Melvin of the Refrigerator Posted by Sad Blogger , 4.1.10 at Monday, January 04, 2010, in

A friend of mine recently approached me, glum and dejected, requesting that I tell her something happy. And being as happiness is a gift I am more than willing to spread, I obliged her behest. The following is the yarn I managed to spin:

There's a man in my fridge named Melvin who smiles and hands me orange juice every time I open the door. He doesn't talk much but he like to wear buttons with little sayings on them and he changes his buttons every morning. Today he was wearing an "I Ringo" button and some rainbow suspenders so I can tell he's happy. Although, he speaks when he has to. Like when I try to put the peanut butter back in the fridge. He knows it doesn't belong there, you see. He'll twist his face up into a funny pout and yell that "NUTBUTTER B'LONGS IN THE CUBBERD" (He calls it nut butter. And he talks funny because he eats too many pickles).

Um. There was this one time, we made the mistake of letting him have a day off. And I say it was a mistake not cuz we want to keep him trapped in there or take pleasure in it or anything. He really likes it in there. He has fingerpaintings on the wall that he makes with ketchup and whipped cream. But he just really wasn't used to the outside world. He'd lived in fridges most of his life. He crawled in his parents' when he was seven and just liked it so much he decided to live in fridges the rest of his life. So he certainly wasn't used to the light. He's come somewhat accustomed to the fridge bulb when it comes on. But he hadn't experienced anything like the sun in a long time. So he kinda stumbled out that one day.

We'd just been on a big shopping trip and needed to sort out the fridge and he was kinda taking up space. And man did his bones CRACK. It sounded like a drum solo! All of them at once, different pitches and volumes. Crickity-crackalack-tick-cra-cra-cra-crackadacka! He looked kind of embarrassed as we stared at him. And then my mom burst out laughing and we all joined in, even Melvin. He tittered in his little scratchy cackle. He was wearing a big button that looked like a cloud in the shape of a bunny. So we asked him if he'd like to see a real cloud.He started nodding so enthusiastically. I've never seen someone look so silently excited. His whole body was practically shaking with glee as we led him towards the big glass doors to the patio. We slid the doors open and he stared at them in fascinated delight. He'd never seen a door that didn't open on hinges. And then finally, we got him to look up.

Up into the sky, the sun, the clouds. Clouds like he had never seen on that beautiful summer morning. The massive blue blanket of sky kissing the tops of the pine trees in the backyard and the anxious little puppy dog clouds playfully tumbling through space. Melvin looked like he'd danced with an angel. His mouth curled up into a ridiculous grin and his eyes bunched up with overwhelming joy. While Mom and Dad sorted out the fridge, we sat in the grass with Melvin and pointed out all the shapes the clouds made. Dragons and skipping children. Flying squirrels, cars, an old-fashioned telephone. Melvin pointed desperately at his button and shrugged. He wanted to know why there were no bunny clouds.

Just then, Mom appeared in the doorway and called that the fridge was stocked and it was time for Melvin to go back inside. A little tear rolled down his cheek as he stared at his pin and started shuffling towards the house. But then... "MELVIN!" my brother shouted. Melvin turned to us and sniffed. My brother was pointing emphatically at the sky. Melvin shrugged and we yelled in unison, "It's a bunnnnyyyyy!" And, man, you've never seen anyone run so fast. He zipped out the door and tumbled onto the lawn. And we laughed out loud as we pointed to the bunny and jumped around. Happy. Then Melvin gave us each a squeeze and we patted him on the back and he crawled back into the fridge with a husky chuckle. I reached out my hand for the orange juice, and with a wink Melvin placed it in my hand. He's a good friend.

And here's to you, friends,

- Sad Blogger