Summary

A child recounts an adventurous experiment of sitting inside a cardboard box during a West Texas dust storm, driven by a desire to experience the storm's power without being harmed.

Abstract

The narrative describes a young individual's fascination with the raw power of nature, as seen through the lens of a dust storm in West Texas. The child, who once aspired to be a "mad scientist," decides to sit inside a cardboard box with strategically placed holes to observe the storm from a safe vantage point. The experience is thrilling, with the box providing a sensory cocoon that allows the child to see, hear, and feel the storm's intensity. The child's cautious approach to life is evident in the planning and execution of the experiment, which ends with a brief, chaotic dash into the storm's heart. The child emerges unscathed, laughing at the adventure and the "madness" of the situation, having gained a personal, tangible understanding of the storm's force.

Opinions

The child views the dust storm as an opportunity for a unique experience rather than a hazard to avoid.
There is a sense of pride and identity in the child's aspiration to be a "mad scientist" rather than the conventional professions mentioned by peers.
The child's mother seems to support her child's imaginative and unconventional aspirations, laughing at the revelation of the child's true desired profession.
The child values the sensory experience of the storm, emphasizing the sound of dust hitting the box and the vibrations it creates.
There is a recognition of the storm's power to transform the environment, as seen in the flight of newspaper ads, which the child observes with fascination.
The child's decision to exit the box and run into the storm reflects a balance between caution and a desire for direct experience, despite the potential risks.
The child finds the experience humorous and exhilarating, rather than frightening, indicating a resilient and adventurous spirit.

The Madness Box

An Experiment From My Childhood

I could see it approaching on the horizon — orange and ominous dust.

I hurried into the heavy cardboard box, closing the flaps as I sat down. I used pieces of duct tape to hold the flaps together, not too much tape, but just enough.

I took out the screwdriver from my back pocket and used it to poke several holes in the walls of the box. I wanted to see the dust as it passed over me.

The dust storms that blew through my small West Texas city could be dangerous. Everyone would rush inside and stay away from the windows. It was the sensible thing to do. I decided on this occasion, I would wait for it in the middle of my yard. I knew my dad was taking a nap, otherwise he would have come outside and put an end to the madness.

I chuckled to myself and remembered one day in school when I was five years old. The teacher went around the class, asking each of my classmates what they wanted to be when they grew up. I was excited for my turn. But as I heard the answers of the other kids, wanting to be police officers, firefighters, teachers, doctors, and lawyers, I changed my mind.

When the teacher called on me, I said, “A doctor!” But it wasn’t true. When I got home that afternoon, I couldn’t wait to tell my mom about it.

I said, “I told the teacher that I wanted to be a doctor. But what I really want to be is a mad scientist!” She laughed, and I just nodded my head, proud of myself.

So here I was five years later, sitting inside a cardboard box, waiting for a dust storm, and as happy as I could be.

Within minutes, the wind rushed in with an urgency, scavenging for the structures that would help it howl and whistle its song. The storm dragged its fingers through the city’s lots and roadways, and it picked up whatever was light and loose. Dust and debris long settled was swatted into the air and relocated from nooks to crannies all over the city.

Through the tiny holes in my box I could see clusters of leaves, tiny weeds and paper trash flying in and out of my yard. The dust was invisible, but I could hear it hitting against the walls of my box. It made a tickity tick tick sound a thousand times over. I placed my hands on the walls so that I could feel the dust. It was exhilarating, and I smiled wide with excitement. The vibrations grew stronger, and the howling and whistling song grew louder.

I peeked through the holes once again to look at the debris brought to desperate life by the power of the storm. Several pages of newspaper ads flew into my yard and slammed against the cinder block fence. The ads began a series of swirls, trapped in the corner of my yard. And yet, they raged in the wind, seeking higher and higher altitude to be free of their confines. Their twists and turns were relentless, as if they knew the winds that kept them in place were also the very winds that would set them free. I watched for a few moments until one by one, they soared up and away.

I sat back in relative safety as I had planned. I wanted to see the dust storm, yet not be blinded by it. I wanted to be in its midst, but still be separated. I wanted to feel its power, and not be hurt.

I preferred a cautious approach to life, at least in the beginning.

I knew the power of the storm would continue to dissipate, along with my opportunity. I looked up at the duct tape holding the flaps of my box together, and suddenly realized the situation I had created.

It was madness to get in the box, and now it was madness to get out of it.

I took in a deep breath, then reached up and tore off the pieces of tape. With one quick move, I jack-in-the-boxed into the storm.

But it wasn’t some dramatic or epic battle of me versus the elements. I was less than graceful climbing out of the box, but once free, I darted back and forth across my yard with closed lips and squinted eyes. I flailed my arms as if I was protecting myself from bees. But the dust penetrated through, quick to sting my face, arms, and legs. After only one minute outside of the box, the experiment was over, and I rushed inside my house.

My dad had stayed asleep the entire time, so he never knew what I did.

I had wanted to know what the dust hitting me felt like, so I had run around my yard in the dust storm, unprotected. And yes, getting stung by the dust was painful, but not too much. I lived through the storm, and mostly, I just laughed.