The Magical Mini-Fridge


It was finished. It was finally complete. Many people would suspect that it was simply just the short plump refrigerator it appeared to be. But a small circular window screwed into the front of it revealed a hodgepodge of miscellaneous wires and cables and in fact proved it not to be a standard mini-fridge. It was a time machine that I had invented. The countless months I had spent trudging through the junkyard looking for a precise kind of wire or screw or bolt to put to use within the machine had finally paid off. Now that the machine was ready, (so I thought) it had to be tested.

I yanked the freezer door open and plopped down onto the ripped leather cushion that I used for a seat. I hadn’t planned out a specific time period to go to, so I closed my eyes and spun a small wheel on the wall of the fridge that had every prehistoric time period labeled on it. I flipped a few switches and pushed a few buttons down. All I had to do was pull the big red lever down. My tense hand quivered as I reached for the handle. “This… probably won’t explode,” I whispered to myself with a twist of excitement and nervousness as I tugged the lever down.

A deep rumbling sensation jolted the machine as it lifted off the ground and shot up through the ceiling. I peered out the window and got a quick glimpse of the shrinking neighborhood before the clouds covered the now particle-sized houses. I continued looking out the window for a few seconds. But I could no longer feel myself being pinned down against the cushion. In fact I was pinned against the ceiling of the fridge now! My machine was plunging back toward the ground!

The neighborhood grew larger as I neared the ground in contradictory to when the red lever was first pulled. The little mini-fridge squeezed through the hole in the roof I had created when it swept through the ceiling. A loud thud echoed through the kitchen I had left as the fridge landed. Thank goodness I had thick padded cushions installed throughout the entire fridge for just this type of scenario. Even with that protection it was a wonder how I am alive. Disappointed that my plan had failed, I hopped out of the slightly damaged icebox and into a strange passé kitchen with subway tiled walls and green linoleum. “This is most certainly not my kitchen. I must have hit my head in when the machine crashed,” I thought to myself as I walked out to the living room to lye down on the sofa.

My living room wasn’t nearly the same either. A doily-draped retro sofa sat up against the parlor wall where my brown leather one was supposed to be. And instead of my television set, a dated, greenish stained armoire held a small radio with tall antennae and dinky speakers. And to top it all off, hideous flowered wallpaper crowded the room with an ancient vibe. “I couldn’t be imagining this too,” I thought to myself. I ran out the front door to see if anything else had changed. “Oh my goodness,” I said in a hushed tone.

The 1940’s were absolutely everywhere! A pine green Chevrolet with whitewall tires and round headlights rolled past a group of kids playing hopscotch on the freshly paved (but still dry) sidewalk. The kids playing consisted of two or three boys with large loopy glasses and slimy hair that was combed to the side. They had polo shirts on that they tucked neatly into their off-white khaki shorts. The girls of the group had almost-shoulder-length curly hair crammed full with barrettes. They each had different colored skirts that were about half the length of their legs and knee-height socks with polka dots, stripes, and flowers. An old man sat in a wooden rocker on the small veranda of the house on the opposing side of the street from mine. His hat hung lazily over his face and his head tilted to the side. I could tell that he was in a comatose state. But his small stereo that sat on the railing of the porch still blared muffled music that was exciting and upbeat.

I stumbled down the stoop of my own porch as my brain began to fill with skepticism. “I can’t believe my time machine actually worked!” I practically shouted. I ran down the pavement and into town where I spotted a white milk truck making deliveries to one of the houses. There was a little kiosk at the corner of Main Street and Third Street clustered with anti World War II posters. Plenty of strangers walking through town waved hello and conversed with me about friendly things and cavorted merrily on their way. A long, vermillion fire engine with large round headlights zoomed down the boulevard carrying several firefighters in bulky suits. Across the street from that, an array of picnic blankets dotted the park terrain accompanied by their picnic-goers. Children played merrily on the brand new swings and tin metal slides. Everything throughout the town was positively jubilant and rhapsodic.

Once I was finished exploring the town I ran home, filled to the brim with enthusiasm. I jumped through the kitchen door and into my little refrigerator. I shifted the small wheel on the wall to the section labeled “Present Day”. I could hardly wait to tell everyone about how successful my invention was. I yanked the red lever down and whispered to myself: “Goodbye 1940’s. I hope I see you again soon!”