The Radish

Leaving the office he found a radish in his car seat. Washed clean. Placed as if it hadn’t been placed.

“What?” “How?” No one else had a key. Anything else in here? A Golden Retriever claiming to be God, maybe? Some elf offering him heartburn? Why not? But no. Nothing.

He untied the old lace garter belt of his son’s wedding from the rear view mirror. He made a makeshift dryer and re-hung the garter with the radish hanging perfectly, the first time; he noted.

The night he found the radish he began dreaming. He was always back in his early childhood. He’d lift a door lying in his backyard and walk down the steps coming out in other towns where a circus was playing with accountant ants on trampolines, cheerleaders on the high wire and national politicians dressed as clowns.

The following day there was a carrot in his front seat. He hung that too.

Then a sugar beet.

Nice colors, he thought, as he took down the garter belt dryer, which was way to small for the burden of its bounty.

Then a mere orange blossom. How long ago had he been married? Nearly two decades. This he placed in his lap as he drove home and put that in the freezer.

That night he dreamed the backyard door wouldn’t open. When he tried his hands turned into door knobs, as did his feet and heart.

The next day there was nothing in his front seat after work. He had a long miserable dream where he was on stage playing, “Waiting for Godot.” Of course he didn’t know his lines, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone else. The play drug on and on.

That morning there was a wild violet in his car seat. Dew was still clinging to it. He looked around, but saw no one. He looked around again and saw that the dew was everywhere.

He walked away from his car. He picked more violets. Went inside and put them in water. He called his boss and took a personal day off from work. Then he rummaged around and found his old address book and sat down to make some calls.

Outside, his daughter-in-law drove away.