Trying to save the sun from summer
/When I look back on it, we were always trying to save the sun and its warmth for as long as we could. Of course when we were little, we never thought of it that way; it was just summer until it wasn’t, and then it wasn’t summer until it was. Everything was good except when it wasn’t, but it was rarely bad until it wasn’t—most things were good most of the time.
“Let’s build a machine to keep it warm and bright and fun for as long as we can. This summer needs to last forever.”
My only slightly older brother said it like those words meant something to me. Last forever? Isn’t it always summer? I guess… I mean… when it’s not summer…
“What do you mean?” I replied. “That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“Why not? Then we can always swim and eat outside and eat watermelon and swing and-”
“You know I can’t eat watermelon!”
“Okay fine everything but the watermelon.”
If you were inside the house with us two young boys, the next things you would have heard in the house would have been the munching of cereal, the slamming of many kitchen drawers, and the sliding of cardboard over the hardwood kitchen floor. After all, when your family gets a new refrigerator, why shouldn’t you make something with the box? How often do you ever get a chance to do that? Once. That’s how often.
Cereal boxes for the controls and other smaller pieces of the machine, and one large box for the command center where the person inside gets to experience summer for as long as they want, whenever they want.
“It’ll be perfect! A slot for watermelon, a hose for-”
“Stop!”
“You don’t have to press the button for watermelon! But I want it. A hose for a pool whenever we want, and a swing… Hmm… Well it can just shake for that!”
“That’s not what swinging is like.”
“Close enough! And a light for sun whenever we need!”
“What happens when it’s cold?”
“Well it seems warm enough in here to me.”
“You’re right I guess. You’re pretty smart.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go get the hose but don’t turn it on.”
With a garden hose—complete with what used to be freshly-trimmed grass stuck to every inch of it—threaded over the lawn, up the back porch, through the sliding glass door, through the dining room, through the kitchen, into the living room, and shoved through a less-than-perfect hole punctured in the side of an upright refrigerator box, the machine started to come to life.
To us, it started to shake, light up, and invite us in as if it had a mind of its own and wanted us inside. “Come enjoy summer,” it whispered to us as we attached each component. Marker-drawn buttons to activate the hose. Switches, knobs, and sliders to choose the size of watermelon you desired. Levers, dials, and selectors to find the perfect setting of shake to make it feel like a swing.
“It’s perfect!”
“Will it keep summer here forever?” I asked.
“I think it will!”
“Let’s get in!”
“Only one of us can use it at a time! I’ll go first to make sure it’s safe.”
“Wait why? And that’s not fair I went to go get the hose!”
“Just get in position and listen for what the buttons are doing.”
It was just like my older brother to want to go first. I guess it was his idea anyway… I didn’t even know if I wanted to try it.
“Okay! I’m going to try the watermelon dispenser! Beep boop beeeeep! I’m asking the machine to give me a medium size piece of watermelon!”
He said it louder than he had to. It’s not like cardboard is very soundproof. Quick footsteps that were closer to stomps than anything, an opening, a shuffling, a slam of the fridge, more stomping footsteps, a pause. A scrape of melon against cardboard, the sound of four hands making sure a piece of melon doesn’t fall onto the living room carpet. A bite of melon that surely created drips of juice that made their way to the carpet.
“It works! It works! It actually works!”
“I gotta wash my hands! They’re already turning red!”
“Wait, wait! Machine, I’d like to go swimming! Eeeek beep boop!”
More stomping footsteps, a long pause. Shrieking laughter started as cool water soaked a seven year old’s pants, the carpet, and started the disintegration of the hastily built machine. Sparks started flying from the base of the machine and the controls. “We forgot to add waterproof tape!”
Stomping footsteps.
“What? Oh no the machine! Get out of there it’s going to explode!”
“The door won’t open!”
We started prying the door open together piece by piece. It got easier and easier as the machine got wetter and wetter and was falling apart. Thankfully, my brother escaped in time; right after he got out and we backed away, the entire machine went up in flames and started sputtering metal, gears, buttons, wires, plastic, and glass all over the place.
“Wow that was close!”
“I had it under control.”
“That’s good. But I still think you’re lucky.”
“Yeah.”
“I wish I could have had a chance to sit in it. I wanted to at least try the swing setting. We’ll never know how real it felt now.”
“Real swings are probably still better.”
“You’re right. Hey, how do you know all these things?”
“When you get older, you learn stuff. I knew that it wouldn’t explode until I got out.”
“That’s cool. I’m going to swing on the real swings. Wanna come swing with me?”
“Nah, I’m gonna get in the pool.”
“Mom said we can’t go in unless someone is watching!”
“I’ll just put my feet in.”
If there was anyone still in the house, all they would’ve heard would have been two pairs of feet stomping towards the door, a slam of the sliding glass door stopped short by a garden hose, and, of course, the gentle trickle of water spreading through the living room, now into the kitchen, dining room, and hallway leading to the bedrooms.