The Cat House Tweens

The view from the middle of outer space reveals a cosmic playground with endless possibilities. In every direction, there are stars and planets and other celestial wonders. The more one focuses, however, the more possibilities shrink. Narrow the view from the middle of outer space towards one planet, like planet Earth, and suddenly, a vast universe is tiny. Focus on one region or country. Go even smaller to one province, one state, one city, one village, or one town. It further limits the scope. Finally, focus on the people living in that area, defining them as one community, family, or person. The view from a single being reveals a finite set of limited possibilities. A person can feel pretty small in a big space.

M.J. stepped outside his circle of friends and looked at the night sky. Out in the country, beyond all the big city artificial lights, more stars are visible. M.J. stood in that country field as a contradiction in terms- in the dark surrounded by light. The thirteen-year-old from the tiny Midwestern town of Bullhead Crick felt insignificant looking into that space. It was the end of summer, late August, and the days remained hot. The ground had baked in the day’s sun and was soft under his feet. For most people in Bullhead Crick, there is comfort in taking off your shoes and feeling soft ground between your toes and under your feet. In farm country, tilled over, soft soil means fertility and growth. But that night, M.J. took no comfort. It was like quicksand. It was like he was sinking in, becoming molded to the earth. His feet were stuck. M.J. pictured himself sinking into the field, his arms outstretched and his hands grasping at the air above him. He felt anchored to the ground, and those stars in the night sky were light years away and out of his reach. M.J. heard the deep voice of the narrator from that old space movie his parents made him watch, echoing inside his head, “Space: The Final Frontier.” He continued with his inner dialogue and shook his head, talking his mind into a more positive place.

Space represents room for change. Each shining star is a beacon of hope, an opportunity somewhere else.

M.J. was reaching for the stars. It might take hard work, but he would realize the promise of those far-away stars. Far away from Bullhead Crick is where he wanted to be. M.J. sensed that he and his friends were just one great idea away from a meaningful life elsewhere. He stepped back into the circle.

The group of four sat around the glowing hubcap of a 1990s Chevy they had implanted in the ground to act as a fire pit. They surrounded it with gravel to ensure that sparks would not jump out and set the dried grass or random dead corn stalks on fire. The broken-down old convertible sat kitty-corner to them on the lot, but you couldn’t see it beyond their makeshift camp. You couldn’t see anything outside the circle. Not the tiny, dilapidated farmhouse. Not the barn. Not the apple tree or the cornfield. M.J. stuck his hand outside the circle and held it up, and he could barely see the hand in front of his face.

“There aren’t enough stars in the universe to shed light on this sucky little town,” he whispered.

M.J. thought about their campfire; a tiny five-foot circumference of light. To him, it was one of the billions of circles of light in the universe, a symbol of hope. It was time to get to work.

The group sounded more like a busy office than thirteen-year-olds hanging out. Above the noise of frogs and crickets was the constant tapping, clicking, and clacking of the group’s fingertips on the screens of their phones. Texting kept them in touch with the goings-on of the outside world. It allowed for omnipresence. It was the answer to the age-old problem of cutting yourself in half to be in more than one place at once.

M.J. pictured an animated version of himself playing out a scene from earlier that day. “Cartoon M.J.” frantically texted messages from his phone, resulting in a bunch of miniature M.J.s with tiny wings flying out of his phone into the air. Cartoon M.J. barked orders at each of them,
“You! Little M.J. number one, go check in on Charlie while you two little guys go and tell Jeremy to stop reading and get some fresh air or something! You other little M.J.s go send a message to Izzy to meet up with the rest of us at sunset, and the rest of you go make up some excuse to my family as to why I will not be joining them for family game night.”

The cartoon M.J.s gave military salutes and flew off on their missions. M.J. laughed out loud as the scene played itself out in his mind.

The lone girl around the campfire, Izzy, noticed M.J. locked up in his head and snapped her fingers at him. He blinked and refocused in her direction.

“Snap out of it,” she said. “You are all alone up in your own little world again, and I am guessing it is a pretty strange place to hang out, so come back to us.”

Izzy sat on a fold-out lounge chair with her legs crossed. An earpiece traveled down her side and connected to the cell phone in her hand. Although the only girl in the group, Izzy was no tomboy. Her femininity was entrancing to boys in town and infuriating to girls. She sat in jeans, a white tee, and no makeup. She was straightforward, no fuss, and strikingly beautiful all at the same time.

Next to Izzy on the ground sat Charlie. He wore baggy jean shorts and an oversized football jersey. Two-fisting, he held a giant candy bar in one hand as he chugged a carbonated energy drink being held by the other. Charlie had a shaved head on the sides and back and a mop of curly blond hair. His bangs almost covered his eyes. He was average height for his age but rather pudgy in his build. His dad called it “solid-pudgy.” Charlie began juggling his candy bar, drink, and a tennis ball in the air. Despite his solid-pudgy build, Charlie’s coordination and size combined to make him the best athlete of his age group in Bullhead Crick. The tennis ball dropped, and he opened the bottled drink in his hand. It exploded in his face, setting the group into laughter. Charlie laughed with them, always happy to be the center of attention.

The third member of the foursome was Jeremy. His head was completely shaven, and he wore round glasses. His look most closely resembled a tall, skinny flagpole. He sat with jeans and a novelty T-shirt hanging off his gangly frame. The T-shirt read, “Egghead Cannibalism,” and had a picture of Albert Einstein eating a hard-boiled egg with a Humpty Dumpty face on it, screaming for help. He sat on the ground against his giant backpack, synching his phone to wireless speakers.

Back at the point stood M.J. He spoke confidently, but did not have the look, brains, or charisma to be overly threatening. That summed up M.J.’s existence as an average, friendly kid who did not make too much noise. He also wore his hair long on top, straighter than Charlie’s, and longer on the sides and back. M.J. had an average build, average face, and average everything. Yet, here he stood before his friends as the de facto leader and called the informal meeting to order.

“Ok!” said M.J. “We all know the drill. One great idea.”

Charlie was the first to chime in by forming his lips in such a way to mimic a jet engine, “How about rocket skate shoes? You know shoes with little wheels on the heel and rocket boosters for jet propulsion?”

“I think there would be too much liability,” said M.J.

“Plus,” entered Izzy, “people are already lazy enough. Those stupid skate shoes are one of my pet peeves. Actually, are they even a thing anymore? What’s wrong with using your legs to walk?”

“I think people have moved on to hoverboards,” began Jeremy, but Charlie busted in.

“Hey, don’t knock the chubs ‘till you tried it!” he countered Izzy as he lifted his jersey, grabbed two hands full of his gut, and shook it around.

“Calm down, everyone,” said M.J., holding in a laugh at Charlie’s belly and the look on Izzy’s face.

“What about a robot dog? You know, for people who don’t want a pet that grows old and dies. No feeding. No pooper-scooper is necessary. We could even add a paper shredder by its mouth. Get it? My robot dog ate my homework?” asked Jeremy.

There was a collective groan.

“Really!? We have had a whole week to brainstorm ideas, and this is the best you came up with. Aren’t you the brains of the group?” asked M.J.

Charlie laughed, “Really, Germs, no teacher is going to believe that a robot dog ate your homework, and even if you could prove it, it would be your fault for buying the stupid thing. Plus, the whole A.I. thing creeps me out. Dangerous. Who’s to say the dog won’t decide to eat you instead of the homework?”

“Plus,” added Izzy, “it’s not ethical for our great idea to promote laziness.”

“Yeah, guys,” Charlie squeaked in a high-pitched voice meant to imitate Izzy, “we want America’s youth to kick those skate shoes to the curb, get out there and exercise all the time, and do lots of homework!”

“Try this on for size,” Charlie said, not giving Izzy a chance to respond. “Super-suction boots! Become your own superhero! Scaling walls and hanging from ceilings! Fighting for truth and justice, while completing your homework on time,” he said pointing emphatically at Izzy. “Upholding the American Waaaaaay!”

Charlie rolled backward onto the ground and began kicking his feet like climbing an imaginary wall, making big suction pop noises.

M.J. stepped in again, “What’s with all the footwear ideas, Charlie? Rocket skate shoes. Super-suction boots. Do you have a foot fetish going on or something? Would you stop fixating on feet?”

“Yeah!” said Jeremy. “I’ve seen your feet. They are nothing special. In fact, they are kind of gross looking.”

“And gross smelling,” said Izzy.

Charlie took off a shoe and flexed his foot up to his nose. Wincing, he held the shoe up in proud display.

“Sorry, M.J. I just got new shoes. Don’t they make me look fast? Just like a superhero?” he asked.

Charlie sat up and blew kisses at M.J. in the form of the suction pops noises.

“How about a motor fueled by pee?” interrupted Jeremy.

There was a moment of silence, broken by M.J.

“I guess, not bad. Can that actually work?”

“You can make a motor run with all types of fuel. You know? It’s not like steam engines haven’t been around forever. The big challenge is making them run as efficiently and powerfully as conventional engines,” said Jeremy.

“Probably some pretty potent steam to deal with in this case,” said M.J.

“A urine engine, hmmm? Gross, but green,” said Izzy.

“Gross and green, two of my favorites!” said Charlie as he pretended to dig in his nose for some boogers.

“I meant green, as in good for the environment, not like boogers,” explained Izzy. “Why do you always have to take it somewhere?”

M.J. interrupted, “He knows what you meant. I like the idea. It just seems too obvious. Like you said, Jeremy, steam engines have been around forever.”

“It seems like a futuristic science fiction movie to me,” said Charlie as he hit the app on his phone that deepened his voice to sound like the movie trailer voice-over guy. He spoke into the receiver, and it echoed instantly from the speaker.

“The year is 3023, and humans have sucked the planet’s oil reserves bone dry. But one scientist has the answer to the world’s energy problems, and it rests- pause for dramatic effect- in his bladder!”

Izzy put her hand over her mouth, but a laugh squeaked out.

“It’s just an idea,” said Jeremy defensively. “I didn’t hear you guys come up with anything better.”

“Take it easy, Jeremy,” said M.J. “We all like the idea. This is good. It is good to talk about the pluses and minuses.”

“I know it seems like a stretch,” said Jeremy. “Most great inventions are retreads from earlier ideas that are perfected over time. I was watching this show on the Science Network.”

“Ha!” This time, Charlie laughed out loud and promptly covered his mouth.

“Sorry, Germs!” he said through his hand.

“Don’t call me Germs,” said Jeremy.

“Anyway, this show was talking about how it is kind of backward,” he said. “Water is what makes up most of the human body. It covers most of the surface of the planet Earth. And yet, it is scarce in many places and underutilized as a resource.”

“It does make sense,” said Izzy.

Jeremy scanned her face to see if she was making fun of him, but she looked serious.

“Anyway, we know that water has energy potential. We just need to find better ways of converting it. And it just makes sense to me if we use wastewater or contaminated water. We would kill two birds with one stone,” said Jeremy.

“Charlie,” Jeremy said, “I know you were making fun of me, but imagine if it could work? Instead of filling up at the gas pump, a family of four fills their fuel tank with wake-up whizzing. We all have to go right away when we wake up, right?”

“It’s just kind of funny to think about,” said Charlie. “Seriously, I like the idea.”

M.J. nodded in agreement, “Well, it isn’t like we are going to come up with an idea that doesn’t need tweaking. It’s our first potential idea, and who knows?”

He scribbled the idea down on a pad of paper and said it aloud, “Urine Steam Engine,” M.J. tore out the piece and folded it. He picked up the car muffler from the old Chevy resting on the ground beside him and shoved the paper into a rusted-out hole in its center.

“But I still think that this steam will cause some major pollution issues,” he said. “I mean, you said it yourself, Jeremy. The idea is to use wastewater, and a by-product of waste is waste.”

Jeremy shrugged, “You got to do something with the pee!”

The group laughed.

“That is a different day’s puzzle,” said M.J. “I’m just excited we have our first idea.”

He cleared his throat and announced, “This car muffler will serve as a safety deposit box. When the brainstorming phase is complete, we can decide on one idea. One great idea! Or if we have several promising ideas, we can work on them all. Increasing our chances of striking oil!”

“Urine!” said Charlie. “Striking urine! Urine is going to be the new oil. The fuel of the future,” he said, winking in Jeremy’s direction.

“Behold,” said M.J. raising the muffler above his head, “the resting place of the next innovation to change the world as we know it and our ticket out of this crappy little town.”

Jeremy stood up, clapped, and hollered, “Whoop! Whoop!”

Izzy stayed sitting but joined in applauding.

Charlie put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly.

M.J. stood at the point, beaming- a beacon of hope in the universe.