The Nail

The laundry-room door was nailed shut. Janet pulled on the head of the nail, but it was too small to grasp, and her finger tips hurt from the sharp edges.

“Edgar!”

“What?”

Edgar stood in the hallway with his boxer shorts and a carton of ice cream. He scooped a spoonful of vanilla bean into his mouth large enough to make his cheeks puff out.

“Why is there a nail in the door?”

“Verr izzzt aaah naa n za doow”

“Edgar, swallow the damn ice cream.”

“There isn’t a nail in the door. It’s in the frame.”

“Well, it’s going through the door.”

“Okay, the end of the nail is in the door. But the top is in the door frame.”

Janet walked slowly up to Edgar and took the spoon of half-melted ice cream from his hands. It dripped on the floor, a few cool white drops splattered on her bare-feet.

“Edgar. Why is there a nail in the door?”

“Oh, it’s holding it closed.”

“Edgar,” Janet took a deep breath, “Why do we need to hold the door closed with a nail?”

“The lock is broken.” Edgar took a hammer from a cabinet in the hallway and held it towards Janet, with the nail-removing end facing the door. “See? New key.”

Janet took the hammer and handed Edgar the spoon. He walked back towards the living room.

“Let me know if you need me to fix anything else!”

“Thanks Edgar,” Janet pulled the nail out with the hammer, staggering back into the hallway as it came loose, “I think we’re okay for now.”