The scene was tense. Sticky liquid pooled and thickened on the table and chair seats. It had begun to dry in long dripped lines down the wood paneling of the dining room, only visible when the light hit it just right. Flies bounced in the air around the hanging light above the table, landing, getting stuck and freeing themselves again. The light was covered in the sticky substance that had dried pink, causing the light to cast dimly in the small space connected to the kitchen. The children, barely able to move, stood frightened. Eyes stinging, hair stuck to her face, the little girl worked at pulling her fingers apart where the skin stuck together from the dried liquid. She did this trying not to move too much for fear of drawing more attention to herself. She had not known it would feel like this. In her other hand she clutched the legs of her Barbie doll, hanging upside down and ruined by the dried fluid. The two boys beside her stood just as still, covered in stickiness and feeling stiff as their skin began to dry and tighten. The littlest boy’s eyelashes clumped together as his eyes filled with tears while the older boy glanced at him, not betraying his own feeling of fear and regret. Their hearts pumped in their chests so quickly it was difficult to hear. Then, liquid began to drip from the ceiling…

The warm summer evening had begun as usual. The three children played outside, exploring and making noise. When called in to dinner, they first pretended not to hear. By the rising sharpness in tone of the third call, the children knew they had to go inside. The daylight had just begun to fade and the sky started to turn grey. They entered through the sliding screen door, dusty and out of breath, and were told to wash up for dinner. The air was thick with the smell of fried fish and fries. Returning to the table, the children filled their plates with the food. Ketchup and hot sauce were mixed for dipping, cucumbers crunched, and sweet tea slurped. As the meal ended a huge watermelon was placed on the table. The three children bounced in their seats, excited. As they ate, happy conversation filled the small dining space. It was getting late. The children were left alone to clean up as M*A*S*H* came on. Several of the plates on the table were full of watermelon juice. The youngest boy picked up a plate to carry to the kitchen sink.  Juice from the plate splashed onto his hand and he shook it vigorously back and forth to get the juice off, droplets spraying the other two children. Protests erupted. The oldest boy dipped his own finger tips in another plate of juice and flicked them toward the younger boy. The youngest cried out and became upset as the juice speckled his cheek. The girl laughed, and the youngest threw a soaked napkin at her. It had begun.

At some early point in the juice flinging a couple of Barbie dolls made their way into the hilarious melee. The children were laughing as quietly as possible as Barbie hair was dipped into the hollowed out watermelon full of juice. Once the hair had become soaked the doll was used to fling watermelon juice across the dining room to another child. Soon the room was covered in watermelon juice. Seeds littered the floor and the children’s feet slipped as they tried to soak up the remaining juice from plates to get the last splash. The total time it took from the first event of juice spray couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes, but the entire space was affected. The ceiling, walls, floor, plants, pictures, furniture, and children were sticky. The gasp that came from my mother as the room came into view, was like a surprise blizzard. The three of us instantly froze.

I honestly don’t remember how the mess got cleaned up. I’m certain we had some part in it, but I must have blocked it out as I’m sure it involved much scrubbing and lecturing. Even though that event only lasted a short time, I remember the feeling of glee, of laughing so hard but trying to be so quiet, vividly to this day. My brothers and I occasionally reminisce about that evening and usually end up laughing so much we can’t finish a sentence properly.

I am grateful of those moments. We remain connected, each others’  biggest supporters. We all need supporters to help us through the life lessons. One lesson I will always remember is that watermelon juice stings the eyes.