The Grounders

Steve recoiled from the shock and cursed. The one day he refuses to wear gloves, he slipped up on the job. He backed away from the wires, and turned to his client.

"Jeremy," he said, massaging his hand, "you're grounded for the rest of your life."

Sitting on the stairs, his son brought his hand to his forehead as he shook his head.

"You're a nut, Dad. A useless nut."

Steve chuckled as he continued to rub his hand. He felt the ligaments contract and spasm wildly. It hurt, but he talked through it.

"You're gonna need a whole new set of wires, and I guess I'll cut you a discount for something."

"Being your son isn't enough?"

"Eh," Steve said, taking off his worn ball cap, "Ima need to see some I.D."

The lights shut down and the water heater belched. Muffled shouts from overhead, concluded by wet feet stomping to a bedroom.

Steve shone his flashlight on his son, then to the wires, and back at his son again.

"Never mind!" he said, grinning in the dark. He put on a glove, pulled on a yellow wire, and the power returned.

Steve beamed at Jeremy, who still looked to the ceiling.

"What," Steve exclaimed, "no thank you or anything?"

Jeremy merely smiled. He stuck his head out the basement door.

"Julia, if there's any water on the floor, you're grounded!"

Steve shook his head, hand still throbbing. "Water on the floor ain't no way to ground something."