It was the itchy-hot middle of summer, and the neighborhood children were restless in their homes. Siblings glared evilly at one another, parents were tired of looking at the television,“All reruns”, they would say, as they mindlessly clicked from channel to channel. Even the dogs would whimper at the door, indecisive of whether they had to pee that bad. The entire neighborhood was sheltered in their homes, gathering around the air conditioner vents and fans carnivorously, like lions on prey. The weatherman said it was so hot outside, that you could bake cookies in the dash of the car, but no one wanted to try it because they feared the soles of their shoes might melt before they got there.

No one could have known what was to come, no one had a clue. If it weren’t for Mrs. Snodgrass angrily slamming the front door, nothing may have ever happened the whole summer long. But it was that slamming door that jarred everyone from their sweat-glazed daze. Tommy Billingsly was the first to respond, jumping to his feet and running to the window to see what all of the fuss was. And peeking through cracked metal blinds, he saw the first strike- Mrs. Snodgrass- swinging her heavy carry-on bag into the hood of Mr. Snodgrass’ car. THWUK! said the hood, as it fainted beneath the weight of the bag. With a satisfied smirk, Mrs. Snodgrass walked, no sauntered, to her waiting cab.

Just when Tommy was about to turn away, he heard another slam, the front door of the Snodgrass residence was certainly getting its share of use today! Mr Snodgrass came out, flaming red in his face, holding something white and gleaming in the heat. Mrs. Snodgrass turned with a flare, confidence in her face, until she saw what Mr. Snodgrass held so precariously over his head- her finest china platter. (She had scoured antique stores and ebay for years to finish off that collection!) Her face went as ashen and pale as the china, and she dropped her bag with a determined look on her face.

Many had begun to gather, on the street, and in windows and doorways, including Sam Marshall, (who had always had a little thing for Mrs. Snodgrass). As Mrs. Snodgrass began to march angrily toward Mr. Snodgrass, arms pumping like a locomotive, Sam silently slipped into the side yard, watching for the moment where he might jump in to the rescue. Mr. Snodgrass mockingly swung the china around in circles over his head as Mrs. Snodgrass leaped helplessly to fetch it (being almost a foot shorter than he). Just then, the china slipped from between his fingers and smashed into the driveway! Mrs. Snodgrass gave a gasp of alarm, and promptly, on tippie-toe, slapped Mr. Snodgrass square on the cheek. Just before Mr. Snodgrass thought to do anything violent, Sam leaped from behind the house, and tackled Mr. Snodgrass like a linebacker.

Next door, Tommy came out of his house, and threw a toy car at Sam, yelling at him to get off of Mr. Snodgrass. His mother followed him, and popped him on his bottom for being rude to an adult. Then Mrs. Snodgrass began laughing hysterically, and began throwing items from her handbag onto Mr. Snodgrass’ head. Sam, dusting himself off began to walk back to his house when a tennis ball popped him in the back of the head. Turning to face the culprit, he saw Janie Whitlock, from the end of the cove. She smiled politely, and so he turned, shaking his head- only to be pelted again. Turning angrily, he grabbed a stick from the yard and swung it around over his shoulder. The stick flew menacingly through the air, and hit Mr. Bagger’s front window. Mr. Bagger, notoriously grumpy, came out and surveyed the damage. He appeared to go back inside without a care, so Sam thought that he could quietly slip off to his house, when he saw Mr. Bagger come back outside swinging his cane like a caveman’s club!

The war had begun! Suddenly thirty or so parents and children, singles and married couples, near-death elderly, and newly walking toddlers, poured out of their homes like ants swarming. Warpaint in their cases being blusher and dirt, oil spots and flour, grass stains and strained peas. They faced off, on either side of the street, with the sun glowing orange to their right, outlining their faces with a malevolent golden glow. Weapons hastily grabbed were pens, pencils, golf clubs, rolling pens, walking sticks, rubber balls, stuffed animals, fresh fruit, and a plate full of marshmallows. A mismatched team of housewives and working class men, little girls with pretty ruffles and mean faces, and boys with scabbed knees and cowlicks. All together in the streets, they warred until the sun was down to a thin purple ribbon, and the street lights glowed. Pelting one another, sparring in unconventional warfare.

Janie faced off with Sam, while Mr. Bagger came behind him with the cane. Mrs. Snodgrass angrily threw shards of her china at the husband, chasing him down the street yelling. Tommy’s mother decided that she would toss oranges in the direction of her neighbor, Mrs. Jance (whom she despised since she had planted those pesky vines last year). Mrs. Jance, who had no idea what was going on, only having just woken up from a nap, walked outside and was made into an orange juice smoothie. She grabbed a handful of manure from her well manicured flower bed, and tossed it at Tommy’s mother, but instead hit Robby Collins, the neighborhood association leader. Robby tossed down his clipboard (with which he had been taking notes of who would be getting tickets in their mailboxes), and went right up to her and shoved her fat bottom into her own pile of garden manure.

Mr. Snodgrass had finally outrun Mrs. Snodgrass and had looped the neighborhood. He attempted to get into his back door when he was cornered by three neighborhood boys who had jumped over his back fence. The boys began to charge at him, and he ran screaming back into the front yard, right into the middle of the war. The boys were throwing dirty socks and underwear at him, and he tried to hide behind people as he ran into the crowd, but others were not taking kindly to such a use of their bodies, as armor. So therefore, Lora Grove, had the last straw, and grabbed his ankle as he went by her, sprawling him onto her front lawn. As she held him down with one spiked heel to the spine, the boys tackled him and stuffed his mouth with dirty socks. Mr. Bagger pulled a muscle in his lower back as he wonked Sam over the head a few times, so Sam helped him to limp back into his living room, and opened his drapes so that he would not miss any of the excitement.

When the last soldier had fallen, they simply picked up what was left of their bruised artillery, and patted each other on the backs as they shouted goodnights and farewells. Inside their homes again, mothers washed up their children’s dirty faces and straightened their own dresses and aprons. Fathers relaxed in their chairs with cockeyed smiles on their worn-out faces, smoking pipes and rubbing aching knees. Old men soaked in eucalyptus tubs and laughed thinking of the good old days. Mr. Snodgrass slept alone in bed that night. Sam stayed awake all night, wishing he had been courageous enough to get the girl. And Mrs. Snodgrass slept peacefully in the back of a cab, on the way to Chicago.