“When they switched to hi-def, and my TV stopped working, I draped the old console— twenty-six inches from Curtis Mathes—in a quilt my grandmother had left me and smashed the screen to bits with a sledgehammer.”

Old Gold

When they switched to hi-def, and my TV stopped working, I draped the old console— twenty-six inches from Curtis Mathes—in a quilt my grandmother had left me and smashed the screen to bits with a sledgehammer. After the dust settled, I swept it out with a broom and dustpan, careful not to breathe any glass into my lungs. I could see myself in some of the larger fragments, so I broke those up but then stopped looking because I didn’t want to be in the glass any more than I wanted it in me. When all this was done, I polished the wood with Pledge and enjoyed the fresh lemon scent. The shine of the wood doesn’t bother me like glass does. In fact, it pleased me to be inside the TV. Although the console was big enough to use as an end table, it wasn’t big enough for me to crawl into entirely, so the best I could do was place a pillow where the electronics had been, rest my head there, and polish until my thoughts took on the same clarity as the wood (though it was kind of dark in there).

And that’s when I remembered the brass handles and how they looked like they belonged on a drawer, but also that they were there just for show, to make it look nice and everything, and how they should be polished too if I really wanted to do this right. It occurred to me that only a jackass would polish brass with wood furniture polish—I needed Brasso or something like that, but who keeps all these different cleaning supplies around the house? I didn’t feel like leaving and going to the store right then, even though I didn’t really have much else going on at the time, and all my favorite TV shows wouldn’t be coming on anymore.

So, I sprayed some more Pledge, careful not to get it on the brass—just in case—and thought about how sad people are who depend on TV for something to do. I was free now and didn’t want to waste a minute of this new way of life. I took the pillow out, shined a light in there—a tiny desk lamp—then tried other household objects in the pillow’s place. I decided on the goldfish bowl, pleased with how nice it looked, and I lay back down on the couch, grateful to have something to watch. Goldie really seemed to be enjoying himself now that he was swimming around inside the television. It was as though the scales had fallen from my eyes, and I could see my old friend shimmering all over again—bright and distant, like a star.

By Daniel Webre        

Daniel Webre's short fiction has appeared recently or is forthcoming in DASH Literary Journal, Permafrost Online, The Coachella Review, Stoneboat Literary Journal, muse, Pinyon, and other places.

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