Tim lay on the thick carpet in front of the old television playing Nintendo. The plastic block in his hand tilted left, then right, in an effort to will the 8-bit character further with each move. His thumb darted left and mashed the Start button to freeze the action. Tim dropped the controller and reached for his bottle of water. It was no longer cold, but that didn't matter to Tim. He was relieved he could stay with the Nintendo a little longer. Leaving the game system open for his brother or sister to pounce on was a rookie mistake. Possession of controller was nine tenths of the law in this living room. He stopped short of a second gulp. The water bottle allowed him to make fewer trips to the kitchen for refreshment. But the water itself would present a different problem sooner rather than later.

He spun the lid back onto the bottle. It was tilted at an odd angle which left the bottle more open than closed. He reached forward and set the container beside his bean bag perch. In one smooth motion, Tim swept up the controller and re-entered the fray. Space aliens and grotesque amounts of gunfire flooded the screen. He had never made it quite this far in the game. And nothing was going to interrupt his determination to reach the end.

"That lid better be tight, mister," his Mom said. She walked through the large living room with a basket of towels. Were they clean? Tim had no idea, but he didn't like the distraction. Ignoring his mother's warning, Tim pressed forward against the domed space craft wielding... boxing gloves? Yes. That's what he was seeing. Huge, round, white boxing gloves were being hurled at him by the flying ships. What would those guys in Japan think of next? He didn't have to wait long to find out. Tomatoes. No, Apples. Wait a minute. They kept shifting their leaf-stems as they moved in formation. He blasted four, but let one slip pass. It floated off screen as he flew over the digital town below.

His dog barked. Stones in the driveway tumbled. The familiar sounds of someone arriving. Tim hunched down deep into his plastic lined cocoon. Nothing was going to break him out of this run. Creatures darted off screen, leaving Tim alone for a brief moment. The Boss was near. He knew it! Just as the glaring eyes of the Giant Plum entered the screen, his Uncle Mark walked through the backdoor.

"Mom's in the basement," Tim said. He hoped that would be enough of a hint that he was in the thick of battle, saving the planet from certain annihilation. All his friends would know that at this stage in his game, Tim was to be left alone. Hadn't his parents played that song enough to know what it was like to be 'in the zone'? They had their Pinball Wizard. Now it was time for a Power Glove and laser like focus. Pinball, give me a break. The Giant Plum took a nosedive amid a cloud of explosions. Tim swept up his water bottle to take another swig. He smirked to himself as his Uncle passed behind the bean bag chair.

Then Tim was high in the air, held above Uncle Mark's head. Both of the strong man's hands had a firm grip on the boy and started shaking him up and down. One hand slipped free and found purchase in the soft spot between his ribs and hips. Oh no! "No. Please, Uncle Mark don't tickle me!" Before the words were out, Tim was laughing. Uncle Mark had his faults, but his Stepdad's brother was always good for a laugh. He could bring a whole room to tears with a few jokes. And his tickling was the worst. Best? Not for Tim. Tickling was a phobia for him like clowns were for other people. Unexplainable. Inescapable. Traumatizing. Make no mistake, Tim loved to laugh. He had borrowed a few of his Uncle's jokes to climb the social ladder of Schofield Elementary. The dirty ones always worked best with his friends at school. Laughter was a powerful tool when wielded by a master. But tickling could get out of hand fast. And no one, Tim most of all, wanted that.

"Put me down. I'm serious," Tim said. Laughter choked most of the protest. Which served to egg Uncle Mark on even more. "Don't. Stop. I'm gonna pee. Let me down!"

What people failed to realize about Tim's revulsion of tickling was that he had their best interests in mind. Not to mention a huge dose of public shame avoidance. Tim knew that when his lungs siezed up, his nerves melted down, and his bladder shook loose the fun would end. Fast. No one found a twelve year old's urine soaked pants enjoyable at all. Least of all Tim. And yet, here he was again, hoisted above Uncle Mark at the ends of his tendril like fingers. An exhibition in the ancient art of tickling was being performed live before an audience of none. The unwilling young volunteer yanked from the crowd and forced into the performance of a lifetime. 'Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Walk this way. Stop and see. Can Tiny Tim prevent a cascading torrent from flooding the stage? Or will he fall victim, once more, to incontinence?'

And then it happened. Uncle Mark lowered Tim to the floor as fast as he has swept him up. The tickle torture was done it seemed. Tim gasped through a few more short laughs, wiped his eyes, and looked up at his Uncle's face. Mark held his sweater out from his chest with the thumb and forefinger of both hands. He looked like a strange alien woman with an overgrown beard and pointed breasts. Tim wasn't sure if this was a new Dolly Parton joke. If it was, his Uncle Mark wasn't laughing. Then Tim realized what must have happened. In the heat of the moment, Uncle Mark waited too long to stop the tickle torture. Tim must have wet himself. He warned Uncle Mark that he was going to pee. He begged Uncle Mark to put him down.

Uncle Mark looked down at Tim. Realization crossed his face just as embarassment entered Tim's. He tugged at the sweater in an attempt to bring it close to his face. One tentative sniff. Then another. His lips curled in disgust. Tim stood silent, no longer laughing. A little scared. His hand twitched and crunched the now voided water bottle. The plastic crinkled and broke the ice. Uncle Mark's eyes darted from Tim's pants, to the bottle, and back several times.

"Is that water or pee?"

THE END

Stop Tickling Me!