A Solar Flare Today

A solar flare today, said the newscaster, who then said nothing else.

The newscaster stared blankly into the camera.

The staring went on for quite some time.

The network did not cut away; in fact, they zoomed in.

Slowly.

The newscaster wasn’t drooling.

Was that a gentle quiver of bottom lip?

Or a mere trick of light and shadow?

The newscaster’s eyes were very green.

Green.

The camera kept zooming in. Soon all we could see was the newscaster’s very fine nose. The nose entire, then just the bridge, then even closer. In and in. We watched, transfixed. In time it was as if we had entered one of the newscaster’s pores. We didn’t know cameras could zoom in like this. Was this a new kind of camera? A special effect? This was light-years beyond putting Stan McCann the Weather McMann in front of a map of Saudi fucking Arabia. This was something else entirely. In and in. We saw mites, then molecules, then cellular machinery. Atoms. Quarks. A universe inside the newscaster, inside us all.

How? said grandmama. I’m seeing friggin’ leptons, which is crazy.

Baryons, even, said Cantankerous Pete.

You shut your hole, Cantankerous Pete, said grandmama.

This? said Uncle Wiggly. Shoo. This is nothing. They have cameras now that can see around corners.

Uncle Wiggly really put some extra picante sauce on corners. He made a full-on meal out of it, plus dessert and an after-dinner see-gar. And his brow? I’d never seen a brow so cocked. But I thought what we were seeing on TV at that moment was better than cameras that could see around corners—way better. We were seeing the newscaster’s constituent particles for shit’s sake! Bosons and such. We were practically up to our balls in neutrinos. Seeing around corners? Come on. But I didn’t say anything. Uncle Wiggly had some kind of temper on him.

Seeing around corners, I said. That’s some kind of trick.

Oh, it’s no trick, said Uncle Wiggly. It’s science, nimrod.

I looked around the rumpus room. Who had invited Uncle Wiggly anyway?

Those high-energy particles from the Sun, said Professor Oakwood. Shoo-boy. I mean, they don’t mess around. They will ruin your day if you give them half a chance.

The TV screen had gone black. They had zoomed in too far. I must have said this out loud.

No such thing as too far, said Uncle Wiggly.

From the kitchen came the sound of many toasters ejecting their toasts.

Toasts is ready, said Professor Oakwood.

Who brought the jams this time? said Aunt Britches.

With the shittiest smile, Uncle Wiggly undid the latches on his briefcase, opened ’er up.

Behold, said Uncle Wiggly.

The network returned to Hill Street Blues, already in progress.