Chapter 4
A comet burns across the sky where mortals reach and angels fly
Where dreams are held up do or die
Exposed to everyone
“Life Is”
Most weekend evenings, we played Kick the Can up and down Starmount Drive. Like the name suggests, the game is centered around a can sitting in the middle of the street. In our case, and as an indication of the times, it was always an empty blue thirty-two-ounce can of Maxwell House coffee. Ironically, the company’s slogan was “Good to the last drop,” a phrase that aptly described the coffee can’s experience in our neighborhood, as it repeatedly tumbled through the air after meeting the business end of our Chuck Taylors.
The game began like most of our games did, with one person being It. I don’t remember how we determined who would be It first, but it probably involved the complicated elimination game known as Rock, Paper, Scissors or was simply an exercise in natural selection.
“You’re It.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Shut up. Yes, you are.”
“Fine, but you shut up.”
Most often, the youngest member of the group had the honor of being It first. Of course, with that, came the opportunity of getting in the last word, and yes it was usually some form of, “Fine, but you shut up.”
The object of the game was for the others to run, hide, and then sneak past the kid who was It and then, kick the can without getting caught. The game would always begin benignly enough, with the unlucky kid standing in the middle of the road near the coffee can. To draw the rest of us out, he would venture farther and farther from the can, into the shadows, beyond the pavement, and behind the hedges. If that kid were brave, bored, or desperate, he would risk running behind a house to flush the rest of us out. The farther the kid got from the can, the more likely it became that one of us would race from behind a tree, a car, or straight out of nowhere and kick the can. Anytime we got a solid shot at that can, we’d kick it with a fervor that sent it spiraling like a blue comet. The sound of the can catapulting skyward was invariably followed by the kid who was It launching an equally resounding exclamation of “Shit” or “Damn,” the only two real cuss words we dared to use so close to home.
The game would go on for hours, with the position of It regularly rotating between players. Sometimes It’s parents would call him home, or he became so disinterested that he would utter the official game-ending phrase. Other times, those hiding on the perimeter, either out of boredom or devil-eyed mischief, would just sneak home. The sight of that lonely can sitting in the middle of the road would leave It to ponder his place in the world while frantically searching for what no longer existed. No matter the circumstances, at least one prepubescent screech of “Olly olly in-come-free” marked the end of the game.
The group mostly accepted the phrase as a golden rule, an absolute, and something to revere. When you heard this phrase coming from the mouth of a friend, it was akin to the sound of a coach’s whistle. Uttering that phrase meant, “Stop,” “I’m serious,” and, “I don’t want to play anymore.”
There were those rare occasions when the voice of the tired or lonely It emphatically called out the magic words, only to be met with a long silence. That silence meant that the rest of us had all just gone home. Though it happened to all of us at one time or another, the youngest among us had to deal with being left in the lurch on a consistent basis. On those occasions, you’d hear John, Timmy, or Clay yell out, “Guys, I said it! Olly olly in-come-free! Didn’t you hear me? Guys? Hello? Dammit!”
We all learned to master the art of mockery or exasperation, depending on what side of the phrase we were standing on. Messing with someone to throw them off or just getting under their skin was a popular way to add some much-needed excitement to a boring game. And because it was a common occurrence, we all had the opportunity to learn some degree of anger-management when on the receiving end of those practical jokes.
It’s hard to determine the actual origin of this time-out phrase. It seems to be regionally based in the South, but even there, derivatives exist: “All ye, all ye, in come free,” “Olly olly oxen free,” and, “All-ee, all-ee, outs in free,” to name just a few.
Most experts agree with what we all know intuitively: kids bastardize the English language at every turn and end up inventing new words. Most derivatives are likely born of these youthful misunderstandings and accent-based accidents. One thing is for sure: any version of this vowel-rich phrase carries the same meaning for everyone—time’s up, the game is over. It also has the benefit of not being nearly as creepy as, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” We used that phrase during games of Hide-and-Seek, but even then, it seemed a little unnerving.
We certainly enjoyed messing with each other, at times to the point of red-faced exasperation, but we loved being in each other’s company more than we liked irritating each other. Olly olly in-come-free could come out of nowhere, un-triggered and without warning. And when it did, the earth stood still. The competition between us disappeared, the frustration eased, and the poles that occasionally pushed us apart flipped, instantly drawing us back together.
Friendship seems best defined as the simple act of being there for someone when he or she calls out to you, and that’s the real potency of this simple phrase. Oh, what a different world it would be if the older and wiser among us would learn to brandish it with the care and precision of a child. Who knows what wrongs we could right, which social ills we’d make just, and to what degree human suffering would heal? Maybe we’d even stop wars in their destructive tracks by merely yelling out when we’d had enough: “Olly olly in-come-free. Olly olly in-come-free.”