Going Einstein

By Tom Misuraca

Maggie shocked herself while stirring vegetable soup with a metal spoon. She touched the metal edge of the counter and for an instant, her body conducted voltage.

She stumbled backwards, dropping the spoon on the freshly polished floor. Her heart beat rapidly. Her freckled skin tingled with sensations she hadn't encountered since her awkward college sexual experiments. And her sinuses cleared.

Energy pulsed through Maggie's veins. As the soup grew cold, Maggie paced her tiny apartment trying to find something to do. She had nobody to call, so she donned her coat and headed to the library where she worked. She spent the night putting every book in Dewey Decimal order.

When her co-workers arrived the next morning, Maggie attempted to tell them about her shock, but they shushed her, more interested in the previous evening's reality television programs.
Electricity became Maggie's little secret.

She stayed home Saturday nights putting 9-volt batteries to her tongue. She fantasized about going to the electric chair or receiving shock treatment.

Sundays, she spent hours at the local arcade's love tester. It made her skin tingle, her hair going Einstein.

At work, she secretly chewed aluminum foil.

The landlord threatened to evict Maggie the next time she stuck a fork in an electric socket. She shorted out the building and gave herself a mild thrill.

She was reprimanded at work for dragging her feet on the carpet and shocking herself on the metal bookshelves.

Co-workers and neighbors watched Maggie suspiciously. From now on, she would do her best to resist electricity's allure.

As an August thunderstorm rolled in, Maggie watched from her window. Those flashes of lightning teased. All that energy wasted. Maggie had to sample it.

She removed the curtain rod from the window and headed for the hills.