Adventures with My Time-Traveling Uncle - Chapter Two

"...And a loaf of bread for only a cent! Just think of how much money we can save with this stuff!" Jake Kessler – my uncle – stopped talking long enough to notice that I was standing in the doorway to the kitchen while he and Daniel evaluated his purchases.

"Oh, hi," said Uncle Jake, chuckling nervously. "Kimberly.... Did your mom drop you off?" Self-consciously, he tried patting down his messy mop of hair, but to no avail.

"Yeah," I said, realizing only afterward, when it was too late, that my voice had come out as but a squeak.

"It was while you were out, Dad," Daniel offered, examining a glass milk bottle with interest. I'd never seen milk in a glass bottle like that one before except in pictures from the Great Depression.

"Out?" my uncle repeated, appearing to be somewhat confused. Daniel gave him a hard stare, as though they were having some sort of telepathic exchange. Finally, Uncle Jake just smiled and said, "Oh, yeah. While I was out."

"Right," Daniel said. He took some cans out of one of the thick brown paper bags and headed for the pantry.

I tried to say, "Can I help?" in my most normal voice, but I ended up sounding more like Minnie Mouse instead.

"Sure," Jake replied, handing me a huge block of cheese. "See if you can find any room for this in the fridge. Just make sure to wrap the cheese first – I don't want it to dry up!"

"Um, okay," I stammered, holding the cheese in my hands. The price tag, which was still tied on with a piece of twine, named an unbelievably cheap price!

Not wanting to appear too gawky, (one can't help it around my uncle,) I went to find some plastic wrap for the cheese.

"Feel free to help yourself to a Coke or something," Jake said from behind me. He'd noticed me staring in near-shock at the contents of his fridge, trying to find room for that cheese.

Uncle Jake's refrigerator was stuffed to the brim with every perishable junk food imaginable. Yogurts with chocolate-covered candy lined the top shelf, and it looked like my uncle had an infinite supply of canned soft drinks that could have fed the entire state of New York for centuries. Mom probably would've taken me with her if she'd known this is what I'd be living on for the next day and a half.

Naturally, I left the fridge holding an armful of junk food.

"So, Danny," my uncle began, dusting off his cargo pants and taking a seat at the kitchen table, seemingly oblivious that I was staring at him in confusion. "Whose turn is it to make dinner tonight?"

"Yours," Daniel replied warily, "but I think I'd better just do it myself."

Jake put on a mock-sad face. "Aw, come on, why not?"

Daniel remained silent. "I'm going to read a book. Kimberly, you can stay and watch if you'd like, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Of what?" I asked incredulously.

Daniel just clomped up the stairs. I'd soon find out.

"So, I've got a few different dishes programmed into this thing," my uncle was saying as he squinted at what looked like a TV remote through his funny round glasses. "How about spaghetti?"

I shrugged. "Sure." Was I being foolish to agree?

Jake pushed a button, and immediately the room hummed mechanically. As I looked about myself in wonder, robotic arms burst out of the kitchen cabinets, holding pots, pans, and boxes of pasta.

"This was why I needed a bigger house," Jake said proudly. "I needed to be able to test out my inventions in the field – er, kitchen."

I just watched as a robotic arm turned on the stove under a pot of water. "You mean you've never tested this doohickey out before?"

Jake blushed. "Well, um.... We did, but I've ... perfected it since then."

Before I could come up with a response, one of the arms stopped working. It stopped in midair in front of the stove. It had been turning one of the burner knobs, but not all the way. The smell of gas filled the room.

"Uncle Jake?" I said nervously.

Jake jumped on the kitchen counter with a screwdriver and began attacking the unruly arm. "Something must've gone wrong with the hydraulics," he muttered. "Paul was an idiot...."

"Paul?"

"Friend of mine. Now just sit tight, this should–" Another arm broke down, releasing several jars of marinara sauce from its grip. The jars smashed upon impact with the floor.

Jake shouted something that my mom prefers I never say. "NO!" he hollered at his mechanical creation. "Don't you break on me!" Turning around for a split second, he called, "Kimmie, would you get the stove off?"

I decided now wasn't the time to tell him I absolutely despised that nickname. (However did he hear of it, anyway?) Ducking underneath other flailing metal arms that had since malfunctioned, I managed to reach the stove and wrestle the stalled hand off the knob. I turned it off quickly, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Nice job," Jake panted, hopping down from the counter – and stepping on the remote that had fallen out of his pocket!

The arms – or what was left of them – started up again, sparks flying from every hydraulic tube, connector, and wire.

"NO!" Jake screamed again, tearing at his hair in frustration. He looked mad. Positively, absolutely mad; and by mad, I don't mean angry. I mean nuts.

My uncle tore down the basement stairs again, slamming the door behind him. Within seconds, the lights, and everything else that relied on electricity, turned off. He must have turned off all the power to the house.

"Hey!" Daniel shouted from upstairs. "Didn't I tell you I was trying to read!?"

Jake ran up the stairs again, holding a flashlight and a toolbox. "I think I ought to disconnect this big guy before I start everything up again, don't you think?"

I couldn't think of anything to say. "Yeah, um, sure."

As if things couldn't get worse, someone knocked faintly on the door.

"I'll get it," I offered, eager to get out of that kitchen.

"Thanks," Jake muttered.

It was a pizza delivery boy. "Hi," he stammered. "Your doorbell isn't working, so I figured I should just knock. Here's your pizza." He handed me a large box that smelled distinctly of baked anchovies.

"Er, thanks. Who ordered this?"

"I did," I heard Daniel say from behind me. He sure could be super-quiet when he wanted to! "Thanks, Bob." He handed the man some bills.

Bob, if that was his name, smiled shakily before hurrying off the property as fast as his legs could carry him. This place certainly gave off an aura of weirdness.

Back in the kitchen, Daniel dumped the box of pizza on the table. As the cardboard flap flew up, I saw what I'd feared would be there on top: slimy, brown fish.

"Dinner has finally been served," Daniel announced smugly.

So ended my first day with the Kesslers.