Everybody's Got to Learn Sometime

A thousand bunless hot dogs fall from the sky onto a high school football field. The sun could cook them, but forces greater than the 4.5-billion-year-old sphere of plasma that heats the only known habitable planet in the entire galaxy have other plans. Perplexed by this harmless event, James stays under the football bleachers, watching something he has never been taught, told, or seen, nor his parents, teachers, or peers, but there is one whom the great ball of fire has spoken to the day before.

The uncooked hot dogs stop falling, and James, not to be made a fool, though what he is about to do is foolish since it is summer, pokes his head from the aluminum bleachers and takes a look around. In North Western Iowa, no one but James is at school, or so he thought.

"James?"

Before and after the hot dogs, there was and is not a cloud in the sky. It is late August, and on his mountain bike, James could not get the voice of his Mother out of his head. All he could hear was, "and don't forget to drink water and hydrate, mister." The tone was neither condescending nor an order, but a reminder that a mother passes to her child before they bike five miles in unprecedented heat. He took the only road from their farm to the ice cream parlor on Main Street. In between are fields of wheat and the county's new high school, approved by a vote to increase nearby land value and possibly the children's future. James found that when he took a sip from his water bottle, his Mother's voice got quieter. He drank and drank until she was gone, but his bladder was full. He pulled over and tried to relieve himself on the side of the road, but an old Ford F-150 in the distance made him bladder shy, and off he went, under the bleachers, when thousands of bunless hot dogs fell from the sky.

"James?"

He was on his way to the ice cream parlor because he thought Kelly might be there; in fact, he knew she would be. She had uploaded a live video of herself with a poll only 15 minutes earlier, asking: Buttered Pecan or Strawberry? But, unfortunately for James, the hot dogs distracted him so that he went in his light-blue jeans, creating what looked like a violet rose pedal around his crotch, and even more unfortunate is the fact that James is not alone. Kelly is also under the bleachers.

"James? Is that you?"

"Maybe. Who's asking?"

"Turn around, silly. It's Kelly."

"You see all those hot dogs fall from the sky?"

"Yeah, it was super weird. What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Why do you sound so nervous?"

"I'm not."

"You won't turn around."

"A thousand hot dogs just fell from the sky!"

"Yeah, and guess what? It's over."

Kelly's parents own the hot dog stand beside the Ice Cream Parlor, affectionately titled after their favorite child, Chris.

"Hot dogs fall all the time."

James tilts his head back and takes one look at the orange sky before closing his eyes.

"Kelly, we are not at Christoph's Weiner Stand!"

"What are you doing? Where you going to the bathroom?"

"No."

"You left your bike up by the road, my mom said it was your bike."

"When did you guys get a truck?"

"We've always had it."

"The Ford?"

"Yeah, my brother takes it with him to college, though. Actually, it might be my brother's truck, I'm not sure. I should ask him."

"You should."

"Chris!"

The front window rolls down. Kelly's Mother, a blonde-haired woman who gets two cartons of smokes in South Dakota, leans back so her brother can answer. Their Mother taps his shoulder, and he removes his headphones.

"What?"

"Is that your truck?" yells Kelly.

"Who wants to know?"

"James."

"Is he dead?"

"Why would he be dead?"

"His bike is here, I don't know, I thought maybe you found him hanging under the bleachers."

"Chris, that is so stupid! He's right here!" Kelly turns to James. "Show him you're here."

"Why?"

"What is the matter with you? What are you hiding?"

"Kelly! Do you not see the hot dogs?"

"Chris!"

Their Mom taps his arm again.

"What?"

"Make James turn around!"

"Why, is he dead?"

"No!"

She turns back to James.

"I hate you."

"Why?"

"Look at my hands."

His adolescent curiosity triggers movements he cannot control. He looks, and there are two cones of melted butter pecan and strawberry ice cream. Streams of brown and berry cover her hands.

"What were you doing?"

James, a opossum in the headlights, slowly lowers his freckled chin.

"Oh my god," says Kelly.

He looks back up. It's gone. The heat has dried his pants. He can't believe it.

"Can you please stop acting so weird?"

"Are one of those for me?"

"They were, but you took too long to turn around. Now they're melted."

James stumbles over his own words, but just as quickly as the sun can, it gets busy filling him with confidence to start over.

"Sometimes people take a long time to turn around…"

"What?"

He grabs the Strawberry cone and drinks from it, chest out, pinky up, speaking in an old-timey business tycoon.

"My, beauty! I do declare this to be the finest strawberry shake I've ever had!"

Pinky up, she declares, "Why, fine, sir! This is the most fabuloustic shake I've ever had in all of my 80 years!"

James eyes are as wide as his grin.

"80? Fabuloustic?"

"You ever kiss an 80-year-old before?"

"I've never kissed anyone before!"

Years later, whenever either of them had, saw, or thought of butter pecan or strawberry ice cream, this is what they think of. Her Mom smiles and turns up the radio. Everybody's Got To Learn Sometime by the Korgis.

The following week, Christoph's Weiner Stand is renamed Kelly's Hot Dogs. The Hot Dogs that fell from the sky remain unexplained. The sun is smiling.