Bill’s pencil meandered around the notebook paper, spaghetti lines becoming hair, hair framing Cathy’s bewitching eyes. Not quite right. He sighed. There was a big wrestling match coming up. He had an essay to write. Most of all, Cathy was going to be in a play. If he got a part it would be a perfect way to meet her but demon stagefright whispered it had other plans for him. Bill checked the clock with one hope—bedtime. Only an hour earlier, Bill’s beloved uncle Herm, an inventor, had responded to Bill’s plea for help by giving him a box with a red lens that he claimed he used to get fresh ideas. “Sleep under it and you’ll be filled with inspiration. When you wake up let the creative juices flow. The light and the juice nourish the sprouting seeds.” Bill had sneaked it in knowing his former military officer father didn’t like Herm’s lifestyle. Sometimes Bill wished Herm was his real father. His father’s solutions were always: work harder. That night Bill carefully adjusted his position so his head was awash with the mysterious ruby glow. The next day started with an excited search of his mind. Nothing felt sprouting. At the meet Bill eyed his beefy opponent. A vision of a big man fishing popped up. A fish flopped into the boat but the big guy couldn’t hold onto it. Soon he was exhausted from grabbing air. Bill strode onto the mat and for the next few minutes twisted and jumped faster than ever. He finally locked with his opponent in a superior position and his strength edged out the other’s tired muscles. When the ref raised Bill’s arm in victory he noticed Cathy clapping wildly in the bleachers. Soon the essay came alive based on a twist of a “Cathy” daydream. Electricity zinged through his spine when the teacher announced the next day that he’d like Bill to read his essay out loud because it was daring. Daring! That word rang in his head all day. That’s what he was. Daring! And after auditioning he was given twenty lines to speak and would be in a scene with Cathy. Perfect! One night he turned the device on in the living room thinking that more time under the light might be beneficial. His father, Bert walked in. “Don’t tell me.” Bert planted fists on hips. “My crazy brother made that.” “Yeah, and it works.” Bill thought fast. “It’s the inspira…the Light of Inspiration!” “The Light of…oh my God! You shouldn’t be Herm’s guinea pig.” “You’re jealous because you’re no good with tools.” Bert’s expression softened. “Just so it’s safe.” But the Light didn’t seem to have the same effect after that night. At dress rehearsal, the director was so frustrated with Bill’s fumbling the lines that he had another student start on the part in case Bill needed replacing. Doubt turned to panic. Herm was out of town until Saturday, the day of the play. Wednesday, he heard Cathy get asked to go out for pizza after the play. When she said “sure”, Bill’s heart sank into his stomach. Wednesday night he picked up the LOI box with a thought about turning up the power. He noticed one of the screws was slightly cocked and had a scratch on it. He got a screwdriver and opened it. After peering motionless for a long time he walked into the living room. Bill’s father was reading the paper in his favorite chair. “Why did you do it?” Bill’s voice was more firm and accusatory than he had ever used with an adult. Bert lowered the paper and his eyes dropped to the screwdriver Bill was holding. “Son, I needed to make sure it was safe. I’m sorry, I should have talked to you.” “But why did you gut it?” “Gut it? I just looked.” “There nothing in it! A switch, a battery, a flashlight bulb, that’s it.” Bill’s chest heaved. “I don’t like being treated like a little boy anymore.” “Bill, I didn’t remove anything. Your uncle seems to have played a little joke.” “Uncle Herm treats me good. He wouldn’t scam me!” Bill turned and walked to his room. He lay down wishing morning would never come. There was a knock and his father stood in the doorway. “He lied. Uncle Herm hoaxed me.” Bill’s voice was bitter. Bert cocked his head and smiled like when Bill showed him the “A” essay. “You know something Bill, that brother of mine really is a pretty smart guy. He knows you. He knew that you just needed a change in attitude and the light box did the trick." “So now what? I certainly won’t use Herm's joke again.” “And you don’t need to. Most people get inspired from others doing what they’d like to do. Like a champion basketball player inspiring a kid in his driveway court.” “I don’t have any heroes,” Bill said gloomily. “No?” Bert’s expression drooped a little at the implications. “How about your Uncle? Better yet, yourself? Just think about what you’ve accomplished these past few weeks.” Quietly, he added, “You’ve done things I never have.” Bert watched the words sink in. “A long time ago just to survive to adulthood was a big accomplishment. In some places it still is. Your mother and I and Uncle Herm will be at the play Saturday night. I think we’re going to see an inspired performance!” To Bill, the beam in his father’s eye was more powerful than the toy LOI. He slept in the dark, his dreams bright. At the play, Bill sat between his uncle and his father enjoying the scene he would have been in. Bill had decided to concentrate on doing something he really enjoyed instead of being something others valued. So he sat sketching a picture of Cathy in her costume. This one would be even better than the one he gave her when she had accepted his invitation for a date.