A Tale of Brilliance

I just finished writing this story today! It is a true story (slightly enhanced by imagination) that took place when I was about 8 or so.

Enjoy!

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The two little kids were playing in the tough, gray, Oklahoma clay with their plastic buckets and shovels, talking over their conspiracies, and shunning me; the older kid, the bane to their term of 'fun', and the sucker that got them into trouble often.

I couldn't help it. Trouble and me walked the same road for some reason. No matter how hard I tried, I could never stay away from it. It would seem to jump out and grab me in a big bear hug then leave me with its guilty evidence. Or it pulled me into its mischief with a super charged magnet. Sometimes, with my natural hyper active turbo speed and slow logic pattern, I would run head long into it, and would never know until the top grade investigators, known as Parents, called me into their office for a private chat. There was just no getting away from it.

As I watch the little kids play from the safety of the porch, my mind was calculating every possible way that I could break into their social circle.

Nice words and peace offerings? Nope. Tried that.

Slowly inching my way into their play by adding my own dialog to their story and using my shovel to help them build their clay kingdom? Nope. Tried that too.

Creating a diversion to capture their attention and pull them into my own game? Aha! Now that is an idea!

Now to stage 2: what diversion shall I create and how will I get them sucked into it?

I hate details, so I just skipped to stage 3: create and initiate diversion at all costs.

My highly observant eyes scanned the farm yard for something, anything, to use. Something shiny? Something cool? Something fun? How about something mysterious?

My eyes stopped on the old junk pile not far away from the confinements of our chain link fenced yard. It was perfect! Not only did the junk pile capture the attention of young and old alike, and fill the mind with curiosity as to what lied in its depths, but it also was beyond the boundaries of the fence and I was certain that the little kids would jump for a chance to escape their prison known as 'the back yard'.

But what if they didn't want to leave the prison? What if they enjoyed this confinement and saw it as a comfort?

Well, I would fix that. If extreme curiosity and longing for adventure are aroused inside of a human, they will do anything to satisfy it. I was counting on arousing that in the little kids.

I quickly walked over to our play house, stepped into it and began to scour the shelves. I grabbed a rusty old screwdriver, a bent paint brush, a little garden shovel, and a broken hammer, then I put them all into an old army bag.

I stepped out of the play house with the army bag over my shoulder, my head held high, and a confident look on my face. I made a quick glance at the little kids. Seeing that they were watching me from the corner of their beady little eyes, I turned my nose up and marched for the the mystic portal that led to lands of freedom beyond........ in other words, the yard gate.

I began to sweat however, when I was five feet from the gate and not a single word had been said, but I kept on walking, knowing that it would all fall together if I kept my cool.

I stepped up to the gate and placed my hand on the latch.

“What are you doing?”

I smiled and refrained from wiping the sweat off my forehead: my plan had worked like magic.

I turned to see the two little kids walking toward me, scanning the army bag and glancing at the gate behind me.

“I was going to the junk pile to unbury hidden treasures.” I said casually. I waited a moment to allow the thought to sink into their heads before shooting the killer question “Wanna come?” I asked.

“I want to” One said.

“But are we allowed to go out of the fence?” The other asked.

Little kids. They are only smart enough to ask such questions when it will only foil your delicate, and well thought through plans. No matter. My mind did not need to think hard for an answer. I had been well trained by my inside resources to come up with a clever answer for every slightly less clever question.

“We have only been told to keep the house in sight.” I said “The house is in perfect sight from the junk pile. We won't be breaking any rules.”

The two glanced at each other and shrugged “Okay, we'll go with you.” They said.

I grinned triumphantly and quickly opened the gate, then I led the happy creatures through the land of freedom and merriment to the city of treasure: the junk pile.

Now I guess you could say “Mission Accomplished” but that is not the case. Now that I was in their circle, I had to stay there, no matter the cost. Besides that, I was deeply curious myself as to what we would find in the junk pile.

The three of us had not been rummaging in the pile long when I found an odd little black can that resembled that of a paint can.

I took my handy rusty screwdriver and popped the lid off. To my interest, astonishment, and slight disgust, I found it was filled with a strange, smelly black liquid, that did not appeal to my highly intellectual self at all.

However, knowing that if I did not take the risk myself, then the poor, unintelligent kids would. So I dipped my right hand into the black stuff and pulled it out.

Whew...it wasn't dangerous. But it was very cold and sticky.

I set the can down and tried to wipe the black stuff off with my left hand. Instead of coming off of my right hand, it smeared onto my left hand, making both hands black.

I tried wiping them on the ground, and to my dismay and horror, it did not come off, but picked up a lot of dirt.

Drat! It was alien goo that would grow and turn me into a cyclops no doubt! It was definitely a good thing I did not let the little kids into this! I must have saved their lives, but was my own at risk?

“What is that on your hands?” One the the kids asked.

I grimaced and wiped my hands on a steal pipe. To my utter joy, some of the goo came off of my hands. AHA! I had now found its weakness.

“I found that can and opened it, and it has some sort of oil or tar in it.” I said.

“Eeeeeeew!” both of the little kids exclaimed at the same time.

“Well, why did you stick your hand in it?” One asked.

I shrugged my shoulders as I continued to use the pipe to remove the goo from my hands. I was really beginning to question my own intelligence right about now and was asking myself that same question: why had I stuck my hand into that stuff?

“Well, we should probably get rid of it.” the other kid said.

I nodded my head.

“Yeah, it would be unfortunate if someone else got into this stuff.” I said, trying to keep my chin up over my stupidity.

“Well, I doubt anyone else would be dumb enough to stick their hand in it like you.” One of the little kids said.

I gave that kid a sideways glare. I and I alone had the authority to question my intelligence, not one of these little pipsqueaks.

“Save it for the road kid” I said as I picked up the black can. We all walked over to the trash barrel and the two short ones watched while I tossed the can into the darkness of the barrel with a clang.

We then walked over to the water faucet, across the farm yard, and tried to get my hands clean, but to little avail.

The goo was gone, but my hands were stained black. No matter how hard I washed, the stain would not come off.

“Hey! We could smear that all over you and turn you into a charcoal ginger bread woman!” One of the kids said with a smirk.

Well, my rating on intelligence had been lowered to a single star, but I was still in the little kids circle, but only on a sympathy visa. There was no telling how long that would last though. If we got into trouble, that would run out in three seconds flat.

“Well, we had better get up to the house before” I stopped short before I let the last few words slip past my lips, and I looked at the little kids. Both of them were looking at me like 'Come on wise moron. Let it slip on out.'

“What? Before we are caught?” One asked with a cock of her head and a raise of her eyebrows.

I raised my chin and looked up at the sky just a little bit with a sigh “Eh, I was thinking before we are missed. Not really 'caught' as you so vulgarly put it.”

She rolled her eyes and looked at my hands, then both of them looked at me with pity. I hated that look more than anything, so I tried my best to ignore them.

We hurried back to the yard and played together quietly until the inevitable happened.

“Hey kids! Cookies!! Come inside!”

We all three scurried inside with excitement, but my excitement quickly died away as it slowly dawned on me that I would not want the adults to see my hands.

I spent extra time at the sink with soap and water, but it did little good.

“You guys need to come in here to get the cookies.” mom said.

Oh great. That notification spelled my certain doom, and by the look on the little kid's faces, they knew it too.

“What do we do?” They asked.

I thought a moment, my mind raced through every possible option open to me.

Hide my hands in my t-shirt? No, too obvious.

Go get my hands as filthy dirty with potting soil as possible so the adults could not see the black stains? No, they would just make me wash them again.

Wear a pair of gloves? Are you kidding?! When can you ever find a pair of gloves around this place?

Have the little kids get your cookie for you while you pretend that you are busy in the bathroom?

BINGO! Brilliant idea.

“Grab my cookie for me. Tell them I am busy in the bathroom.”

The two little kids nodded their heads, then set off on their covert operation.

I pleasantly stood next to the bathroom door with hardly a care on my shoulders. However, the only thing predictable about adults is that they will always flip out your brilliant plans by doing exactly the opposite of what you want them to do.

“Can we have Kat's cookies too?” I heard the little kids say in the other room.

“Why?”

“Because she is busy in the bathroom.”

“Well, she can get her own cookies when she comes out of the bathroom. You don't need to be her little servants.”

I....am....so....DEAD.

“Kat! You come get your OWN cookies! And hurry up! The little kids can't have theirs until you get in here!” mom called.

Yep, I'm dead. I might as well scrawl out my last will and testament and order my tombstone. Put an inscription on my tombstone that says “She was caught red-handed with black hands & died thus.”

I paced the room for a moment on the edge of panic.

“What to do? What to do?” I asked my self in barely a whisper. Then it dawned on me: maybe the adults would not notice my hands. Maybe I could just waltz in there, and they would plop a cookie into my hands while chit-chatting, and never notice a thing!! It was worth a try.

So, I walk into the room. The little kids had eyes that were as big as saucers, but they did good at acting like everything was normal.

We lined up for our cookies, and I made sure that I was at the back of the line.

One little kid is graced with a cookie.

Two little kid is blessed with a cookie.

Me...I was up next. The parents were talking. Now was my chance.

I hurried up and held out my hands modestly.

“Just drop the cookie, drop the cookie, drop the cookie, and DONT LOOK DOWN.” I kept thinking to myself as I stared at the adult.

She lowered the cookie to my hands. Closer, closer, closer, PAUSE. S

he stopped and looked down at my hands. Her eyes became as big as saucers too, and she drew in a gasp “What on EARTH do you have on your hands?!” She cried.

The little kids quietly, quickly, and very smoothly left the scene with cookies clutched in their little mitts.

My mother jumped up and grabbed my hands.

My whole name came screeching past her lips. I was DEFINITELY in trouble.

She hurried me back to the bathroom, grabbed a new bar of LAVA soap, and began to scrub my hands raw while asking me a question a minute. She threatened to withhold my cookies as punishment for going beyond the boundaries of the yard. She asked why I had put my hands into the black stuff, then made the quick, but wise conclusion that I must have had no idea why I would do such a thing, because I never think about these things! Then she asked if the little kids went along with me.

In the buzz, I think I heroically said “No. I went by myself.” but I 'm not for certain.

She scrubbed my hands until she got them as clean as they would ever get for a week afterward, then she hurried back to the other adult and relaid all that she had scrubbed out of me.

Now, you may think that I went through all of this for nothing, but that is not true. I was totally in the little kid's circle now that I had saved their little hides by revealing nothing about their participation in my brilliant plan of adventure. It was their way of showing me their gratitude, however humble it may have been. They never brought up my failed, but brilliant adventure, much to my happiness, and they accepted me gladly into their play and social circle....until the next week rolled around, then I was back to square one, standing by myself, watching them play and shun me.

But that is not all the benefits that came with this slightly less-than-pleasant story. I also learned a very important life lesson that has become the moral of my story. You would be wise to learn from it.

The moral is this: If you ever come across a can of black goo DO NOT STICK YOUR HAND IN IT. Do yourself a favor and throw that stuff away!

The End

P.S. In case you were wondering, the adults did give me my cookies. :-)