“Coming home this weekend! Bonfire at my house Saturday night! ” This one simple text, sent to me by my neighbor and really good friend, Dylan, changed what was going to be a typical boring weekend at my house into a crazy adventure that none of us expected. Having bonfires at Dylan’s house was a highlight of my summer. They usually consisted of Dylan, Devin, who we jokingly call Kevin, another Devin, and myself. The four of us could never have just a small fire; it had to be a towering inferno. As I pulled down the gravel road leading up to my house, I could already see the fire.
I had volunteered to bring a wagon full of cardboard and firewood to add to the fire. I pulled my big utility wagon a quarter of a mile from my house to Dylan’s. As I walked up the drive, Dylan, Kevin, and Devin had the stereo system set up with our usual country playlist blaring. Sitting around a bonfire listening to music and talking with friends is one thing that will never get old. While we were sitting around, Kevin decided to sit in my wagon, which somewhat resembles a black cage with four big rubber tires.
As he climbed in, our favorite party song, “Sorry for Partyin’” by Thomas Rhett came on. At that point Kevin started to beg Devin and I to pull him up and down the road in the wagon, so for the sake of fun we went along with it. After nearly an hour of full speed pulling up and down the hill filled, pitted gravel road along our houses, we wanted to be a bit more reckless. We began to search Dylan’s tool filled garage for some sort of rope, and within ten minutes, I had found a tow strap that seemed perfect.
We soon convinced Devin to fire up his beautiful white Mitsubishi Eclipse convertible. As I meticulously wrapped the strap around the frame of the car, I began to have an eerie feeling. Once the strap was securely fastened, Kevin climbed back into the wagon and listened to my explicit directions. “I will be in the car with Devin, and I will count down from three. When I get to one, you let go of the strap. ”
Kevin nodded his head in agreement, so I turned to Devin and gave him his instructions. Get the car up to fifteen, then I will countdown and when I get to one you speed up to thirty to get out of the way of the wagon. ” When I finished, Devin also nodded, and we got in the car and told Kevin to hold on tight. Devin began to roll down the gravel road, and my feeling kept worsening, but it was too late to turn back. We kept accelerating until we got to fifteen miles per hour and I gave the countdown. “Three Two One! ” I felt the car speed up, but Kevin did not let go. “Kevin, let go! ” I was screaming at him, but whether out of stupidity or panic, he did not let go.
As one could imagine, a wagon being towed behind a car at thirty miles per hour on a bumpy gravel road may not end well. As the car hit thirty, my bad feeling peaked into almost nausea. The next thing I saw behind the white Mitsubishi was Kevin take off flying out of the wagon, his body as limp as a rag doll as he flew. The wagon flipped three times and came to a rest upside down. Devin and I looked at each other in the car and at the same time screamed “oh shit! ” He slammed on the brakes and we sprinted over to Kevin, where fortunately he was not severely injured.
We pulled the wagon back and helped Kevin into the car to take him back to the garage. When we were all gathered in the light, Kevin noticed that his pants were torn from his hip all the way down to his knee, and he had blood dripping down in a jagged cut, but luckily that was his only injury. After the crash, we all decided to call it a night. When we woke up the next morning, we noticed a big skid mark in the gravel that could only have been from Kevin’s body. Although there was an injury, we had a blast. On top of it all, we truly were not sorry for partying.
