You’re all right, son. You’re in the hospital. Just a few broken bones. It’s going to be fine. Do you remember anything? Well, it’s kind of a funny story.
You know how much you love Aladdin, right? And Kiki’s Delivery Service. The magic carpet, the broomstick, and Mary Poppins with her umbrella? You wanted something like that so badly, son. Do you remember, you kept asking me if I could make your bicycle fly, especially after you watched E.T.? I told you, Hank, I can’t make your bicycle fly. But I can make you a flying laundry basket. And I did! Do you remember that?
Yes, I rigged up a very sturdy wicker basket. Good quality, son. I got it from Pier 1 and tested it with solid iron weights before I ever let you ride in it. Once I had the basket, I just fitted it with a gravity-reversal engine. Oh, you know, we have them lying around in the science department. No one was going to miss it.
But Hank, this is where I have to admit I made an error. I am so sorry, son. It’s my fault you got hurt. Because I didn’t calibrate the brake mechanism properly. You see, I’d expected the gravity-reversal engine to react to your weight – fifty pounds, give or take. Oh yes, fifty-four pounds exactly! There it is on your chart. In any case, I’d expected it to rise to a height of thirty-five feet. That’s the height they use to train paratroopers, you know! Your brain cannot tell the difference between thirty-five feet and ten thousand feet, in terms of fear.
In any case. I’d expected the basket to rise to a height of thirty-five feet and then level out, coasting at a steady altitude for fifteen to twenty minutes before running out of juice and gently descending.
Due to my miscalculations, it was never going to reach a maximum height. I realized after you hit forty feet that it was continuing upwards on a slope. You would have reached the stratosphere before the engine failed! Certain death! So naturally, I started yelling for you to jump. Jump, Hank, jump! It’s the only way! But you … you wouldn’t do it. I can’t blame you, son. Of course you didn’t want to free-fall from forty feet in the air.
So I did the only thing I could do. I ran into the garage, got my T-shirt cannon, and shot a round of compacted promotional T-shirts at the basket at such an angle that it tipped and spilled you out. It had reached almost fifty feet at that point, and luckily you were over the woods so the tree canopy slowed your fall.
Again, son, I just can’t apologize enough. If I’d known this was going to happen, I never would have built you that flying basket. But at least you’re all right! And you’ve got a fun cast for all your friends to sign, huh?
The nurse did mention you’ve been speaking in a thick Southern accent.