Oobi sat outside eating his Popsicle, staring at the lot that lay vacant across the street. The house that used to be there had been moved. Oobi remembered that it was a fun day when it happened. The house was placed on stilts and slid onto a giant flatbed truck that then hauled it down the street in a slow wobbling motion.

Oobi had asked if he could ride inside the house, like his was on a float in a parade, rolling down the street and waving at the people as they were driving to work. Women would be putting on eye make-up and men would be drinking their coffee when they’d see Oobi waving at them. Of course Cannubi would be there too barking out of one of the windows. Maybe from one of rooms upstairs, high enough to bark at the unsuspecting birds that would be startled off of the telephone wires. The birds would poop on the windshields in scared flight; the splattered bird droppings would startle the woman putting on her makeup, the lipstick would slide up her face, she’d swerve the car and startle the man who was drinking his coffee, who would then spill it onto his lap and yelp in pain and spin off the road.

Oobi laughed at the thought, and knew why he didn’t get to ride on the house float. The Popsicle dripped down his arm and onto his jeans. He slurped it from the bottom up and then looked back at the dirt field. The dirt had been plowed under after the house had been moved. The workers had taken out the cement and protruding pipes, and now it looked like an empty field that had never had anything on it in the first place. Oobi tried to imagine the house still being there. He turned his head quickly and then looked back in hopes that the house was still there, but it wasn’t. Oobi looked at the clumps of dirt.

Chin Chi walked out the front door munching on a handful of pretzel sticks. He waved at Oobi. Oobi waved back. Then Chin Chi walked over to the empty field kicking the clods of dirt that stacked up out of the ground. The dirt looked oddly enticing, like they were ripe round brown balls ready to be volleyed, or kicked or jumped on. Chin Chi reached down and picked up one of the clods and heaved it. Not real far, not real hard, but hard enough so that the clod floated in the air and exploded into a dirt cloud when it landed.

“Neat,” thought Oobi. The dirt cloud billowed into the air like a small explosion. He walked over to Chin Chi chomping down on the remainder of the Popsicle. “That was kind of cool Chin.”

Chin nodded and lobbed another clod. It exploded further than the other, but the explosion was the same. Oobi reached down and lobbed one too. The clod sailed up in the air and then landed with a whoop, again the dirt cloud swirled in the air.

The two boys tried to hit targets, setting up sticks and looking for cans. They aimed for walls and a cat that was scurrying across a wall. The cat scampered as the dirt stuck to the wall, a small brown dot, and a dirt bullet was left against the wall. The two boys looked at each other and then at the dirt bullet. Chin Chi ran home for some chalk. The dirt clod wars began.

The wall was the fortress, the chalk marks were targets, and the one soldier was to hit the target while the other prevented him. Like an elaborate capture the flag the boys dug trenches and stacked their weapons in elaborate piles. They tried to destroy the piles, capture the fortress and on and on the game went.

When Oobi got home he had dirt all over his body. He had dirt in his ears, in his hair, between his dirty teeth, and even dirt underneath his armpits. When his mom saw her son, she took him out to the back yard and made him peel off his clothes. She ushered him up to the bathroom then stuck Oobi in the shower. Under the steaming water Oobi’s imagination drifted through the mist. He thought about dressing himself in a full uniform and marching into war against the dreaded Chin Chi. They both would fight valiantly but in the end Oobi would win. He would stand conqueror over Chin Chi’s castle, and would be commander of all the video games.

Drying himself off out of the shower, Oobi called his mother. “Mom could I borrow dad’s old army outfit?”

“You’ll have to ask your father Oobi.” Her voice floated back upstairs.

That night after dinner, Oobi approached his father. His dad was reading the newspaper, the smoke of his pipe floating over the top like a smoke signal. “Dad?” Oobi asked. “Do you think I could use your old army stuff?”

“What for?” Oobi’s dad looked over his paper at the boy.

“We’re having dirt wars across the street, and I’d like to have a cool uniform.”

“Oh, well then let’s have a look.” And his dad put down the paper and headed to his workshop where he kept his old army duffle bag.

Oobi saw his father pull out stuff from his duffle bag. Old pants, old shirts, helmets, belts, everything that Pannubi brought home after his military service.
“Can I wear this stuff?” Oobi’s eyes were large as saucers.

“Sure.” Pannubi ruffled Oobi’s head. “You might have to roll up the sleeves and the cuffs, but yeah. Have a good time.”

“What’s this? Is that blood?” Oobi’s eyes were drawn to a worn reddish area.

“Oh I don’t know. That was a long time ago Oobi. Could have been.”

Oobi’s eyes stared at the reddish area. He imagined the worst, a limping father, barely coherent, crawling to safety. “I betcha it hurt huh Dad?”

Pannubi’s eyes got distant and glassed over, “Naw not so much.”

The following day Oobi was dressed in full military uniform as he marched across the street. Cannubi barked from the curb wishing him good luck. He found his place in the field, and then started stacking his good rounds of dirt by his fortress. Chin Chi marched out moments later, obviously seeing that Oobi was wearing a uniform; he had run back in and came out with one also. Oobi saluted Chin Chi, and Chin Chi saluted back. But doing one better, Chin Chi had posted a flag. A golden dragon waved on a field of red. “Rats,” thought Oobi. He launched a dirt bomb at the flag.

The war lasted on through the day. Cars would drive by and honk at the kids, and they would wave back. A good clod would rattle Oobi’s helmet, but he’d shake it off. A good bomb would explode on Chin, and he would dust himself off, and when lunchtime came, both boys stopped as Chin Chi’s grandmother gave them a big meal which they ate on the curb.

They played through the day and into the early evening, when they would postpone the battle for another day. They would go home clean themselves off, and then maybe come out and shoot baskets or go for bike rides.

The battle went on through the summer, and the games became more elaborate. Flags and banners, plumes and badges paraded the field. Then on a hot afternoon when the dirt seemed to sting his eyes, Oobi had been pressing his face against a flat rock trying to elude Chin Chi’s constant attack. The dirt clods landed all around him. It felt as if there were two or three of Chins, but when he poked his head up there was only one. He thought about a cool glass of lemonade and a splash in the pool and he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t interested in doing that. How did he get here? What was this all about? At that moment a huge clod banged against the side of his head so hard that his nose started to bleed. “Time!” Oobi shouted. He stood and pointed to his bleeding nose.
“Sorry,” shouted Chin. “You want my mom to fix it?”

“Naw, that’s okay. I’m kind of done anyhow.”

“Yeah me too,” Chin Chi’s shoulders dropped and his hands let go of two dirt balls.

“Let’s go swimming after I’m done.”

“Okay.”

And that’s how the dirt wars ended. A bloody nose, an image of lemonade, and a better idea of keeping oneself cool, took the game down. And when Oobi gave the military garb back to his dad, he noticed that now it had two spots of red on it.