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The Second Front

by Marian Allen

There were two fronts to the war in Richmond in the spring of ’69: the humans against the roaches infesting the kitchenette in the dorm basement, and the third floor against the first floor.

The first floor started it. They complained to the Dorm Mother that the third floor made too much noise coming in and going up the stairs. The first floor aimed the Dorm Mother at the third floor and set her off, and the opening shot was fired.

The third floor began coming in as late as possible and making as much noise as possible from the door to the second floor landing, where they muted their steps and voices so they wouldn’t disturb the second floor, which was neutral territory.

The first floor responded by sneaking up to the third floor landing in the dead of night and making weird noises and banging pot lids.

Third floor got louder. First floor moved from the landing to the head of the stairs.

The Dorm Mother attempted peace negotiations, but war fever was running high, and neither side was responsive.

Then, one day, a spy who had crept down to the first floor and eavesdropped on their war council brought back the news: tonight, first floor planned to creep up the stairs. They would line the corridor dividing one line of rooms from the other and, at a signal, let loose with as hideous a noise as possible all at once.

Challenge accepted.

A plan was concocted and put into action. Having learned from first floor’s mistake, third floor set a lookout on the stairs so the enemy would have no forewarning.

Now, in those days, old buildings had transoms over the doors. Transoms were hinged panels that could be opened to let the warm air out of high ceilings of the rooms pulling cooler air in through the lower parts of the windows.

That night, all the transoms were open. This delighted the warriors of the first floor, who snickered quietly as they each took a place below a transom so helplessly open to the din the troops were about to unleash. When they were in place, a voice at the far end of the hall whispered, “Now!” and noise erupted.

The noise changed as the first buckets of water poured out of the first pair of transoms. Pair by pair, on opposite sides of the hall, water cascaded upon the attackers, beginning at the far end and following the fleeing troops as they retreated to the stairs.

The victory was celebrated with singing, whooping, and souvenir photographs.

Then came the Dorm Mother. Not set upon them by the first floor, but by the second floor, into whose innocent rooms the water was leaking. She came bearing disappointment in them and a great many mops, and they spent the rest of the night sopping up their triumph.

They were instructed to apologize. Not to first floor, who had asked for it, but to second floor, who were collateral damage.

That was acceptable, and the second front was closed.

MY WRITING PROMPT TODAY: This is a true story. I found this picture while browsing for inspiration, and had to share it.

MA