The Irrelevant Little Toaster

Like many children Rob had personified inanimate objects: toasters, blankets, radios, lamps, vacuums. Rob and his younger brother played a game called 'pretend'. They would sit or run in their sunny family living room or luscious, green yard, their universe, and pretend their family appliances could talk, could think, could feel. While scurrying about they would make voices for the toaster and create surprisingly intimate and detailed relationships between the toaster and other household items. The toaster was always considered the ringleader and the most desired appliance by Rob and his brother. Rob, the eldest, would often give life to the toaster with impassioned monologues and quiet but victorious humming as the silver Toastmaster bravely overcame great obstacles in the dark forests of the kitchen and front lawn.

There was a dreary, gray day when Rob was pretending as the character of the courageous toaster and his brother as the enthusiastic but innocent blanket. Rob was struggling to adhere to the enlivened scenes he and his sibling had been so naturally acting throughout his childhood. He had difficulty submersing in the game of pretend. Confused, he made a desperate adjustment to the game. He was at the age when his parents considered him old enough to care for his brother, three years younger, while they went to socialize for the afternoon with the neighbors. Shortly after they left, he brought the toaster, the blanket, the radio, the lamp, and the vacuum into the yard and proceeded to move them about the grass in an attempt to revive them as the friendly appliances he and his brother had once adored. Unfortunately, the effect was contrary to what Rob was looking for and as he looked out at the mottled yard, browning from the drought, and his brother crouching amongst the scattered objects, all he saw was an array of stuff. He didn't feel lively, he felt abandoned. The late afternoon sun had burst through the encompassing gray, and was hot and he recalled the math homework he had to do for the next day. He turned toward the front porch and walked up the first step. He turned once more hoping to see a forest alive with adventure and smiling appliances but still only heard the chattering of his brother, saw the worn glimmer of aged house-ware, and the felt the heat of the sun. Rob opened the screen door and went inside to answer the phone, which was ringing, and to do his math homework, which was calling. After a few minutes, with his number two pencil behind his ear, he returned to the yard to retrieve the toaster, the blanket, the radio, the lamp, and the vacuum before his parents came home.