Napalm in the Morning

The Lie

I scraped soil over the corn seeds, padding it down and moving on. Earth, moist and freshly churned, squeezed between my toes. Mosquitos buzzed my legs and face.

At least it wasn't too hot, yet. We'd started early in the family garden, and it was barely 8:30. I stepped over to cover dirt over the next batch of seeds. Then something snagged me.

I glanced down, and frowned. A small tendril of weed had somehow wrapped around my ankle. Then I noticed the rest of the garden. All across it, ground was churning and bubbling, tiny stems popping out every which way.

"Goblins!" Uncle Ron bellowed. He seized the weed whip that was jabbed into the earth beside him, then began laying about with the blade. "Defend yourself, Luke!"

"Uh . . . right . . . ."

An especially vigorous weed slapped my knee, thorn-scratches crisscrossing the skin. I yelped and squashed it, then began hacking away at the plants.

"It all began fifty years ago, when Grandpa Wildman contrived a plan to make sweet corn grow itself!" Uncle Ron said.

"Is this really the time for a dramatic backstory?"

"Stick to the script! All went well, until one fateful day when the wind picked up just as he was spraying his living corn potion!"

"'Living corn potion?' For reals?"

Uncle Ron whirled and hacked two plants in half as they snuck up behind him. In the air around us, a cloud of dandelion fluff drifted.

"The potion landed on some weeds, which came alive and strangled the corn! And it has been doing such every five years since, and only perilous battle can beat it back again, reclaiming this patch of earth by the sweat of our brows and the blood of our veins!"

"It's only a garden!" I yelled. Then, from somewhere out of sight, there came a drone. "What's that?"

"Air support!" Uncle Ron yelled. "Take cover!"

I looked up just in time to see a crop duster buzzing our heads, Aunt Sharon at the controls. She wore huge goggles and a pilot's jacket, with a scarf flapping in the wind.

"Napalm!" Aunt Sharon screamed. She laughed like a madwoman, then yanked a lever. The plane's bottom opened up; a glinting, churning liquid distorted the sky for a moment. Then it fell.

Uncle Ron grabbed me and dove, clearing the garden just in time. The weeds shriveled and died, curling and burrowing back into the sand. Uncle Ron looked up and chuckled. "Well, that'll beat them back another year! I love the smell of napalm in the morning!"

The Truth

Yes, we gardened this morning. No, the weeds did not turn sentient (though at times it seems that way), and Aunt Sharon did not release scalding napalm upon them. Really, do I actually need to clarify these things? By the way, I can't claim credit for the brilliant last line. You probably know this, but it comes from a well-known Vietnam movie, Apocalypse Now.