DJ Boom

“That building was not up to code!”

My protest angers the Judge sitting behind his cushy desk, but at least it made the Shrink crack a smile.

“Grow up, boy,” the Judge fires back.

In addition to the damages from the fire, I’m on the hook for:

- breaking and entering

- criminal trespass

- arson

- reckless endangerment

- assault, and last but not least,

- public nuisance.

Good thing I’m only seventeen and they haven’t mentioned trying me as an adult. But that’s why we’re meeting here today. A court-appointed shrink gets to weigh in on my mental capacity as if I’m some pyro who should be in the loony bin instead of juvy.

It’s completely unfair that I am the only one being blamed when everything would have worked out fine had the wiring in that warehouse been done right. And how was I supposed to know that it was formerly a munitions bunker on the old, decommissioned army base? It’s total bullshit.

But I tell ya, it was one hell of a party. The summer had been top-notch epic until that point.

There was a reinforced platform that made a great stage. We had the lights, the fog machines, the big ass speakers… the works. But one little spark from the old wiring during a pyrotechnics display and boom, the insulation went up in flames, spreading fast. Ironically, I was blasting Nickelback’s Burn It to the Ground when the incident occurred.

A knock on the door broke my reverie and good thing, too, cuz I had no idea what the Judge just said. Or maybe it was the Shrink, I dunno. The Judge’s aide came in and handed him a note. He read it, and as I noticed his eyebrows raising, I thought, This can’t be good.

“Very well,” he said. “Send him in.”

She left, and I couldn’t help but give her a sly wink. She bit back a smile as she passed through the door. Probably not a good idea to flirt with the Judge’s daughter in front of him, but I’m sooooo getting her number before I leave.

Anyway, some dude in a suit with an eye-patch enters. In a major power play, he sits down and stares at me, completely ignoring the Judge and the Shrink.

“Hello, Connor,” he begins with. “Tell me, when did you first learn about chemistry.

I can’t help but flash him a mischievous grin and recount the fantastical tale of one DJ Boom. That's my professional name, by the way. DJ for my parties, and Boom cuz I like to blow shit up.

“When I was ten,” I began.

#

Careful now, I think as I measure out the right amount of the green powdery stuff. I probably should have read the directions again but nah, I got this. Barns Courtney’s Gimme That Fire blares in my headphones and has me tapping my toes to the beat. Should probably stop that, too so I can concentrate, but nah, I got this.

Mom bought me the chemistry set, and not once did she say to only use it under her supervision, so she obviously trusts me. Which means the blame lies with her if this fails. Not me.

Everything is laid out perfectly on Dad’s workbench. From the beakers and test tubes to the pipettes and measuring spoons. Magnifying glass, petri dish, alcohol burner… all good to go. I’m gonna be such a great Mad-Scientist.

The only thing missing is the manual but real men don’t use those things, at least that's what Dad says. Besides, they wouldn’t put anything dangerous in a kid’s chemistry set. They’re not that stupid.

I dump the green powder into a beaker with the white liquid. It was supposed to be gray, but I had added a little something extra for a better color finish. The bubbles should have been the first clue that something was wrong, but I couldn’t look away. When it started to smoke, I slipped my goggles on and just in time, cuz BOOM!

I giggle as the smoke clears. That was awesome! I yell in my mind, despite not having a clue that my face has several cuts and my eyebrows are singed.

My mom calls out from inside the house, curious, “Connor?”

#

Now I’m thirteen and am putting the final touches on a smoke bomb. If all works out, it’ll start red, then spew out white, followed by blue. Patriotism at its finest. It’s my dream to host a killer 4th of July party down at the river at some point in high school. Which is why I have Be Legendary by Pop Evil cranked up in my headphones.

Unbeknownst to dear mother, I dug a hole behind the Oak tree, hidden from the kitchen window. I can see her occasionally peeking out, keeping her ever-watchful eyes on me as she has been over the last three years. It should be about time for her to - there it is, she checked - now it’s go time.

I light the fuse and drop it into the hole and take a few steps back for safety. Five, four, three, two, one…

Nothing happens. Huh.

I know for a fact that the fuse is right. I lower my goggles and peek into the hole - BOOM - and now I find myself covered in the tri-colors of our country’s flag.

I cackle and think, anytime now, as I try not to breathe in the noxious fumes.

“Connor!”

Yep, there it is.

#

“Here we go, peeps, let’s par-tay!” My shout kicks things in gear and the assembled guests, mostly from my high school but there are some whom I don’t know, cheer in response. My closer friends had already wished me a belated happy sixteenth birthday, and a few even had gifts. But now it was all about the 4th of July. We had some grills cooking up some burgers and dogs, and yours truly was naturally in charge of entertainment.

Before they arrived, I had sunk three cylinders in the river, so no one knew what to expect. But I sure did. As I had gotten older and matured, I learned the importance of testing my shit out before putting things on display, so I knew for a fact this was gonna kick some serious ass.

My set opens with ACDC’s For Those About To Rock to get the party started right. And quickly. Once it began, my internal, rhythmic clock counted it down from its five-minute and forty-four-second length. It was the perfect song with some smooth vibes and thematic content. I learned early in my DJ career that music selection should have meaning, and this was to be the first in a long line of successful endeavors as far as I was concerned.

As the song winds down to its final lyric after Angus Young’s scorching guitar solo, my finger twitches eagerly over a red button that says push for badassery. It was my mom who named the button, believe it or not.

Fire!

The three cylinders explode in succession, and the river geysers with red, white, and blue water, showering down upon the partygoers. They couldn’t help but roar:

Connor!!!

#

Mr. Eye-patch dude listened to the whole tale without so much as blinking. Best poker face I’ve ever seen. He glanced at the Judge and nodded once. That was it, just that one little motion, and the Judge had an immediate change of heart.

“Connor, you have a choice to make, albeit with your mother’s approval.”

The way he’s smiling at me has the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up. “And that is?”

“The United States Army,” Eye-patch says.

“The Army?” I object with a bit of scorn.

“Either that or jail,” the Judge reminds me.

“Or the loony bin,” the Shrink offered as if it were a viable option.

“What would I do in the Army?” I ask hesitantly of Eye-patch.

His smile was unnerving as hell. “Demolitions. What else?”

My eyes grow wide, and I blurt out, “Where do I sign?”

#

When the summer started, I was set to rock the world. There were four parties set up in different venues, tickets were sold out, and I was raking it in. If not for that blasted fire, the dream-come-true scenario was a shoo-in for success. Instead, I find myself at boot camp and my Drill Sergeant is glaring at me. Even though he’s inches from my face, I do my best to keep my eyes focused beyond his.

“What is this, Davies?” He asks while tossing a plasticized ball of semi-liquid material with white chunks floating in it.

“Sir, that is a homemade stress ball, sir,” I reply.

“What could you possibly be stressed about in this little paradise of ours?”

“Sir, have you looked in a mirror, sir?”

His glare intensifies amid the stifled chuckles escaping the lips of my fellow detainees. The Sergeant slams the ball on the floor.

It doesn’t break, but the agitation does set off the desired chemical reaction I was hoping for. I didn’t want it to go off now, of course, not in front of him, but what’s done is done. Bad luck be damned.

The ball’s contents mix, bubble, the increased pressure causing it to expand.

The Sergeant bends over to examine it with sincere curiosity.

I slink behind my locker and take cover.

BOOM!

A thick paste, like chalk gravy, splatters all over the Sergeant and the nearest recruits. Gasps and outright laughter ripple through the barracks.

“Davies!” he shouts.

*

I’m standing at attention as Eye-patch saunters past me into the office with a stone-cold look in his eyes.

My Drill Sergeant slams the door and spews out shit we all heard anyway. He finally comes back out and tells me to “Drop. And don’t even think about stopping.”

I hit the deck as fast as humanly possible and begin my push-ups, counting out each one. “One, sir. Two, sir. Three, sir.”

After he goes back inside, slamming the door once again, I keep up the count but stop actually doing the push-ups. I could hear my fellow recruits giggling as they stand at attention, so I flash them a wink, completely unaware that the Sarge and Eye-patch are at the window bearing witness to my disobedience.

It wasn’t til I got to ten that I glance up and notice. My eyes whip to the deck, and I begin anew. “One, sir. Two, sir. Three, sir.”

Although I don't see it, I can hear the blinds shut. No doubt they were in fear of us seeing them laugh.

Despite considering that a minor victory, I couldn’t help but sigh. The summer that was to reveal my greatness was proving to be nothing less than a series of tragic losses, which led to being here in what could only be called my greatest failure to date.

Serving in the United States Army.

“Fifty, sir. Fifty-one, sir. Fifty-two, sir.”