right - EASTERN!

Left - BEAT

Right - EASTERN!

BEAT! EASTERN! BEAT! EASTERN! BEAT! EASTERN! BEAT!EASTERN! BEAT!EASTERN! BEATEASTERN! BEATEASTERN! BEATEASTERN!BEATEASTERN!BEATEASTERN!

Faster and faster and faster until it became a roar.

By then the fire had died down to embers. Whirling to face the glowing coals, I threw my arms up, instantly silencing the crowd, and, right on cue, the floodlights went out, plunging us into darkness but for little blue flames dancing over the mound of glowing coals, a few sparks spiraling upwards.

There was a breathless silence, broken only by an occasional pop and crackle from the remains of the fire, a nervous rustle from the crowd in the bleachers, a small child calling out "what's happening, mommy?"

For a heart stopping moment I thought nothing would happen.

Suddenly, out in center field, three bursts of sparks and smoke shot upwards, one after the other - CHUFF! - CHUFF! - CHUFF!

Unmistakably, aerial fireworks being launched.

There were a few seconds of hushed, expectant, startled silence as the crowd stared upward, their eyes tracking three tiny, dwindling sparks soaring up and up and up into the darkness.

Suddenly three fiery chrysanthemums blossomed high overhead, fireballs, glittering, glowing, swiftly expanding and fading spheres of scarlet and gold lighting up the night sky with the school colors.

BANG! - BANG! - BANG! Almost drowning out the "OOOHS!" and "AHHHHS!" the explosions echoed across the field, across the town, loud enough to be heard all the way out at Eastern High - a final, powerful coda to the rally.

The fireworks faded and I dashed away in the darkness to where mom and daddy waited with the car. Behind me the band struck up a stirring march, and the cheering, yelling crowd began to leave as the field lights came back on.

"Take that, Freschy," I muttered, diving into the back seat of the car and slamming the door behind me.

"What, darling?" my mom asked.

"Nothing," I answered. I'd faced Freschetti, front and center in the ranks of the football players, and stared him down. He'd thought he'd humiliate me, well I wasn't going to let him. He'd handed me a lemon, or at least thought he had, so I'd taken it and thrown lemonade back in his face, and I'd do the same thing tomorrow at the game.

"Hey, don't you have anything to say to me, Lizard Breath?" a wonderful, marvelously, super familiar voice said.

"JOHNNY!" I practically threw myself at my brother, totally forgetting for the moment my state of undress.

"Ooooff! Whoa, take it easy, sis!"

Suddenly conscious of the awkward way he was holding me, I started to pull away, then said the heck with it, and gave him a super-huge naked hug. "Why didn't anyone tell me you were coming home?"

"We wanted it to be a surprise, dear," Mom explained. "We were afraid if you knew he was going to be here it would make you nervous!"

"You mean more nervous than I already was?" I asked, finally unwrapping myself from him and settling next to him, holding his hand, squeezing his arm.

"Is this my shy, modest little sister?" he asked, laughing. "Not so little any longer, I guess," he added, giving me a look that made me tingle.

I made a face. "Not so modest any more, either," I confessed. "When did you get here?"

"In plenty of time to see everything," he answered.

"And everything is what you saw - what you're seeing," I pointed out.

"You're looking good, Lizard Breath!"