“Apples?” the pimply faced, teenage produce clerk responded. “What. . . What are they?”
“You don’t know what an apple is?” Paula asked, befuddled.
“No,” he said. “Some kind of vegetable?”
“It’s a fruit. You’ve sold them here for years!”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard. . . Oh, Mr. Stanton?” the clerk called out to his passing manager, who was wearing a too-small suit jacket and a bad toupee.
“Yes?” Stanton asked, approaching the two of them.
“This lady is looking for a product that we don’t have in stock.”
“Really?” The manager was surprised. “I’m terribly sorry. Rest assured that we here at Stanton’s Supermarket will track the item down for you.”
“Thank you,” Paula replied, relieved.
“Now, what are you looking for?”
“Apples.”
“And what are they?”
“That’s what I asked,” the clerk pitched in.
“They’re a fruit,” Paula further explained. “They’re red and green, but mostly red.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of them,” Stanton admitted.
“Cortland, Red Delicious, Granny Smith. . .”
“Are those types of apples?”
“Yes. There are many varieties.”
“Are they only available from overseas?”
“No,” Paula told Stanton, finding it hard to keep her temper. “Lots of them are grown right here in America – on trees.”
“Apple trees?”
“Yes. You pick them.”
“And then?” Stanton wondered.
“You wash them and eat them. Some people bake them into pies.”
“Oh pies!” the supermarket manager exclaimed, believing he had finally solved this odd customer’s problem. “We have many varieties of pies in our bakery: Strawberry, lemon meringue, rhubarb –”
“But no apple.”
“I’m afraid not.”
#
When Paula got home, she Googled “apple.” Nothing.
She looked up some of the most-famous incidents she could remember involving apples. According to the Web, Adam and Eve were thrown out of Eden for eating a pomegranate, William Tell shot a banana off his son’s head, and Sir Isaac Newton developed his law of gravity after a mango fell on his noggin.
#
Paula tried to get to the park every few days. On this afternoon, elderly Mrs. Summers was there and greeted her warmly. “How’s the family?” she asked.
“Fine, thank you. How’s yours?” Paula replied.
“Never better.”
Paula looked around the park and the bench the two ladies were sharing. “Where’s Boscoe?” she wondered.
“Who, dear?”
“Boscoe.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that is.”
“Your dog.”
“My what?”
“Dog.”
“D-o-g?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s a dog?” Paula was just as flummoxed as she was at Stanton’s yesterday.
“I asked you first,” the older woman replied with a grin.
“It’s an animal. Four legs and fur,” Paula explained. “They’re cute. They bark.”
“An animal?” Mrs. Summers said. “Like at the zoo?”
“No. Pets.”
“I think you’ve been out in the sun too long, dear. I’ve heard of people who keep cats as pets, but I’ve never heard of a. . . ‘dog,’ did you call it?”
#
She didn’t bother with Google this time. She knew there would be no references to Snoopy, Scooby- or Scrappy-Doo, Benji, or any other dogs.
What the hell was going on?
#
“Hello, Paula,” she heard suddenly. She turned quickly and saw the short man with the white beard. He was dressed in a robe with a rope belt around his waist.
“How’d you get in my kitchen?” she angrily asked.
“We need to talk,” he said, not answering her.
“Who are you?” she adamantly repeated.
The stranger’s answer was simple: “God.”
“Sure you are,” Paula said sarcastically after a little chuckle.
“Don’t I look like you’ve always imagined me?”
He was a cross between Charlton Heston and Jerry Garcia. “You do,” she admitted.
“I took this form so you’d believe what I have to say. If I had appeared as a giant
kumquat, you wouldn’t listen.”
“Could you do that?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes, but not now. It’s been a rough day.”
“What kind of proof,” she questioned the Supreme Being, “can you show me?”
He was astounded. “Proof? Who are you – Thomas?”
“Thomas?”
“Doubting Thomas. The disciple.” He noticed the confused look on her face and asked, “You haven’t read your Bible?”
“Not. . . all of it.
God shook his head and continued. “I want to talk with you about the things that have gone missing: Apples, dogs –”
“You remember them?” she said surprised.
“Of course. I created them.”
“Where’d they go?”
“I took them. I giveth, and I taketh away,” her visitor said mysteriously. “I also took the slintaka.”
“What’s that?”
“A small, colorful fish usually found in the waters off of Africa.”
“What does it taste like?”
“Chicken.”
“Why are you taking these things?” she inquired of him.
“I need them for Argonzi.”
“Who’s that?”
“It’s not a who,” the man answered, “it’s a what – a planet I’m making.”
“Where is it?”
“Very far from here, in a galaxy you humans haven’t even discovered.”
“But you’re taking some of our things to give to them?”
“These things were never really yours,” God told her. “Due to a scheduling mix-up, I’ve had to create Argonzi quickly. Ah, to have six whole days again!”
“So you’ve moved the dogs and apples to this new planet?”
“That’s right, and some other things you’ve never heard of.”
“Why do I remember the missing things? No one else seems to.”
“Because I picked you. I thought someone should recall that they were once here.”
“I’m flattered,” she responded, beaming.
“Don’t be. I looked down, and there you were. It was like throwing a dart.”
Paula was obviously disappointed. “So I’m not special?”
“All my children are special,” her visitor told her. “I came here today,” he admitted, “because I need some advice.”
“From me?” the mortal woman asked.
“I need to take some more Earth things to Argonzi. What would you suggest?”
“You want. . . me to pick what’s going away forever?”
“What wouldn’t you – what wouldn’t people – miss?”
After some contemplation: “Uhm, Brussels sprouts?”
“Consider them gone,” he promised her. “What else?”
“Snakes. I’ve never liked snakes.”
“Well. . . they do serve a purpose, but I guess I can work around that. One more?”
“Kellyanne Conway?” she asked hopefully.
“I wouldn’t subject a new world to her!” God exclaimed. “And, before you ask, I can’t take reality TV.”
“Darn!”
“Do you have a another choice?”
“Not right now. Can I think about it?”
“Not for long. I’m on a deadline.”
“I understand,” Paula replied. “How many people are on this new planet?”
“None,” the robed man told her.
“None? You took all the dogs for nobody?”
“That will change,” her visitor assured her. “I was thinking of two, at least for starters.”
“Two people for an entire world?”
“It worked with Earth.”
#
“Well?” A day had passed, and the Almighty returned. “Do you have an answer?”
“Not yet,” Paula reluctantly admitted. “I even asked some of my co-workers.”
“And?” he prompted her.
“They all thought I was weird. I’ve never. . . That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“The third thing from Earth to go to the new planet: Me.”
“You?” a confused God replied.
“I’m all alone. No family. Rotten job. No one would miss me,” she pitched. “Could I survive on the new world?”
“Certainly.”
“Would you consider me to be the new Eve?” Paula asked shyly.
“I don’t see why not. You’re just as prepared as the first one was – more so.”
“What should I pack?” she asked enthusiastically.
“Nothing. I’ll provide everything you and the new Adam need to get started.”
“Who is he?”
“I haven’t created him yet, but he will be pleasing to you, and you to him,” God told her. “One last thing?”
“Yes?”
“When you get to Argonzi, please stay away from the apples. I may need them again since I don’t have the time to create a new temptation. Rush, rush, rush!”
—
Mike has had over 150 audio plays produced in the U.S. and overseas. He’s won five Moondance International Film Festival awards in their TV pilot, audio play, short screenplay, and short story categories.
His prose work has appeared in several magazines and anthologies. In 2015, his script “The Candy Man” was produced as a short film under the title DARK CHOCOLATE. In 2013, he won the inaugural Marion Thauer Brown Audio Drama Scriptwriting Competition.
Mike keeps a blog at audioauthor.blogspot.com.
Image by Dermot O’Halloran
Good one, Mike. Loved the dialog; it made the story work.
A very enjoyable read. Funny and original.
Funny and enjoyable read. Nice job!