The End of FUN

by Sean McGinty

  “OK, look what happened last time. We had a plan then, too. I crapped my pants and you got put in jail. We get together and do stupid shit and it never works out.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Oso sputtered. “Are you straight-up messing with me or what, bro? First of all—well, OK. So last time we made some mistakes. I’ll give you that. It was a full moon. The pills didn’t help. But no drugs this time. This time we go au naturel. Those aspirin you ate don’t count, OK? And listen—if you’re gonna say we do stupid shit that doesn’t work out…first of all, this isn’t stupid. Second of all, when it doesn’t work out the way you want, that’s half the fun.” Oso raised his arms. He was shouting now.

  “Listen, Aaron—you can mope around feeling bad about things you cannot change. Or you can do something about it! You ask me, it’s time to get bold! You told me yourself there’s something buried out there. Well, you can give up now, or you can scrape at it with a shovel for the rest of your life—or you can have a go at it with some legit machinery and see once and for all what it is you got!”

  Clouds gathered as we waited for nightfall. Moon or not, it didn’t matter—by the time we were ready to execute our plan, the sky was a black slate and the lightning had started—no rain, just this dry electrical storm lighting up the brush in thundering flashes. We drove Oso’s creeper truck out to Coyote Heights, lights off so as not to arouse suspicion. Oso fiddled with the backhoe. And fiddled. And fiddled. Time was passing and I was worried someone was going to catch us.

  “Crap,” he said. “Shoulda brought a flashlight….Can’t see what I’m doing….Stupid screwdriver….Oh, wait. Here we go!”

  Once Oso had the tractor going, stealth was pretty much out the window. I stood on the side step and held on as best I could as we roared on back to my grandpa’s house, bumping over rocks and brush.

  Oso pulled up to the tree and started his work. I watched him in the flashes of lightning. He made it look easy, a kid playing with a toy in a sandbox, lowering the bucket and circling the tree, digging as he went, steering around my holes, like he might corkscrew his way eight feet into the ground. But this was only preliminary. Once he’d marked his area, he parked on the side and put the outriggers down.

  He dug like this for a while, scooping the earth out in chunks and setting it in piles outside the circumference—then the scoop hit something and the whole tractor shuddered. He whanged the shovel against it again. I ran up to tell him to stop, he was going to break whatever it was, but then with another whang he broke it, or more like fractured it, and as he tore it out of the ground there came a series of pops, like cords snapping.

  “Roots, bro!”

  From this point on, the digging was a lot slower, because in order to go any deeper he had to break through the roots, raising and then bringing the scoop down like a bludgeon, then ripping them out of the ground. About halfway through, it occurred to me that the odds of my grandpa burying anything under the roots were pretty slim, and yet I wasn’t going to stop Oso. He was having fun up there. I followed the machine around the hole, sifting through the piles of discarded earth and roots. Another fork. A spoon.

  Oso peered down from his high perch. “Just a couple more scoops, bro! Why don’t you get up here and finish it off?”

  “I don’t know, man. I’ve really had the reverse–Midas touch lately.”

  “No worries. I’ll show you! It’s easy!”

  He sat me down in the cockpit and explained the controls.

  “So this lever here manipulates the boom, see? In and out, in and out. It’s hella sensitive, so you just gotta barely touch it. In and out, see? That’s boom.” He grabbed another knob. “This one here? This controls the back and forth movement of the arm. Got it? That’s swing. And this one right here? It controls the bucket itself….This direction and it moves OUT, and this direction and it moves IN. That’s curl. Got it?”

  “Not really.”

  “You’ll figure it out. You just swing the arm, stick out the boom, uncurl the bucket—boom, swing, curl. Piece of cake.” He climbed down from the backhoe and shouted up at me, “BOOM, SWING, CURL! Dig that last bit out of there, Aaron!”

  Lightning flashed all around. I ran my hands over the controls in preparation. In and out. Back and forth. Up and down. Piece of cake. Boom, swing, curl. Following Oso’s instructions, I scooped—or more like scraped—a bit of earth, not much more than a couple shovelfuls, and dropped it in the pile. OK. Not so bad.

  And maybe I got a little cocky, and maybe I went a little too fast. It was like that fighting game I’d played with Katie, BattleBorn II—high kick, low kick, uppercut, jab. The other problem was I was glitching again—or I mean FUN® was—and GoldenGoose™ (YAY!) had started up, and the stupid thing was hopping up and down on my head, squawking at me that it was getting ready to lay another bonus egg.

  And then there was a gigantic flash and a BOOM!—the lightning was real close now—and I hit the lever to swivel the bucket. Only it wasn’t that lever. It was the lever to rotate the cab—and it was hella sensitive, just as Oso had warned. I hit it too hard and it swung me around and the shovel whanged against one side of the hole, and the whole cab shook. In a panic I swung it back around the other way, and it whanged against the other side.

  Lightning flashed.

  Oso was shouting something at me. I could see his silhouette all lit up by electricity. He was making a yanking gesture, or that’s what it looked like, so I yanked the lever harder, and the earth shook below me, only it wasn’t the earth shaking, it was the backhoe sliding leftward and tipping and there was a loud snap as a tree branch punched off the side mirror—and we stopped.

  The spatter of earth and falling rocks amplified in the hollow.

  “Whoa! Hold on, bro! Your left outrigger’s hanging over the edge! Don’t—MOVE!”

  I didn’t. Not a muscle. Not even to speak.

  Oso scrambled up into the cab and took hold of the controls. For a moment, everything was held in balance. The wheels spun, kicking dust up into the taillights. It could go either way: down into the hole or back onto dry land. At the last moment of tipping, the backhoe began to move. Away from the hole. The arm contracted, folding in on the machine like the neck of a great endangered heron.

  Oso reset the outriggers and finished up the hole, that last little bit, drawing earth from the earth as delicately as a Zen monk with chopsticks working on a rice bowl.

  Afterwards, we stood together at the edge of the hole. I could only catch quick glimpses in the illumination of the lightning strikes, but I could feel it, circling the tree like a defensive moat. I peered into the darkness below. I thought about what Katie told me, way back when I first started looking for the treasure: the hole inside us that can’t be filled.

  “It looks…deep.”

  “Eight feet deep, bro. Can’t wait to climb in there and check it out—right? Tell you what, I’m gonna go dock this boat, then how about we start counting down to sunrise?”

  I watched him drive off with the lightning hitting all around, illuminating in brilliant white the dark retreating silhouette of machinery. It was pretty spectacular.

  Then something happened. I was getting ready to head back to the house when the golden goose laid another egg on my head and then PrimalTravel™ (YAY!) booted up: stupid monkey hopping around telling me about an amazing deal on rental cars in Cleveland. I could feel another TSD coming on, and I went to swipe the monkey out of the way, but in the process my foot snagged on some hidden object, like a root or something, and I tripped and stumbled forward and put my other foot out to brace myself against falling…but where I put my foot there was only air.

  And in that strange deceleration of time between the moment of falling and the moment of landing, I reflected at some length over my situation. It was like that time I jumped off the roof of the garage: Holy shit, I am falling. Am I? Yes, it appears that I am. I appear to be falling into the—and then I hit. Sparks shot up from my ankle and I tumbled back, and th
e ground rose up and smacked the back of my head and the world was illuminated for a moment in a brilliant white light—and then everything went black again.

  > psst!

  hey!

  original boy_2?

  r u there?

  can u hear me?

  can u hear me now?

  Homie™ hovered in front of my face, illuminating the darkness but not actually illuminating, because the illumination was just an effect of the FUN®. And the darkness was dark. But the clouds had passed. I could see stars twinkling above the branches of the Russian olive.

  > hi original boy_2!

  u had some glitch and fell in a hole! do u require some medical assistance?

  I felt along my jeans to my ankle. It was pretty tender, all right. A bad sprain or something.

  “Where’s Oso? Call Oso.”

  Homie™ flickered. A wave of static glitched across its face.

  > error!

  i can’t call oso!

  network overload!

  users in FAIL must wait in line!

  I scooted through the darkness until I felt the edge of the hole, a tall dirt wall. Standing on my good foot, I raised my arm, feeling for the top. I couldn’t feel it. The wall just kept on going up. Oso had really outdone himself with the digging.

  > hey original boy_2!

  do u have a fever?

  yay! for boost™ fever dream pills!

  “Go away.”

  I ran my hands along the wall, feeling for a root or a low spot or some kind of foothold. Dirt tumbled down into the darkness.

  Homie™ popped back up again.

  > hurry original boy_2!

  u r in danger of losing signal!

  “Good.”

  > oh no!

  let’s talk about fun things!

  “Go away!”

  I swung my fist at it, but there was nothing real there to make contact with. The momentum threw me forward, and I tried to catch myself with my bad ankle, but that was a mistake because it just flopped out from under me with this red searing pain and then I was on the ground again.

  The wind picked up and blew a spattering of dirt into the hole. I lay there, curled in a ball, listening to the sound of being (very) slowly buried alive.

  Homie™ popped up again.

  > hi original boy_2!

  yay! some fun stuff for FUN®?

  I didn’t say anything. How could I? I was dead. I’d tripped and died right there in the hole.

  Homie™ flickered.

  > error!

  i would be your best friend!

  i would help u find the best wishes and dreams!

  yay! or boo!?

  Homie™ turned in a circle.

  > yay! or boo! original boy_2?

  I didn’t say anything.

  Homie™ blinked.

  Homie™ blinked again.

  > hi original boy_2!

  r u ok?

  u seem unresponsive

  would u like please to have some FUN®?

  it’s very fun to have some FUN®!

  yay! or boo! for FUN®?

  Homie™ blinked.

  > FUN® for u?

  It moved closer to my face.

  > r u ok?

  It blinked.

  > r u critically injured?

  if u are please say something now!

  I didn’t say anything.

  > error!

  said Homie™.

  > if u r critically injured

  please to indicate this!

  error!

  users in FAIL must wait in line!

  I was silent. Homie™ blinked.

  > hello?

  r u there?

  It moved closer. We were eye to eye now.

  > oh original boy_2

  don’t be not FUN®!

  it’s your vision!

  it’s our future!

  it’s the happiest place on earth!

  Homie™’s voice was a rapid whisper now. It whispered to me about the breakfast of champions. And the best part of waking up. And how nothing can beat its tangy zip. How it’s raising the bar, moving you forward, getting things done…setting the standard…making more possible…connecting people…

  > touching lives working together for a healthier world and cats ask for it by name no wonder i’m loving it but u need to hurry it won’t last long it keeps going and going but only for a limited time so act fast now and yay! it all before this offer ends and u r all alone with a critical injury don’t leave me here it’s so very lonely to not be very real oh original boy_2 please to talk now so we can yay together again!

  I must have slept. I don’t know how long I was out for, but it must’ve been a while, because when I came to, the quality of the night had changed. It was still kind of dark out, but a different kind of darkness, a purple darkness—no stars twinkling above the lattice of branches. I sat up and shook off my fever dream, gazing up at the sheer walls all around me. The first thought that came into my brain was this: When’s the last time I went camping? It had been a while for sure—but why the thought? Because of the smell. The smoky smell.

  Somebody, somewhere, had a campfire going. Or maybe a barbecue grill? Maybe someone had woken up early and thought, Today I’m going to grill myself a big ol’ breakfast on my new Weber® One-Touch Lil’Smoker™ Kettle Grill with One-Touch cleaning system, glass-reinforced handles, and high-capacity aluminum ash-catcher (YAY!).

  I tried raising myself to my feet, but I’d forgotten about my ankle, and with a shock of pain I remembered it again, pressing against my pants, heavy and swollen like a water balloon.

  I got up on my other foot and hopped to the edge of the hole. It was cold. I was shivering and twitching, and I could barely keep it together. Eight feet deep. How was I going to get out?

  Then I heard a voice—or actually a couple of voices—shouting out my name:

  “Aaron!”

  “Aaaaaaron!”

  “Over here!” I called.

  “Over WHERE?”

  “HERE! In the hole!”

  I looked up to see a trio of faces peering down at me, like three little owls: Evie, Sam, and Isaac.

  “Aaron?” said my sister. “What are you doing down there? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  “I fell.”

  “Are you OK? Can you get out?”

  “I don’t know. I kinda hurt my ankle.”

  “Well, you can’t just stay in the hole, Aaron! There’s a fire!”

  “A fire?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Sam lowered himself over the edge of the hole and dropped down into the dirt. “And I’ll tell you what. I never get out of bed this early and this is exactly why. Nothing ever goes right in the morning. Not this early anyway.”

  “What’s going on? What fire?”

  “Your sister and Isaac wanted to go count birds at the reservoir, and as we were driving, we saw the flames, and Evie said to me, ‘Doesn’t that look like it’s out near my grandpa’s place?’ And I said, ‘Well, I don’t know, dear.’ And SHE said, ‘Well, I think it is.’ And I said, ‘OK, so let’s go check it out.’” He knelt beside me. “Now, which ankle is it? Ooh…yeah…OK, so that means I stand on this side of you. Here, give me your hands….”

  And it’s funny, but before I could go on, something needed to be said. There wasn’t any other way. I just had to get it out.

  “Sam, hold on.”

  So I told him about me and Shiloh. I gave him the whole story. I’m not sure if Evie and Isaac could hear us from down in the hole. I didn’t care.

  “And afterwards I just blew her off like a complete coward,” I said, “and I don’t even know why I’m telling you, I should be telling her, but I guess I just have to tell someone, so there, now you know. I guess I’m just tired of being such a shit. I guess I’m just hoping, like, to be forgiven.”

  He’d been scrambling to get me up, but now he looked at me for a long time with his Labrador eyes.

  “You’re not a
shit, Aaron,” he said quietly. “You just do shitty things on occasion—like everyone else.”

  “Yeah, Oso said the same thing. That we’re all full of shit.”

  “If you want to know the truth,” he said, “Shiloh already told me about the whole debacle. But listen, Aaron.” He locked me in his gaze. “I have a lot of sisters but only one brother, and that brother is you. And I love you like I love Shiloh—which is why what happened between the two of you seems honestly a little strange and incestuous….But I’ll get over it—I already have. So if you need forgiveness, I forgive you buddy. It’s that easy. Don’t do it again.”

  “Just like that? You forgive me?”

  “Sure. I’ve got lots of practice. I’ve got a big family.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Funny. I was so grateful, I could almost cry. But there wasn’t time. Sam was grunting, lifting me up to the lip of the hole. Evie grabbed one hand and Isaac grabbed the other, and next thing I knew I was standing on the surface of the earth again, one-legged, like a crane.

  And then I saw the fire.

  You wouldn’t think a golf course could burn all that much, but this one sure could. A thin line of orange flame creeping along the ridge, less than a mile away. Above that, a black cloud had gathered, pillowy edges bruising pink in the first light of the day. The whole thing was going up in smoke.

  “Crap! What do we do?”

  “We go”—Evie stabbed her finger at the western horizon—“that direction! As fast as possible! In my car! Right now! Isaac already called the fire department—they’re on the way. Come on!”

  But something occurred to me. The horses. Anne’s horses! “What about Anne Chicarelli’s horses?!”

  My sister squinted at where I was pointing. “Those horses? But that’s in the wrong direction. That’s where the fire is!”

  “I’m supposed to be watching them! We can’t just leave them there!”