Breaker breaker one nine four one nine four breaker
Age seven. Will and I are in my room, each holding a walkie-talkie with silver antennas extended.
“You smell,” with his thumb Will’s holding the orange button on the side of the plastic case, “like feet. Do you read me? Over.”
“I read you. You smell,” I begin to giggle, “like farts.” I take my thumb off the button.
Will laughs, then adds “you forgot to say ‘do you read me, over’.”
“Do you read me, fart-smell? Over.”
Will throws his head back laughing. It’s contagious, I do the same.
“Okay boys,” my dad pokes his head in the doorway, “time to wrap it up, bed time.”
“Okay.”
In the quiet we hear soft voices on the radio. We turn it up loud. The static hisses and spits like a cornered cat. Under it, men speaking. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying.
“Breaker, breaker,” Will’s holding down the talk button again, “breaker do you read me over?”
“Say again?” a voice answers.
“Was he talking to you?” I ask.
“I dunno!”
“I think he was. He wants you to repeat what you said.”
“Breaker, breaker,” into the radio once more, “do you read me over? Do you copy?”
A burst of static, the voice garbled, we want to hear “read you.”
I pick up my walkie-talkie. “Breaker breaker one nine, one nine four breaker, any smokies out there?”
Will frowns, waits till I take my thumb off the talk button. “What’s that stuff mean?”
“I don’t really know but it’s some kind of radio talk. My grandpa says stuff like on the radio in his truck sometimes.”
Crackle and the voice, “say again?”
“You smell like feet!” Will shouts into the walkie talkie.
“And farts!” I add. Will holds his belly while he laughs.
“Say again?”
Will’s laughing makes me bolder. “No YOU say again, I don’t take orders from you, you snake in the grass, you dirty son of a gun!”
Will adds “I give the orders here! I’m the one who is in charge! My dad is George Bush! I don’t answer to any but him!”
We’re both lying on the floor now, rolling with laughter.
“NOW JUST WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON HERE?!” Shouting, the voice cuts through the static clearly. “YOU KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF RIGHT THIS GODDAMN MINUTE!” Well trained sons, we react bodily way before our brains register, like jerking a hand back from a hot stove before realizing you’re burnt. We know what shouted curse-words mean. We both jump up from the floor, eyes wide, mouths open. Will clicks the off switch on his walkie-talkie and lowers the antenna, I run to my bedroom window and look out. My street is dark and quiet. I turn around as Will is pulling the batteries out of both radios.
“Good idea,” I say.
“What if they find us? Can they trace the call?”
“I don’t know.”
“If my dad finds out I said that stuff to a grown up-“
“Mine too-“
“Oh no what if they find us?”
“Would they call the police?”
“Maybe they were the police.”
“Or the army. They could fly here in a jet.”
“We could pretend to be asleep and say it wasn’t us.”
Will throws the walkie-talkies and batteries under my bed. I turn off the lights, climb into my bed. Will climbs into the makeshift bed my mom made for him on my bedroom floor. My dad opens my bedroom door again, says good night, shuts the door. I overhear him tell my mom in a surprised voice that we are already in bed. I lay awake a long time listening for sirens I am sure are coming.