The Recital by Robert Elmer

Author:Robert Elmer [Elmer, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-49974-5
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2006-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

I used to own an ant farm but had to give it up.

I couldn’t find tractors small enough to fit it.

—STEVEN WRIGHT

So much for global warming.” Gerrit turned up the collar of his thin Seattle Mariners Windbreaker, but it was no match for the icy fingers of the wind rushing at him from the lake. The mid-October blast had turned the sky to a dull pewter and had flash-frozen golden autumn leaves to their branches before they even had a chance to litter the streets. Even puddles of sleet had turned solid under his feet, and he stepped gingerly as he walked toward Lincoln Park.

Winter already—and record cold? Well, at least it matched his mood. Who was in a hurry anyway? No job. Nothing to do. He rubbed his cheeks, trying to keep from icing over and wondering what he was doing out here rather than sitting safely inside his warm apartment and watching the latest Oprah. Today she was doing some more of those makeovers. Come to think of it, maybe they should do one on his attitude.

Sorry, Lord. Seemed that every time he talked to God lately, he was apologizing. Just like when he talked to Joan. Sorry, sorry, sorry. And he was. He looked around the city park and realized that he hadn’t been this far north before. Joan had told him there was a zoo up here someplace. Maybe he could go watch the penguins freeze their tails off.

He crunched over frozen blades of grass, doing his best not to keep replaying the words of the phone call over and over in his mind the way he’d been doing nonstop for the past three days.

“It appears we’ve filled that position as well, Mr. Appeldoorn.”

In other words, nice try, but no cigar.

“Your qualifications are quite unique.”

In other words, you don’t fit anywhere.

“With your permission, we’d like to keep your name on file in case something comes up.”

In other words, don’t hold your breath, old man.

After nearly stepping on an abandoned Frisbee, he picked it up and flung it with a mighty grunt as far as he could. It didn’t do wonders for his shoulder, but he watched as the saucer soared past a statue of Hans Christian Andersen and landed in the middle of a frozen rose garden. He decided to follow the Frisbee to a pond closer to the lakeshore. Looked like the zoo was just over there.

“So what’s going on here, Lord?” He decided to ask once again, though the cold gray underside of heaven wasn’t giving up any answers lately. Not a one. “How ‘bout a little clue for an old guy who doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be and what he’s supposed to do anymore? Just a clue. Where do I belong?”

He wasn’t used to asking that question. Where he grew up, folks didn’t have to ask. They knew. Dad worked a farm, and so did you. Dad built houses, and you helped. Your family lived in Van Dalen, and nobody even dreamed about moving away.

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