The Stove
Electricity made the slot-cars run on the plastic track of Rodney's race car set. It came to him as a hand-me-down from his cousin. He played with it every day for six days when he first got it, usually by himself. Sometimes he raced two cars at a time with a speed control in each hand. His skilled left hand ran the car quickly around the track. But the speed caused frequent crashes. The right hand could only run its car slowly and steadily. It often trailed behind and then regained the lead when the left hand's car skidded into a turn.
The little cars were banged up a bit, but they could still be recognized as scale replicas of some of the most exotic race cars ever driven. The track was taped up with black tape in a few different places, but it all worked pretty well... until the red Ferrari stalled on the long straight-away section and the white McLaren sped by.
Rodney knew some things about how the track worked. He knew one end of a box called a transformer plugged into a wall socket, and the other end plugged into the track. This box put the electricity into the metal groove on the track. Metal contact strips on the bottom of the car picked up the electricity and put it into the car and the car motor, which made the wheels turn. That's what Rodney knew about the race car track.
Electricity was mostly a mystery to him. His mother explained it to him once. She explained electricity as tiny bits of energy that could flow through anything, especially water or metal. But she said it could go through anything if the electricity was powerful enough. It could go through a person or a tree if the the electricity came from a lightening bolt or a power line. Once Rodney saw a tree that had been split open by lightening like it was a peanut shell. That's what Rodney knew about electricity.
Rodney leaned over the track and gave the car a push. Nothing. Then he shoved it down in the metal guide. Nothing. He banged the car a little and tried again. Nothing. Rodney picked the red plastic car off the track and turned it over. Everything looked fine. He rolled the rubber wheels on his palm and listened to the gears turn the motor. He pushed on the metal contacts to see if they were secure. Then he put the car back on the track and tried to make it go again. Still nothing. He decided to get out some tools.
He went to the junk drawer in the kitchen and removed two screwdrivers, a pliers, and a wire cutters. He placed two paper towels on the kitchen table. On one towel he laid out the tools. On the other he placed the disabled car. He sat down and began to work.
Rodney removed two screws from under the car and lifted off the whole body in one piece, exposing the chassis full of gears, and axles, and the electric motor that made the whole thing go. He attacked the most obvious thing: the motor.
Two wires led from the metal contacts to the motor, which was held in by a screw on each end. And when the motor was out of the car chassis and resting in his palm, he gave it a good long look. It looked like they always look, and that was all he could determine. But Rodney was now able to test the motor directly by pressing the exposed wires onto the metal guide in the track. But the motor still lay silent. Rodney thought up two conclusions: Either the motor wasn't working, or there was no electricity getting to the motor. A sure source of electricity is what is needed, he deduced.
Rodney was in a hurry to get the car going again. His left hand was getting anxious to race the right again. His impatience demanded a sure source of electricity to test out the Ferrari motor.
The white enamel stove sat solidly between the sink and the refrigerator. A sure source of electricity, he thought. Rodney stood in front of the stove looking for a way to get some power out of it and into the motor. The two dangling wires of the motor needed a linkup to the energy source. And, conveniently, on the stove front there was a two-holed receptacle that was usually used to plug in blenders and mixers and other electric devices. It seemed like a perfect fit for the motor's wires. The path seemed obvious, so Rodney continued on. He put the motor wires into the receptacle.
FFZAAP! A blinding flash of light erupted from the receptacle. A puff of smoke sent a raw smell through the kitchen. Rodney jumped back to the other side of the kitchen as the the tiny motor whirred for a quick second and then leapt out of his hand. Green spots exploded in front of his eyes. His heart rate rose to a thunder that flushed his face red and hot. The delayed pump of energy running through his body after his mind realized the danger dizzied him so could hardly stand. Rodney grabbed up a washcloth and quickly wiped off the black soot from around the charred receptacle. Then he hurried back to his room.
The stove receptacle never worked again. Rodney was reluctant to tell anyone how dumb he had been, and he was never questioned about the non-working stove receptacle. No one ever knew what happened except him. And Rodney never forgot. Every time he raced his white McLaren without the red Ferrari he remembered. And he remembered that electricity could not only run a tiny motor, but it could also split open a tree like it was a peanut shell.
