Thursday, January 04, 2007

confession is good for the soul

But if anyone of the people I’m gonna mention read this story, I’ll probably go to jail.
Around my twelfth year, I spent a lot of time hanging around with a kid named…. we’ll call him John. John was a lot like me, pretty solitary, massively curious, dangerous to be around.
Anyway, cutting to the chase, John had a sister.. we’ll call her Judy. Judy was fifteen, but she had a problem with bedwetting. She was, in all other respects, perfectly normal, but she wet the bed nearly every night. Her exhasperated parents had tried everything.Well, almost everything.
Dad had a bird dog that loved to go off. If you didnt’ chain this sucker down, it would be all over the damned place, and usually was. Dad’s answer to this was to get an electric fence charger and put a single strand of hot wire on the top of our chain link fence, and the dog stayed home. It convinced the dog so thoroughly that the mere sight of the wire was enough to keep it from jumping, so dad was able to eventually leave the charger completely off. Not, though before John and I had learned about pissing on a fence wire.
‘hey, that a lectric fence’? he said to me one day..
“Yep, dad put it up to keep Ginger in”
‘Cool!’ You know if you pee on one it’ll shock you!’
“No, I didn’t know that!” Of course, in nine seconds we had discreetly unzipped and were working up a stream. We had to pee a little uphill because of the location of the wire, but I finally managed to hit it.
To anyone who knows nothing of fence chargers, you may not know that they deliver a pulse of some fairly potent juice, but to keep them from drawing a ton of juice, they only pulse on every few seconds, and then for only a short time.So when I first hit the wire, I didn’t feel a thing.“hey, you’re full of shOOOOWWW! OWWWW OWWWW! Why the HELL did you tell me to do that?”
‘I didn’t, but it doesnt’ feel that “SONOFABITCH!!!!” as the pulse hit him.
Now, under any circumstances, a couple of twelvesomething kids with raging hardons and jangling balls would be cause for alarm, but a tiny bell went off in my head.
“We could use this for Judy!”
‘we’ll never get her to pee on this wire’
“No, I mean we can hook this up to her bed. If she pees, it’ll make her wake up and she won’t pee the bed the next time”
‘You’re a genius!’
For a brief moment I flashed forward. Honorariums to major halls of learning,accolades galore, a huge bronze statuary reminiscent of the Statue of Liberty, the love of all bedwetters worldwide to have been relieved of their horrible burden. A trip to Sweden, surrounded by my adoring fans, to collect a special Nobel prize minted solely for my accomplishment.
‘How will it work?’ said John, snapping me back to reality.“Simple. We’ll get two pieces of aluminum window screen, and hook ‘em up to the juice. Then we’ll put a piece of cloth between ‘em to keep ‘em from sparking, and when she pees, it’ll short out and she’ll be cured instantly!”
So we spent a couple of days digging around for components, and finally, one night, we snuck into her very girly room to fix it all up. We took the fence charger from my house, and sat it under her bed, connected the wires from it to the screens, and separated the screen with an extra sheet. I had already arranged to spend the night, so John and I settled in, both of us in sleeping bags, in his living room.
I lay there imagining the gratitude of Judy’s parents as they woke in the morning to find their daughter completely cured, and, since she WAS an “Older woman” there were certain other things I imagined as well, things Judy would be doing for, or more to the point to, me, out of sheer thankfullness. I drifted off to sleep, writing my coronation speech in my head.
About eleven, the entire household, fourteen dogs, and a couple of people living in peru were awakened by a bloodcurdling scream
Nobody but John and I understand the timing and duration of the screams is in harmony with the pulsation of the fence charger, but everyone soon finds out. John, between blows,is explaining how it’s all my idea, and he had no part of it, and besides she’ll be fine anyway.I slip into my clothes wihtout bothering to get out of the sleeping bag and run down the street, being chased by Judy, her mother and father, the maternal grandmother who lives with them, and at least two stray dogs. I hit the basement door inches ahead of them and slam it behind me, lock it, and crawl into bed, the sleeping bag still bulky under my clothing. Good thing, too, becuase dad tore me up when he got off work and got home to find a large contingent of the neighborhood waiting for him in the driveway. His brass-buckled Comfort Razor Strop rarely flew with such fury, and had I not had the extra padding of my sleeping bag I’d probably be a paraplegic now.
Still. I think it might have worked if we’d had restraints and an effective muzzle.
I think Judy still sleeps on the couch to this day.