Fifth Grade Terrors

Daniel attaches their hose to the neighbors’ spigot. Through the window, he instructs his younger cousin, Cody, to fill three buckets of water. Then, turning off the water spigot, he tells Cody to take the hose into the bathroom so they can flush the toilet. The Mortons’ water was shut off two days ago and everything is covered in grime.

It isn’t until Cody kinks the hose and yells frantically at his cousin to “turn it off” that Daniel disconnects the hose and climbs in through the kitchen window. At 5’9 he has trouble fitting through the window, which will only open half its size, but manages to squeeze through just in time; the couple whose water they were borrowing has come outside to inspect their yard.

They’ve lived next door to the Mortons for a year or two and have come to find that, if they suspect something is going on, it usually is. There’s water still dripping from their spigot but, without any evidence of who was there, they go back inside.

Daniel chuckles.

Then turning serious, he tells Cody, “It’s your turn to do the dishes.”

The dishes are piled up in the sink and, because there hasn’t been any running water, are encrusted with food. There are gnats swarming around them.

Cody sighs. But not wanting to fight with his cousin, who at seventeen is twice his size, he complies. He drags one of the three buckets filled with water across the room and pours three-fourths of it into a pot.

He then carries the pot to the stove and turns on the only working burner.

“I’m going to use that water.” His cousin says. “For a bath.”

“But –but I’ll be late for school.” Cody sputters. He likes school because there’s running water. The bathroom toilets don’t stink nearly as bad as they do at his house and they never overfill.

Daniel shrugs.

“What’s so important about fifth grade anyway?”