It's Not Fair
By Amy D.
It’s Not Fair
“ It’s not fair,” moaned Jimmy, the youngest of the Moran terrors. Yet again, the three of them, Jimmy, youngest, Johnny, middle and Mike the eldest, were grounded by the Boss (aka Mom) in their bedroom for putting an ice-path outside the house last frosty weekend. It had not been their fault the old cranky bat from two doors down had fallen on it and broken her wrists.
“Boys! Will yis get down here now and make yerselves useful!” Gran bellowed from downstairs. They all clattered down the stairs like a herd of elephants. Car keys flew at 100 mph at Jimmy’s head but luckily Mike caught them. “Get out to my car and bring in the shopping!” she yelled, not taking her eyes off Blankety-Blank. The boys groaned inwardly, even if they were glad to get out of the house. It was no fun lugging bags of 2 liter milk all the way up the street from a pink Honda with pink cow-print seats. Gran liked to think she was “with it.'' Still, they left the prison-house in a rather glad mood.
When they got to the car, there were several youngish boys sitting on the roof of the car and a seventeen-year-old preening in the car’s side-view mirrors. He seemed to have come to the conclusion that he looked better in the left one.
“Hey fellas ! Will yis give us a hand?'' one of the roof-boys shouted. He must have meant “a hand” at getting into the car - possibly to steal it as they were obviously joy-riders. Although Mike didn’t know what a vain teen would want with a horrible pink box-car.
“Sure we will,” he said, clicking the automatic car-keys in his hand. The car-lights flashed and an audible squeak grated inside. There was silence. Mike had been hoping that the joy-riders would’ve run for it at the first sign of an owner to the car. But both sides just stared at one another. And before anyone knew what was happening, Jimmy had launched himself at the teenager and delivered a well-aimed kick with his Doc Martins at the teen’s shin. Mike quickly clicked the keys again to lock the car as the teen hopped in agony, yelling at his gang. It meant war. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.
“Run!” Mike yelled to his comrades. And they certainly did! Mike leapt nimbly up onto a dustbin, flung himself over the neighbor’s bordering wooden fence and sat catching his breath as the others did the same, Jimmy coming over the fence last.
“ Yeh eejit! None o’ this would’ve happened if you hadn’t attacked yer man there!” Mike shouted. Stones flew over the fence. They were being bombed.
When one of these stones broke the pane of glass on the neighbor’s shed with a loud CRASH, they decided it was time to go. So they leapt over the next fence into the next garden on a mad dash through neighbor’s gardens to get back to their own. Over the next fence. And the next. Until Jimmy moaned, “I need a whiz! NOW !” So they stopped while he relieved himself into a watering can- a nasty surprise for the pansies the others were now trampling. Yes, the Moran motto was IF IT’S NOT DESTRUCTIVE IT’S NOT FUN/WORTH DOING, even if the Boss didn’t think like that.
None of them saw the little dog barking behind the patio doors or the angry flour-covered woman with the rolling-pin until Mike received a rather sore clout on the head with it.
“YOU YOUNG RUFFIANS GET OUT OF MY GARDEN NOW! GET THEM FOO-FOO!” she yelled at them, the little dog yap-yap-yapping at her feet and her angry eyes surveying her destroyed pansies.
Jimmy, now finished, and the others started clambering over the fence frantically, which was very hard as the woman was holding Mike’s trousers by the ankles and waving her rolling-pin about and the dog was swinging out of Johnny’s trouser-leg by his teeth and Jimmy - well, he was just a bit too small to get over quickly. But somehow, they managed, Mike with his trousers around his ankles and the dog on the right side of the fence. They continued leaping over the fences until suddenly they realized they were back home again in the back garden, better known as The Scrapheap. True - with half a rusty old car, a bright plastic Kiddie Cab and an overturned wheelbarrow containing seven rusty tins of Primrose Yellow paint (used in the sitting-room) along with several other pieces of junk. It truly lived up to its name.
Mike looked up. They could not go inside the house without any shopping and possibly explain how they got into the back garden without opening the jammed side-door or coming through the house, where they would’ve been spotted. The bedroom window was open. They would be skinny enough to get through it one by one and they could easily climb up the drain-pipe. Mom and Gran would find out later but Gran would not be quite so angry if they told her they hadn’t done the shopping and that joyriders were probably zooming around in her horrid pink car right now with several liters of Tesco milk while she was watching Fair City (“Yer man there makes me heart flutter like a butterfly”)
But Mom…? Mike shuddered. He leapt upon the drainpipe without explaining to the others and scooted up it, stopping halfway to catch breath. Climbing up slippery old drainpipes in an effort to escape an eccentric someone who looked terrifyingly like Twink or whatever-her-name-was from Blankety-Blank wasn’t exactly his strong-point.
“Come on, will yis?” he shouted back down. They caught on.
All three of them climbed up the drainpipe s-l-o-w-l-y until Jimmy, very quietly, whispered carefully, ''Will this break?'' And then it did. It started detaching itself from the wall until it collapsed and the three boys fell in a heap.
“Now what ? What will we do now ?” Johnny despaired. They sat in grim silence.
“What time does the Boss get home from work? How long do joy-rides take? Do they bring the car back?” Jimmy asked. No response.
“What time is Fair City on at, more like,” Mike moaned. The three of them didn’t know. They sat in despair and waited. Waited for the neighbors to come knocking about shed-glass-breaking/pansy-trampling and dog-annoying/fence-ruining and the general chaos they had briefly caused . Waited for Gran to wonder where they were . Waited for the Boss to come home , all guns blazing , and yell red-faced at them . Jimmy moaned , “It’s not fair .”