Deon's Inferno

“Dad? Why is it so hot today?”

“Because the sun is the Antichrist and our air conditioner is a piece of crap!”

“You say it's because of auntie Kris? I believe it. She has a bad temper. I'm scared of her.”

“It's kind of like that. I'll explain it a little better later. First, will you hand me that spray can with the orange cap? It's right beside the toolbox. Thank you. I should have this thing working again soon.”

At that point, I was still using manners...

Kevin, my six-year-old son and I, were doing the best we could with the Fahrenheit situation. The heat was damn near debilitating. But it didn't stop Kevin from wanting to do fun things together. He didn't mind a little sweat. Well, a lot of sweat.

My world-class procrastination in ignoring three or four years of AC maintenance finally came with a price.

I easily forget.

Plus, I'm too cheap. These things are supposed to last twenty years with or without maintenance.

We had the place to ourselves, thanks to my mother-in-law inviting my wife, Cassandra and daughter, Rayshon over to her place for the weekend. She needed free help to throw a dinner party on Saturday evening. Knowing how bossy her mother can be for these kinds of things, my wife reluctantly obliged. I suggested they stay there a while longer until I fixed the unit, or until the sun finally stopped trying to turn us all into ash. Cassandra had already planned on staying at her moms, stating, there's no reason for all of us to suffer!

So, it was just Kevin and I working outside, sweating buckets while a few of the neighbors watched from the sealed comfort of their windows.

I acted as if I had a hold on the situation: stubborn pride wouldn't allow me to accept any of their offers to relax in the arctic climate of their homes.

We were looking forward to spending our last day of the weekend playing checkers and building Lego things.

But the sun had other plans...

Shining like a relentless beacon of death, the overwhelming heat gave me the feeling of being trapped inside a radioactive tanning bed: black men don't need tans! We have built-in ones...

Kevin and I were both dressed for the dismal occasion. Shorts and tank tops. It was still too much clothing. Any less, though, and my modest beer gut would give the neighbors a sneak peek into what a hard-working man's physique should look like. Or at the very least, something to gossip about.

Luckily, Kevin's search for ways to help led him to an empty spray bottle under the kitchen sink's cabinet...but he never rinsed it out before filling it with water. He used it to spray down his head, face and arms, creating an odd smell that drifted in my nose every few seconds.

Took a minute to figure out Kevin was the source—he reeked of dirty socks marinated in pool water.

I pointed in the direction of the house, telling him to go wash up and change clothes while I went and properly cleaned the bottle to refill it with clean water. This time, I told him to spray me down on occasion while I worked on the unit.

It barely helped. The cooling effect was brief. As soon as the water spray ejected out the nozzle, it met the hot, dry air, causing half of it to instantly evaporate. The other half quickly absorbed into our skin, like the skin was aware of the extreme situation and was dying of thirst.

I’m not a scientist or a doctor, but logic tells me that if my body temperature is 98.6 degrees and It's only 95 out, I should still be comfortable. The math says so.

Well, turns out, that logic was never part of the equation. It made as much sense as trigonometry did in college.

We were being cooked... alive.

“God Dammit!”

"What happened dad?"

"I brought out the wrong stuff. The label's worn off on the can you gave me. I thought it was Rust-Oleum. Its orange paint! It's alright, though. I can wipe most of it off."

But the sun had other plans...

Shining with the heat of the earth's core, the paint dried instantly on contact. None of it came off.

Without thinking, I furiously kicked the can across the yard and into the garage door.

And, um... we now have orange swirls painted on the grass and driveway and a huge orange splat on our white garage door.

Apparently, the spray valve broke when I kicked the can, releasing its entire pressurized contents everywhere.

"Why did you do that, dad?"

"Because I wanted to paint the grass and the house, Kevin." I said with obvious sarcasm. He didn't get it. "It was a mistake, okay! And quit laughing! Let's take a break and make some cool aid. How does that sound?"

"Oooo! Yeah! Can we make the orange kind? That's my favorite!"

"I think we are out of orange, but let's go check."

Whether we were out or not, I definitely was not going to make ORANGE COOL AID after what had just happened...

Upon entering the house, the smell of something burning led me to the kitchen. It was the damn potpie I threw in the oven an hour earlier for Kevin's lunch. Where was my thinking in all this? Yes, the boy needed to eat, but of all things to make, why make something using the one thing that could increase the temperature inside the house?

Stupid!

Considering how unbearable it was outside it was worse in the kitchen. Sweat continued to trail down my face and my mind continued to question the meaning of existence. I should have just ordered a pizza or gave him a bowl of ice cream for lunch.

I turned off the brainless stove and threw the charred thing away before Kevin came wandering in looking for me.

"Why is the garbage can smoking, dad?"

"Because... because I gave it a pack of cigarettes, Kevin."

"Isn't that bad for it?"

"Yes, but never mind. Grab the sugar and I'll grab the pitcher and Ice. And sorry, we only have blue raspberry. You like that one, right?"

"Yep! That's my second favorite!"

We gathered all the ingredients and mixed it inside the pitcher. Next, I opened the door to the freezer and noticed it wasn't on. Everything was still frozen, but the ice trays were already showing signs of melt. I hadn’t noticed before when I grabbed the potpie.

"What's wrong now, dad?"

"The fridge is turned off. Why would it be off?" I asked myself out loud, knowing Kevin would offer an answer.

"I dunno... Maybe you forgot to pay the bill?"

Nonsense!

With a little investigating, the kitchen was the only room in the house without power. I walked what felt like a mile to the basement to check the fuse box. Kevin followed.

A eureka moment awaited...

The breaker switch had tripped for the kitchen. Upon further investigation, the AC breaker was also tripped.

Was that all it was? A simple flip of the switch and we would have cool air flowing again?

"What’s that box for, dad?"

"Listen, Kevin. Can you stop with the questions for five minutes? Daddy needs to think... What are you doing?"

"Setting my watch for five minutes."

He didn't get it and my patience was thinning. I crossed my fingers and prayed before flipping both switches. Both stayed on. It was time to make sure all the appliances were on as well.

Before we made it to the steps to go up, I heard two clicks. Which only meant, they were both off again. I repeated the action a couple more times before trying one at a time, starting with the kitchen. To my surprise, it stayed on. The same with the AC switch. It stayed on as well but only for a few minutes at a time before going back off. It was a confusing mess. I was faced with staying in the basement and flipping the switch back on every time until the house cooled down or agonize through the heat with Kevin by my side. I was clueless as how to fix the issue. I've fixed quite a few things in my life, but electricity flowing throughout the walls is where I bow out. At least the food would be safe...

Running out of ideas, I went back outside to clean up the tools and other stuff off the lawn while trying not to look at the orange disaster I caused to the property.

But the sun had other plans...

Radiating on melt-down mode, everything on the ground was searing to the touch. I stopped Kevin just in time before his dwarf hands grabbed something, preventing another issue to stress about.

We left everything there to continue baking and went back inside to the basement. It, being ten degrees less harsh.

"What are we doing back down here, dad?"

"Well, Kevin, I thought we might play a game called, who can be quiet the longest. If you win, I get to keep my sanity... It's a joke, son."

"Oh. I think I get it."

"While we're down here doing nothing, we should probably clean up a little. Why don't you start picking up those clothes and throw them in the basket where they should be. I'll help after I make a few phone calls."

"Okay. I guess that sounds fun."

I made a few calls to different electricians and left messages since they don't answer their phones on Sundays apparently.

The last call I made took everything in me to press the digits and went against my every tough-guy belief that I could figure this out without help.

Sparing all the details, I told Cassandra I had given up and that we were coming over there with her for the night.

Everything from the start was about keeping Kevin safe from the evil wrath of the sun. I couldn't let my little guy fry because I lost the battle against the elements, allowing the heat to win temporary custody of the house.

I admitted defeat...

"Alright Kevin, go to your room and grab some clothes and your toothbrush. We're going to Grandma Helen's place for the night."

"Is auntie Kris going to be there? She scares me."

"No, Kevin. The Antichrist won't be there."

We escaped the house of horrors into the much-appreciated cool air from my car's AC, soaking in every blessed second of it like survivors of a heatwave endurance test. At least one machine in our lives didn't betray us.

Until it did...