ROSCOE'S JAR

ROSCOE'S JAR...

I studied my shoe prints in the melting tar as I kicked a solo can down the street. Silvery sunlight reflected from the abraded aluminium, the tinny tinkling sound fading upon the entrance to my driveway. ‘Later Roscoe.’ I said... Roscoe replied with a middle finger and a grin. I gave him the same in brackets, said ‘Put some of ‘em on ice, but save me some.’ He said nothing. Just held the jar in the air, gave it a wriggle, and kept on walking.

I toed the crack in the concrete a moment considering Dads possible reactions to seeing the new hole in my jeans. If sober, he’d be a prick, if drunk, he’d be a bigger prick. Anyway, the idea was to be in and out quick. I only wanted to snatch a fistful of Mums bikkies, maybe a drink, and some of my 9^th birthday cake. Then I would head for Roscoes.

I gently closed the screen behind me. The sound of car racing filled the lounge. Dad was deep within mid day slumber, sprawled out like a drunkard king in his chair. I knew Mum was at Aunt Jackie’s for the day - Jackie’s husband was also a bottom of the bottle feeder. Mum said Jackie found herself chewing on an upsized knuckle sandwich and that she needed help with her womanly business, whatever that meant.    

I filled my pockets from the cookie jar but decided against the cake. Stealth mode had kicked in and instincts steered me away from the noisy fridge door, instead with dad asleep I thought I’d go out the shed and have a look in his old fridge. I knew he hid the occasional coke in there, and with this weather, a brain freezing coke would go down a treat.

Melting chocolate chip cookies stained my sweaty palms. I closed the side door quietly - the sheds heavy air encouraged an instant sweat. I went to the fridge, pulled the heavy chrome latch and behold – two cans of coke... The fridges icy fingers embraced mine as I reached in. I felt a welcoming chill mingling within the length of my spine. Ahh the coldness was grand... When I grabbed for the coke my thigh copped a bump, the door throwing my balance, I almost fell right into the fridge. For a moment I considered climbing in to escape the heat, but I remembered Roscoe and the jar full of bugs, and thought I better get on my way.

I made my way to the shed door and twisted the latch, but nothing... I twisted again with a little more angst, but still nothing. Sweat beads appeared on my forehead like tiny fat bobbles bobbing on hot sink water. I studied the door... Tried it again... It was useless - I was stuck.

The axe head seemed to smile at me but the idea of smashing the door filled my brain with king nothings hollering voice, and a subtle reminder of the heat from his backhand. No, I was trapped alright.

I swallowed the coke down and considered escape options but each scenario fell against the wall followed closely by my morale. I decided another coke might cool me down. I went to the fridge, grabbed the coke, and used the axe handle to prop the door whilst I turned around and sat inside the fridge. I eased my back against the coldness and studied the goose bumps spreading over my arms. I was fully in the fridge now, enjoying a coke and a chill.

I thought about Roscoe for a moment. He would be at his place freezing the mornings bugs. We test the different species tolerances. Last time we used an oven and the cockroach won. I wondered what it would feel like to be a cockroach scurrying around in a glass jar inside a fridge. So I closed the door...  

Note from the Author for the younger readers...

Refrigerators and freezers built in the 50's and 60's had mechanical latching handles, making them Death Traps. Many children have tragically lost their lives whilst hiding or playing in these old fridges. Did you know it's actually illegal to leave doors on broken refrigerators in several states? 

COPYRIGHT2013 JWILSON