Finally, I was starting out on the Red Brick Road. Timmy Taffy, former resident of Munchkinland, had led me right to the entrance, a concealed manhole behind a trailer on a used car lot. Rough and Gruff Realm of Roz, here I come.
Continued from Where Does the Red Brick Road Lead? – Part 3.
Where Does the Red Brick Road Lead? Starting Out on the R.B. #robertglover #comedy Share on XI landed hard. My head, back – my entire body – ached. I was dizzy, woozy. I didn’t know how long I had fallen. I’d lost track of time on the way down. What had just happened? I rolled onto my side.
The manhole had happened. I’d leaned over and gotten way too close, and it had swallowed me whole. I’d been dragged into a freefall by unknown forces that had deposited me… Where? I sat up to survey my surroundings.
Tiny, white huts with brown thatched domes surrounded me. To my left was a dry fountain with an overhanging flower, while all around me wild plants with enormous variegated flowers grew. Could it be? I stared at the ground. A brick road with flakes of yellow paint chipped away. Yes, it was! My keester was sitting on the yellow brick road. I had landed in Munchkinland!
The Center of the Swirl
All of my aches and pains disappeared – except for my head. That still hurt. And my shoulder. I must have landed on that. Oh, and my lower back was aching too. But other than that – and my ankle… Never mind. I was fine.
As I limped along the Yellow Brick Road looking for its beginning, I wondered what had happened to all the munchkins. Had flying monkeys really driven them away? None had harassed me yet. I’d have to wait and see.
The road narrowed and spun inward on its self until I could see it: the center of the swirl. Side by side and swirling off in a completely different direction, the R.B. led into the distance. I had made it. Who would have guessed it had been hiding in plain sight behind Timmy Taffy’s Used Car Lot.
I wasn’t wearing ruby slippers, more of an off-brand, budget sneaker, but they’d get me where I wanted to go. What was once a thriving Munchkinland had deteriorated into a disheveled ghost town, as though nuclear waste had been found here. Or the offal of flying monkeys. A radioactive connection?
Starting Out on the R.B.
Shabby homes with some windows boarded over, others broken into jagged, dangerous edges, slumped on the edges of the plaza. Once vibrant reds, greens, and yellows faded to muted, tired shades as the entire town seemed to susurrate its last breaths.
I took my first steps on the R.B. The side of a house, covered by graffiti, stretched to my right. In addition to the usual latrinalia and would-be poets announcing their presence, I saw this:
FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL GLINDA.
A number followed. Local area code. I wrote it down. You never know.
Then there were the assorted limericks. I especially liked this one:
There once was a munchkin from Oz
Who made a habit of breaking the laws.
She’d sing and she’d dance,
And she’d pull down her pants
Just for a round of applause.
And on it went. I didn’t have time to read them all. I was finally on the R.B. and I was going to follow wherever it led. I broke out into song:
“Follow the red brick road.
Follow the red brick road.
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the red brick road.”
As I started whistling the rest of the tune, a shadow crossed my field of vision to the left. I turned and watched a dark projectile whiz over my head and strike the wall.
Green Energy Man
“Who was that?” An empty lot overgrown with weeds betrayed no human presence. A tire-less old junker stood on concrete blocks, wheels scattered about its husk. Besides that and weeds, only an old dishwasher faced the road, its spray arm oddly positioned on top, its sides shiny as they reflected the sun.
“Who threw that?” I said it louder this time. Nothing moved. Accident? A flying monkey? I shrugged it off and started again.
“Follow the red brick…”
Before I could even get the word “road” out, a loud voice yelled, “Shut up!”
This time when I turned around, I could see the dishwasher on its feet. Yes, it had feet. And arms. And a head. At the top of its head, the spray arm turned like the propeller on a kid’s beanie. Accordion arms akimbo, it looked like a robot made out of old appliance parts.
“What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” it said. “That song is my problem. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that song?”
I hadn’t thought about that. I only watched The Wizard of Oz once a year, so the song hadn’t sandpapered my nervous system yet. “A lot?”
“Millions. Every time I hear it, my nerves jangle like hitting three sevens on the slots.”
“You’ve got nerves?”
“Never mind that. Just stop singing.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m Green Energy Man.”
It was starting to make sense. “You’re made up of solar panels. Is that a wind turbine on your head?”
“Yeah, it don’t work. And neither do the panels.”
“What? Impossible! Not only does their production not harm the environment, they provide a virtually limitless supply of green energy.”
“Stop it! The instant the sun don’t shine, they’re useless. And the beanie takes too much energy to get going. It tires me out so much I have to lay down. I hide when the wind starts blowing.”
“Wow. That’s a real eye-opener.”
“Nothing I can do about it.”
I had to mention it. I couldn’t let Green Energy Man live a life of reduced expectations with a lower quality of life than his not so green energy ancestors. “I may have a solution.”
To Roz
He looked skeptical. “What?”
“I’m off to the Rough and Tough Realm of Roz.”
“To see the Rascal?”
“The Rascal of Roz?”
“Yeah.”
“Fantastic,” I said.
“No. Rambunctious,” he said.
“The Rambunctious Rascal of Roz?”
He nodded.
“In the Rough and Tough Realm of Roz?”
“You got the picture.”
“I had no idea.” Suddenly, I had one. “Hey, maybe he can build a good, old-fashioned, oil-fired furnace inside you.”
“Something that actually works?”
“I don’t know, but let’s give it a shot.” I held out my hand. “To Roz?”
“What are you? Some kind of fairy?”
“Do they have magic powers?”
He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“To Roz?”
“Why not?” He bypassed my hand and began walking.
I started: “We’re-“
“No singing.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We’re Off
And just like that, we were off to see the Rascal, the Rambunctious Rascal of Roz in the Rough and Gruff Realm of Roz, Green Energy Man and me. What a treat.
To be continued in Part 5…
Leave a Reply