The Paperclip

It was a quiet evening at Grandma’s house. The adults were still sitting at the post-dinner table discussing some topic that had no interest to seven-year-old, Billy, who had wandered off in search of more exciting endeavors. He was sitting, alone, upon a built-in window seat covered in cushions and pillows that seemed too stiff and unused and clean staring out the window at the twilight encompassing the cul-de-sac. Outside, a man walked his dog, a solitary robin sat in a purple plum tree, and a blue minivan rolled by.

Boredom began to swallow Billy bite by bite as the grown-ups talked about Ronald Reagan or taxes or something and it was at that moment he noticed it. A small brown wire running from behind one of the stale blue pillows. Billy followed the wire and found it lead to a lamp. He reached under the shade, found the rigid black switch, pinched and turned. Billy felt the plastic tear at his fingertips, but soon the switch clicked and a soft 40-watt glow illuminated the room.

Next to the lamp there was an ancient ashtray. Clean and unused, like the pillows, its only current function was to hold a half-dozen, or so, paperclips and three pennies. Glancing into the dining room, Billy saw the grown-ups still seated, engaged in a heated discussion. He was, for the moment, unsupervised. He slid his hand over the surface of the ashtray. It was smooth and cool to the touch. The paperclips and pennies bumped into each other and Billy liked the different textures he felt. He ran his fingernail over the Lincoln Memorial and liked the clicking it made as it passed from one pillar to the next. Slyly, he put each of the pennies and two of the paperclips, one-by-one, into his pants pocket.

He followed the wire back to the window-seat and perched on the hard cushions. He lied down on his side, head on a stark pillow, and stared into the evening and wondered what to do next. He removed the treasures from his pocket and, with his index finger, followed the loops of the paperclip. Around once and a half and back, Billy’s finger ran. He wedged his finger into the upper loop and slid it between the metal until the metal gave and bent and Billy had made a hook. Delighted, he continued to bend the paperclip until it was nothing more than a nearly straight wire. He liked the way it felt between his fingers, feeling the bumps where the more distinct curves had once been.

The man with the dog, now heading the other direction, marched by the window. The dog lunged in the direction where the squirrel had been, but this time the man yelled, “Sophie,” and yanked on the leash and Sophie stopped pulling. Billy, sitting, watched as the man continued to his driveway and went inside his house. Inside, Billy heard the clock chime seven times and sat up abruptly.

The stiff pillow he had been leaning on fell toward him exposing an electrical outlet, the lamp’s power cord, and two slightly exposed copper-colored prongs. Billy, once again, glanced at the grown-ups who were settling down, but still engaged with one another and then at his snaking former paperclip. 

Still holding the mangled paperclip he lied down on his stomach staring at the outlet. He bent his knees and his tiny bare feet shot upward. He alternated knees and his feet made 45-degree arcs back and forth. Once, he slammed his right leg all the way down into the stiff, Papa Bear cushion and he turned and saw a small cloud of dust rise, but still garnered no grown-up attention.

He again looked at the electrical cord. He knew electricity was dangerous, knew it could shock him, but didn’t know why or how. Clearly, it was time for experimentation. He gave the cord a gentle tug. It remained fixed in the outlet, but the two prongs were much more exposed than they had been before. He smiled. He pinched his fingers together over the twisted paperclip wire and felt its smooth, now warm, texture all the way from end-to-end. He held the wire with both hands, one at each end, over the two exposed prongs. Another quick glance into the dining room showed that the coast was clear. He dropped the wire onto the prongs.

It was altogether fantastic and terrifying! All at once there was a pop, the lamp went out, and a tiny, but petrifying, flame sparkled from the outlet scarring it with a small black welt. The faint scent of burnt plastic filled the air in the vicinity of the plug. Acting quickly, Billy brushed the paperclip onto the floor, pushed in the plug, and replaced the pillow, but Dad was coming. In a final act of heroism, Billy picked up the paper clip, bent it, and deposited it back into his pocket before being picked up off the window seat and hauled, wailing loudly but without much physical resistance, into the spare bedroom detention center where he would await his sentencing.