Sun Screen
“It’s been raining all week, Pilper,” cries Dilly to her younger brother watching television as droplets decorate the window. She drops her knees near the center of Pilper’s back,
“Aah! Dilly, leave me be!” Dilly smirks dropping her knees again, giggling as Pilper stands to chase her in circles in front of the television. He pulls her down from about her waist, shoves her shoulders onto the ground and looks into her eyes, “I don’t care about your rain, I’m watching TV. If you want the sun, go get it. Leave me alone!” Dilly scrunches her face at Pilper then easily pushes him off her, as he is already tumbling prostrate in front of the television with his mind on the show. She glances at the television for only a moment then looks around for a thing to do. She puts her face against a window, flipping from one cheek to another then pauses, her eyes widening at an orange plastic ball outside. She runs to the back door in the kitchen and looks at the cat door. Dilly is careful entering the backyard. She walks on the cut grass prickling her bare feet, pass bush tips flicking cool droplets of water on her dragging hand, helping her balance her imagination with her memory, underneath trees on the front lawn lessening drizzling on her being waddling toward her goal in sight, and picks up the orange plastic ball observing the droplets on it. She runs back inside to show Pilper,
“I got the sun Pilper! Come on, play with me, let’s play with it!” He faces her, confusion in his brow movements, throws a hand at her then returns to watching his show,
“That’s not hot enough to be the sun,” he glances at the window, “and it’s still raining outside, that’s no sun Dilly, leave me be.” Dilly frowns, responding,
“All you’re going to do is get lost in the TV and fall asleep flat on your stomach,” and marches into the kitchen. She looks at the oven door and microwave buttons, they are either too high for her to reach or too heavy for her to move. Pilper screams in frustration as a chair screeching against the kitchen floor interferes with him hearing the program, though doesn’t provoke him to remove his gaze from the television, “AARRGH, Dilly, will you cut it out, will you stop making so much noise!” Climbing methodically, Dilly stands atop the seat of the chair in front of the microwave, opens the microwave’s door, sets the orange ball inside of the microwave, places a finger on her chin, then asks aloud,
“Pilper, HOW HOT IS the sun?” Pilper groans,
“GRRAAA—-I don’t know Dilly, stop asking me questions. I’m watching TV.” Dilly stares between the number thirty with an addition sign in front of it and nine on the microwave buttons. She presses thirty. Lights inside the microwave allow her visuals of the orange ball spinning on the microwave plate. Dilly’s brows lift as the orange ball deforms and the microwave beeps, signifying its end. She opens the microwave, touches the hot-soft orange ball, and drops the ball screaming,
“AAAAH,” slips from the chair, hits the back of her head on the top of the chair, hits the back of her neck on the edge of the seat of the chair, and her left hip crashes onto the floor. Pilper scowls, turning from the television toward the kitchen and yells,
“Dilly, will you stop making all that noise!” Pilper grunts, facing the television. After the show finishes, Pilper walks into the kitchen to get a drink. He looks at the light coming from the open microwave, the chair in front of the microwave, Dilly on the ground and the deformed, hardened orange ball next to her. Pilper screams at Dilly without moving, “Dilly! Why are you laying there?! Dilly!” Pilper’s eyes widen. He runs to the house phone and dials 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” Pilper screams,
“Dilly is on the floor; she’s not moving at all!”
“Okay sir, what’s your address?” Pilper is bewildered,
“I don’t know! Dilly’s not moving!” Curiosity piques in the Operator’s voice,
“Okay, how young are you, and where are your parents?”
“Nine. Dilly’s ten. They left. They’ll be right back. We were supposed to watch television. Dilly didn’t listen. Dilly didn’t listen!” The Operator remains calm,
“Alright, how are your surroundings?” Pilper is frantic looking around him and always refocusing on Dilly’s body contorted before him on the ground,
“I’m at my home. I’m in the kitchen. There are cabinets. Dilly is on the floor. She isn’t moving. There’s a chair. There’s a microwave. Dilly is on the side of the chair. The light of the microwave is on. There’s an orange— I don’t know. It doesn’t look like anything really. It’s by Dilly’s side.” The Operator confirms the information,
“Okay, we’ll send someone over immediately. You called us from a landline. We’ve got your location. Be patient and don’t leave your sister’s side.” Pilper responds,
“Okay,” as the Operator hangs up, and sits next to Dilly’s body. He reaches his left hand toward Dilly’s right hand and is unable to rest long on her skin. He doesn’t sense any cold or warmth, no temperature, only a numbness. He breathes as though breathless and feels like he is breathing for two people. His eyes widen at Dilly’s body: he hears the television in the background. His heart is beating faster. Pilper walks toward the television in the living room. He stands for a moment staring at the television from the side, then sits on his haunches in front of the television. He watches the program with tears streaming from his eyes. The program flickers and the television turns off then turns on.
Pilper stares at a dark blue horizontal rectangle in the middle of a green background. A white dot swirls from the center of the rectangle into a circle set in the middle of the rectangle. Pilper turns his head toward the kitchen at the sound of a sharp-light tap on the ground. He squints as the orange ball rolls into view. His voice squeaks, “Dilly?” His throat swells, choking tears from his eyes, as Dilly steps slow with one foot after the other. Her head hangs loose. She sighs. Her voice sounds as though she is unable to maintain holding a heavy burden,
“Pilper, help me.” She is crying incessantly. Her tears begin splattering. Pilper hears her tears splashing on the ground. He starts standing then the program sputters in a hollow-scratchy voice,
“Do you want her to live?” Pilper stares at the television with wide eyes as a single round eye stares at him from within the circle within the rectangle. The eye’s pupil is like purple pine trees intertwining around the boiling within the cone entrance of a volcano. Pilper hears Dilly’s tears splattering louder on the kitchen floor and hears her whimper. Pilper screams,
“I do!” The center of the eye turns from a boiling red to a flaring yellowish-orange, as though of the sun. Pilper brings his other knee to kneel and feels moisture on his hand resting at his side on the carpet. He follows the trail of moisture to a puddle streaming from Dilly: he watches tears dripping from her face parallel with the ground. He looks at the eye and screams again, “I do!” The center of the pupil turns from a yellowish-orange to a pearl and the voice commands,
“Set her before me so she may live.” Pilper finds air standing to his feet. He wobbles toward Dilly. The dizziness begins fading as he consoles Dilly, pulling her by her right hand in front of the television,
“You’re going to be alright Dilly. Stand here. Everything is going to be fine.” Pilper faces the program and confirms, “She’s here.” The voice speaks,
“Take six steps back and don’t move.” Pilper follows the instructions and watches as a point extends from the center of the pupil in the television like a single leg from a Daddy Long Legs toward Dilly, tilts her head up by her chin parallel to the television screen, pierces her forehead, and slithers into her cranium. Pilper squirms as Dilly stiffens, as though the extension from the eye is aligning with her spine. Pilper’s eyes widen as he inhales deep as though unable to exhale, and falls onto the carpet attempting to catch his breath.
He closes his eyes and feels a warmth in the back of his neck, “Pilper? Are you alright?” Pilper turns his neck from the ground to look at Dilly. He looks along the ground for any trace of Dilly’s tears. There is no puddle. He scrunches his forehead in confusion and nods his head. He sits up looking from Dilly toward the television. Cartoons are on. He squints from the television toward Dilly and asks,
“Dilly? Are you alright?” She smiles extending her hand to him to help him stand,
“I’m fine. Why are you being so silly now?” Pilper stands with Dilly’s help then walks toward the microwave. The microwave is shut. The chair is not in front of the microwave. Pilper speed walks to the living room window. It is raining. He faces Dilly. She scrunches her forehead at Pilper, “Do you want to play?” Dilly untucks her shirt from her pants and the orange ball rolls from underneath her shirt to Pilper’s feet. Pilper picks up the orange ball: it is completely round. He glances between Dilly and the orange ball. His eyes are dull. The program plays in the background. His voice is low, struggling to normalize,
“What do you want to play Dilly?” She sets her left ring finger on her chin and hums a tune to herself as she paces about the living room collecting static. She taps Pilper on his nose with the ring finger of her left hand, shocking him, and says, “Let’s play Dodgeball.” Pilper sighs then complains in a wail,
“Dilly, we only have one ball.” She chimes,
“There’s only two of us. One ball is enough.” Dilly pulls two strands of hair from her head then sets them adjacent to each other a few feet apart. Pilper’s eyes widen as the strands thicken on the ground. Pilper tries approaching Dilly: she raises a flat palm from her extending arm between her and Pilper as she commands in a low-monotone voice, “I’ll put the ball in the middle of the ground and stand in front of the television. Stand across from me on the other side of the line.” Pilper follows Dilly’s directions as the strands continue to stretch and thicken into dark brown speed bumps in the living room, “The boundary is set. We will play by a point system. Anyone crossing the boundary or getting hit by the ball, loses a point. The opponent gains a point. How many points do you think is reasonable?” Pilper groans throwing a slight fit,
“Dilly. Come on.” Dilly’s bloodshot eyes lock Pilper’s gaze as she responds,
“Pay attention Pilper. A round begins after three seconds of one side being ready. I’ll set my hand on the television. Set your hand on the wall. We’ll play to eleven points. Anyone going into the negatives will have to score more. After every point, we will recenter the ball in fairness.” Pilper inhales deep, his chin into his sternum, and exhales as he stares at the orange ball as Dilly starts counting, “One. Two.” Pilper’s eyes widen as Dilly takes off, grabs the orange ball, and pegs him. He screams,
“Dilly! That hurt!” He extends his forearm toward Dilly, “Look! That's a burn! Why is the ball so hot?” Dilly squints her eyes staring at Pilper as she responds in a low voice,
“It barely touched you. Ten more points to go.” Dilly set the orange ball in the middle. “On the count of three.” Pilper looks at the tingling pinkish-reddish-brownish area of his forearm then at Dilly, “Three. Two. One.” Dilly drops to one knee and howls, “AAAOW!” Pilper looks at Dilly with crazed-concern,
“Dilly, are you alright?!” Dilly sprints to grab the orange ball and pegs Pilper in his other forearm, rising to block his face. He screams in agony as a bit of skin from his forearm sticks on the orange ball, detaching from his body to hit the floor, “Dilly! It’s getting hotter! We shouldn’t play this game any longer, I’m getting hurt!” Dilly turns her face left and right, indicating her disagreement, then points to the orange ball then the center of their playing field,
“Set the ball. You agreed to play with me. We’re going to finish our game together.” Pilper looks at Dilly with disdain as he responds,
“I’m not touching the ball.” Dilly sighs responding walking over the boundary line to retrieve the ball then sets it in the center of their playing field returning to her side of the boundary line. Pilper glares at Dilly, counting as soon as her hand is on the television,
“Three. Two. One.” Pilper doe not set his hand on the wall at the beginning of the countdown. He grabs the orange ball and screams from the burning sensation while attempting to throw it at Dilly, expecting to hit her, though not expecting her to dodge his inaccurate aim. She points the middle finger of her left hand at Pilper as though an Index finger, “It’s four to zero. You never put a hand on the wall and touched the ball during foul play with intent to score from an illegal maneuver. That’s the reason you are in pain. You have to play by the rules.” Pilper’s left palm is severely bleeding and he is crying, holding his left wrist with his right hand as he leans against the wall. Dilly sets the orange ball in the center of their playing field. Pilper cries,
“Dilly, I don’t want to play any more. I’m sorry. I don’t want to. This game hurts me so much. It hurts too much to enjoy Dilly. I’m sorry. Please, let’s play another game, please.” Dilly sets her hand on the television screen,
“Three. Two. One.” Pilper tries a last second dodge and is hit on his left shoulder. He screams at the burning sensation. His shirt has a smoking burn hole in the left shoulder area. Dilly sucks her teeth retrieving the orange ball to set it in the center of their playing field. Pilper decides he will let Dilly gain points faster by starting the rounds off the wall. “You said you would play with me. Three. Two. One.” Pilper screams as the orange ball burns his calf. Dilly resets the ball. “Three. Two. One.” Pilper screams as the orange ball burns his elbow. Dilly resets the ball. “Three. Two. One.” Pilper screams as the orange ball burns his neck. Dilly runs to jump on Pilper: she drops her knees onto the middle of his back over and over again. He groans with every one of Dilly’s landings. She giggles pushing off the back of Pilper’s shoulders to help her stand then drops her knees into his back again. Tears stream down his eyes from the scorching pain. He sobs on the floor. He feels his body trembling. Piss runs down Pilper’s legs. His vision stutters, then blanks.
***
“Hey, Pilper, hey, wake up bud. It’s time to put you into bed.” Pilper is groggy. He takes a moment to recognize his surroundings. He is being hoisted onto his father’s shoulder. He hears his mom’s voice,
“It’s been raining all week, Don.” Don responds in a quiet voice,
“Ah well. What are we going to do about it? I’m going to put Pilper to bed. Do you mind turning off the television, Jill?” Jill shakes her head walking toward the television and talking to Don as he heads upstairs,
“Hey, make sure to hurry on downstairs.” Don chuckles responding light,
“I’ll be there in a jiff.” He gently pats and rubs Pilper’s back as he talks to him in a soft voice, “You’re going to go to sleep and recover well to be bigger, stronger and smarter.” He kisses Pilper on the forehead. As Don sets Pilper in bed, Pilper looks at Don then asks with his eyes shut,
“Dad, how’s Dilly? Is she okay?” Don nods his head as he rubs the top of Pilper’s head,
“She’s fine. She’s asleep in her room. Are you okay? Do you miss her already?” Dilly shakes his head as he responds,
“No. Something was wrong with her. Something is wrong with her. The television. The orange ball.” Don listens in silence acknowledging Pilper with agreeing sounds and nods of his head then responds,
“The mind is always processing so much. When you fell asleep watching television, you may have had a dream of a sort.” Don smiles, kisses Pilper on the forehead, and walks to stand in the doorway, “All you need is a little sleep. You’re going to feel a lot better with sleep.” Pilper nods his head as his dad walks out of the room closing the door behind him. Jill smiles at Don walking down stairs,
“I know it’s only for a couple of hours but we really need to get a babysitter.” Don sits next to Jill as he responds releasing a breath,
“I know. I know. It just doesn’t make sense to right now. We’ve been going to our meetings for three months. We’re in the last stretch of counseling. We’ll be fine.” Jill closes her eyes then sighs,
“Alright.” She opens her eyes then reaches for Don’s hand. He looks at her and smiles. They kiss. They kiss. They kiss. They kiss. Don sighs,
“I’m sorry. Do you want to grab a bite?” Jill purses her lips,
“Don, we ate before coming home.” Don bounces his head agreeing listening,
“I know. I know. I’m sorry, Jill. Can we watch a movie, please?” Jill walks toward the television, grabs the remote and sits,
“Alright, what do you want to watch?” Don walks into the kitchen talking,
“Put on something dark and serious. Do you want a drink?” Jill speaks up as she lowers the volume,
“On the rocks, please.” Don gives Jill the glass then says,
“He was asking about Dilly.” Jill sighs,
“That’s reason enough to celebrate. He cares for his sister.” Jill sips staring at the television. Don sucks his lips against his teeth,
“The television looks fine.” Jill faces Don with her eyebrows furrowing,
“What’s wrong with the television?” Don grips his glass with both hands,
“I don’t know. Pilper said something was wrong with the television and Dil— hey, have you seen an orange ball anywhere?” Jill rears her head with her eyes shut and speaks to Don,
“No, I might be able to help you find a blue one or so tomorrow.” Don rests his left arm around Jill’s shoulders and kisses her neck soft. She turns her head slow to exchange kisses from cheek to nose to lips. She moans as Don’s right hand caresses the inner and top portions of her thighs. She caresses Don’s right arm. He feels the glass between his legs then moves to set it on the kitchen table. Jill sets her glass on the floor at the corner of the couch. He turns around to walk into the living room. Jill is topless. He takes off his shirt. They are barefoot. He slides onto the couch between Jill’s adjusting opening legs. He kisses Jill. She kisses Don. They readjust on the couch. Don prepares to take off his pants and pauses to look at his right foot.
“Jill, I think your drink spilled.” Jill looks at the corner of the couch: her glass is erect. She looks around Don’s right foot to find a trail of water coming from the stairs behind the sofa. Don is stunned. Jill stands next to Don to follow his gaze. Her eyebrows rise with her hands in surprise at Dilly standing on the stairs with her head facing the ground and water rushing out of her eyes making the stairs a waterfall. Jill screams,
“Dilly!” She runs to the bottom of the stairs and slips on the first step. Jill sits in pain. Don is in shock and is slow moving toward Jill, unable to remove his gaze from Dilly convulsing while like an over-pressurized faucet. He helps Jill to her feet as he screams,
“Dilly!” Her flowing stops. She opens her mouth and chokes as an orange ball falls from her mouth down the stairs. Jill is gasping as she crawls up the stairs toward Dilly. Don is cautious with his eyes on Dilly. The television flickers off and on. Dilly faces the television. Don and Jill follow her gaze toward the television. They hear a voice,
“Do you want to save her?” Jill screams,
“Yes!” Don screams,
“We’re not bartering!” He runs toward the television, picks it up, and slams the television onto the ground. Jill turns wide eyed toward Don,
“Are you crazy?! What about Dilly?” They hear a slow drum roll of thuds. They turn around to find Dilly rolling down the stairs. They hurry to her at the bottom of the stairs.
“Mom? Dad?” They look up at Pilper standing at the top of the staircase. He rubs his eyes, “What’s wrong? Is that Dilly? Is Dilly alright?” Pilper’s eyes widen, “The orange ball! Mom! Dad! Don’t touch it!” Don picks up the orange ball and sighs shaking his head at Pilper,
“There’s nothing, Pilper. See? It’s fine. I’m fine. We have to help your sister now.” Don picks up Dilly from the ground. Jill stands next to Don with one hand on Dilly’s back and her other hand on Don’s back. “We’re all going to bed now, Pilper.” Pilper shakes his head standing at the top of the stairs. He responds in a monotone voice,
“We’re not going to bed now. I want to watch television. I want to watch my favorite show.” Don’s left eyebrow presses into his left eye as he looks at Pilper walking down the stairs. He responds to Pilper in a stern voice,
“You’re going to walk right back upstairs. The television isn’t working right now, anyway.” Pilper stops mid-step and stares down the steps between his parents. They pause to look behind them and don’t see anything. They turn their gaze to Pilper. Don almost drops Dilly if not for Jill screaming and holding them both tight together to her body as they all look at Pilper, convulsing on his feet with an extremely thin protrusion piercing his forehead, stiffening his spine.
***
“Honey, honey, are you okay?” Don opens his eyes slow and speaks like he has a mouth full of gum-balls to Jill at his bedside,
“Yeah— I’m fine.” Jill is staring at Don with wide eyes as she continues,
“Are you sure? You were flailing and—” Jill points to a wet stain in the bed. Don closes his eyes as he inhales deep and responds in a soft voice,
“I’m sorry, Jill. I—“ She raises her right palm at Don as she interjects with a soft voice,
“It’s fine, Don. We’re going to have to figure a way for you to sleep better with me or else we’re going to have to sleep in different beds.” Jill sets her right palm to her chest as she continues, “I don’t mind sleeping in my own bed if I’m not going to be wet in urine when I wake.” Don sighs setting his hands against his face then groans removing his hands as soon as he senses the moisture and scent of his piss about the sheets. He steps out from beneath the sheets and sulks his head at his wet pants. Jill sets her left hand on his shoulder as she turns around, “I’m going to shower. You can put the sheets in the laundry. I’ll clean the mattress and you can set the sheets later.” Don nods as Jill begins walking away then asks,
“Jill?” She turns around to look at Don,
“Yes?” He continues,
“Did I say anything while I was sleeping?” Jill shakes her head and fixes her face in a way to indicate,
“Not a thing,” and Don sighs asking,
“How are the kids?” Jill fixes a curious face,
“Sleeping—are you sure you’re okay? Did you have a bad dream?” Don pulls the corner of the sheet from the bed as he responds with a groggy voice,
“Yes. I’m fine.” Jill slides her hand down the hall wall and walks toward the bathroom. Don sets the clothes in the hamper ,then walks to check on Dilly and Pilper. They are both in their beds. He sighs walking down the stairs. The television is not on the floor: its screen is not broken. He walks into the kitchen to prepare coffee. He sighs leaning on his palms resting on the counter. He listens to the water boiling and inhales then jumps hearing Pilper’s voice behind him,
“Dad, can I watch TV?” Don wipes the shock from his face with his left hand, turns to face Pilper, and rests his left hand on Pilper’s right shoulder as he responds in a gentle voice,
“Pilper, it’s too early to watch television. You have to eat breakfast first. It’ll probably be better for you to start your day with a book than television son.” Pilper sighs in a bit of disappointment then recovers,
“What’s for breakfast?” Don looks at the stove, the fridge, and Pilper,
“Are you up for some eggs?” Pilper nods shrugging then sits at the kitchen table as Don prepares to make eggs. “Alright Pilper, come make them with me.” Pilper groans then walks sluggish toward Don holding a carton of eggs,
“Okay— I want to crack the egg.” Pilper takes the carton from Don, pulls out two eggs, sets one egg on the counter, taps the other egg against the corner of the counter, opens the egg into a bowl on the counter, grabs a spoon from Don, and stares at the egg yolk. Don lifts his right eyebrow as he stares at Pilper,
“Are you alright?” Pilper giggles, responding,
“I want to make Sunny-Side-Up Eggs!” Don smirks, responding with a light chuckle,
“Alright. Let’s heat the pan. You turn on the stove and I’ll grab the pan.” Don hears a clicking behind him from the stove igniting, turns around to set the pan over the fire on the stove, and butters the pan. Pilper tilts the bowl with a smile as the egg sizzles into the pan. He looks at Don then points to the egg with sleepy excitement in his voice,
“The sun is up!” Don laughs, responding,
“That’s the way, you’re such a goof. Go sit at the table, I’ll prepare the other egg and grab you a plate.” Pilper follows Don’s directions.
Pilper rests his head on his folding arms on the table and shuts his eyes. In a few minutes, Don walks over to Pilper with a plate with eggs and toast on it. He sets the plate on the table and taps Pilper, “Your breakfast is ready, sleepy head.” Pilper doesn’t budge. Don sighs scooping Pilper over his shoulder as he speaks in a lower voice, “I’ll set you back in bed, sleepy head.” As he turns, Dilly is standing before him. Don jumps, “Dilly!” He lowers his voice holding Pilper tighter, “Why didn’t you say anything?” Dilly looks at Don with drooping eyelids as she speaks as though not nearly awake,
“Br—kfa’t.” Don shakes his head barely understanding and points to the plate on the table,
“Go ahead and eat up Dilly.” She nods rubbing her eyes walking to sit at the table. Don carries Pilper to his bedroom. Dilly brings the plate of food with her to the sofa then sits. She stares at the television then finds the remote. Dilly presses the power button on the remote. There is an orange circle in the center of an all white background. Dilly eats a bit then begins to fall back to sleep again, too.
Kevin Dufresne believes creativity--expressing creatively--is important to honing worlds in more positive directions toward an overall better future. Kevin can usually be found conversing, reading, recording, writing, watching a movie, working out, playing a game--appreciating, contributing, and guarding creativity--living life. He earned his M.A. degree in English: Writing Spoke (Editing and Publishing) from Seton Hall University and his B.A. degree in English: Creative Writing from Centenary University. If you want to experience more of Kevin Dufresne's creativity, visit www.Piatures.com and read his captions on Instagram @Dufreshest. His Haiku "More Than a Spark" was published by The Moonstone Press in 2018.