I know I looked ridiculous when I was sixteen; the sides of my head were shaved and the hair on top (that I could freeze into a rather rad mohawk with half a carton of egg whites) came down to my waist. I was a punk (or a douche depending on your perspective) and my friends weren’t much better. I did some asinine things, and I wanted to quickly apologize for one of them.


A friend of mine had a rich dad so his first car (that he inherited when said rich dad bought a Land Rover) was a two door Cadillac from the late 80’s complete with the faux-leather roof and a hood that was bigger than most Hondas. We’d drive around town with the windows down with something obnoxious blaring like Bone Thugs-n-Harmony. And yes, two punkish white kids in a pimp-mobile with gangster rap for theme music  rolling around an Alaskan suburb was our approximation of “badass”. Anyway, we decided to get a few cartons of eggs and a couple bottles of whip cream for the nitrous oxide before doing some drive by egging. It’s Bone’s fault really. There are all sorts of references to drive-bys in their music and we were impressionable.


The two of us went from neighborhood to neighborhood unleashing a fury of yoke and laughing hysterically with whip-it induced blue lips, and then we headed home. We had originally called it quits because we were out of baby chickens, but halfway down Dowling, I rechecked the cartons and found one more. And that’s when I saw the two gothic kids walking west as we were driving east. They were on the sidewalk and my window was down so I didn’t really have much of a choice. I guess they’re calling the gothic look “emo” nowadays but I don’t agree with it; there’s really no need to rebrand style. I didn’t really aim or think but I threw that egg as hard as I could and as soon as I let go I felt the trajectory click somehow and I knew where the egg was going to hit before it did. It’s like the perfection of that toss threw the universe into slow motion and I was watching it all from some sort of omniscient perspective.


I don’t remember all the equations I encountered in freshman physics back in college, but I know this: we were driving at about fifty miles per hour, I threw as hard as I could, and the kid I connected with was walking towards us so the impact of my egg against his forehead was incredible. The crack sounded like a miniature sonic boom and he was on his back on the sidewalk before I could finish my “oh my god!” The second goth started laughing hysterically and pointing down at his friend as we drove away and I started feeling bad almost immediately despite how accurate my arm was. Is it mass times velocity squared? I don’t know.


Ten years later I was driving my black BMW on Bogard Road in Wasilla when I spotted a gothic kid walking on a small path that was a good twenty-five yards separated from the main road. It was twilight and there was a sparse copse of trees in between us, but he didn’t care. As I was driving by at sixty or so, I watched him pick up a rock, take aim, and throw for all he was worth before running away. The guy was good. He led me in his aim like a hunter would with running prey and he even took the trees in to account. I watched the rock ark towards me but I still flinched as it shattered my passenger window. Actually, I’m pretty sure it is mass times velocity squared but I don’t remember how to factor in the fact that the guy was walking towards my egg or that I was driving away from the rock but it really doesn’t matter in either instance. I do know that I’m sorry, and that gothic karma caught up to me. I smiled when my window broke and my debt broke even; the coincidence was far too perfect to overlook.


One thought on “Sorry ‘Bout That

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