What Could Go Wrong?
“Becky, this is going to be the
perfect storm for you,” her father told her on the phone.
“Dad, the storm is very cold, very wet
and very windy. What’s so good about it?”
“It’s a perfect test to see how
well you and your brother get along.”
“We’ll get along just fine. Stan
goes to his room and I go to mine. When we get hungry, we pop dinner in the
microwave. What could go wrong?”
“You could burn the house down.”
“Dad…” Becky started to say before
the telephone went dead.
Stan asked, “Who was that?”
“Mom and Dad are stuck in San Francisco.
They can’t fly into Eureka until tomorrow afternoon. It’s just me and you,
kid.”
“Don’t call me a kid. I’m fourteen
years old.”
“So, I’m sixteen and Mom and Dad
still call me a kid.”
The tit for tat was interrupted by
a crash of lightning, followed by a blackout. Although it was still late
afternoon, the house was plunged into darkness.
“Oh, great,” Becky said, “Now what
do we do?”
Stan said, “I’ll make a fire in the
fireplace if you cook dinner.”
She said, “Why don’t I start the
fire and you cook dinner?”
“Do you really want to eat my
cooking?”
“On second thought, you start the
fire and I’ll cook dinner.”
It took Becky fifteen minutes to
locate their one and only working flashlight, two candles and a box of matches.
The faint candlelight was enough for her to find a can of beef stew. Next, she
searched for the manual can opener that her mother threw out six months before.
Her second idea for dinner was stir
fry. She found containers of chopped veggies and beef cubes in the
refrigerator. She poured a cup of oil in the wok and lit the gas flame with a
match. Yes, she thought, I can make dinner during a blackout.
“EEEEEEEEE” the living room smoke detector
emitted its annoying shrill. Becky rushed to the living room to find smoke billowing
from the fireplace and Stan struggling to open the flue damper with the
fireplace poker. A cathunk sound from the fireplace signaled his success. The
smoke changed direction, floating up the chimney. But a layer of smoke still
hung over the living room.
“Next time, open the flue, then
start the fire,” she scolded as Stan opened the front door. When Becky opened the
back patio door, a blast of cold wind and rain hit her in the face. She turned
around just in time to see the oil in the wok burst into flame. She screamed
over the shrill of the smoke detector and howl of the wind. She heard a whoosh
and a cloud of blue fire retardant engulfed the wok, stove top and kitchen
counter. Becky stood for a minute, trembling and staring at her brother with
the fire extinguisher.
“Go ahead and say it,” she mumbled,
“I’m such an idiot.”
He said, “I won’t tell if you don’t
tell.”
“It’s a deal.”
By the time the wind cleared the smoke
from the house, the dining room floor, table and chairs were soaked.
Thankfully, the smoke detector finally shut up.
Stan asked, “Are you still going to
cook dinner?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Why don’t we heat up some pork and beans and
cook hot dogs over the fire? I can open the can with my camping knife.”
She said, “I know. I’ll heat up
these pork and beans and we can roast hot dogs and marshmallows.”
The house became colder and darker
as afternoon turned to night. Since the only warm spot in the entire house was
next to the fire, Becky suggested they bring their mattresses and sleeping bags
to the living room.
As they settled into their
makeshift beds, Becky said, “Nothing else can go wrong now.”
Becky was sound asleep when she
felt a shove on her shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“You were snoring like a chainsaw.
I couldn’t sleep.”
“Aaargh, go to sleep.” Becky was
almost asleep again when she heard a wheezing louder than the howling wind. She
couldn’t believe her brother could snore so loudly. She decided to ignore him.
The power was still out when their
parents returned the next evening. A candlelight dinner was waiting for them.
Stir fry was on the menu.
“Wow,” Mom said, “I’m impressed.
You didn’t burn the house down.”
Becky said, “Really, Mom, would we
do I thing like that?”
