Roy Gruzman pauses at the kitchen window to observe the sun tear through the matted morning clouds. He lives alone; in a quaint brick house. The solitude is new. After his daughter passed, her mother could no longer bear the constant reminder of loss, lingering at home. She left, without a goodbye.
“What’s the point?” she mumbled as she opened the front door for the last time, “We’ve gone years without hellos.”
Roy could not empathize with her reason for leaving. She couldn’t stand the memories. He couldn’t live without them. To him, her memory is most tangible here. He will not lose that too. He continues his morning routine. Roy is an exterminator for Insecticidal Incorporated. His 20th anniversary of employment is but a few months away. He sets his equipment and lunch box by the front door. He turns to the bookcase adjacent to the entryway. On a shelf, at eye level, is an ant farm, a birthday present from his daughter when she was eleven. Her giggling was uncontrollable at the irony of giving a pest controller pet insects. When he opened the gift, his smirk came from a different light. Certain species of ants are considered as biological pest control. These ants establish symbiotic relationships with plants in their community. They protect the plant by exterminating all “pest” that threaten it. While in turn, the plant provides them with nutrients. It was in this moment, too slight for his awareness, when Roy’s perception of the world changed. Six years have passed between this moment and her last.
He had always maintained the farm, more zealously after her death. His fridge is full of Tupperware containers filled with a carefully prepared honey mix. Each container includes a half of cup of honey, a half cup of water, and a fourth of a mineral tablet along with the heads and thoraxes of crickets; an exquisite cuisine for his miniscule companions.
Every morning he visually tends to the farm. His focus creates a wrinkle in time. He hears her laugh. The same laugh from that day she gave him the farm. It is so vivid, that for a moment, she is present in his reality. Some days, that presence fills him with warmth. Other days, it leaves him cold and empty. As he withdraws from nostalgia, he gathers his things and leaves for the day. Approaching his work issued truck, he rolls his eyes at the slogan printed on the side: “If you’re being pestered, bug us!”. He starts the engine, and pulls out of the driveway; ready to exterminate the day.
In Texas, autumn is a dull spring. Spring is summer’s salutation, while autumn is its departure. On the highway, Roy passes the exit for work. Yesterday, he had acquired the necessary pesticides for today’s extermination appointments. His newfound solitude has formed a social exoskeleton, impermeable to common vulnerabilities. The social exoskeleton guards against inquiries from acquaintances. He has protected himself from an inevitable failed attempt at smiling.
Roy’s absence from the break room aroused attention, however the group consensus was, “Hell, I’d be the same if I lost my kid”. And that was that.
The first appointment was a residential house owned by the City of Montevallo. In the early sixties, the house belonged to a family that tended three hundred and thirty two acres of farmland. In the early nineties, the family sold the house and land to The Parks and Recreation Department of Montevallo. The Parks Department constructed playgrounds, soccer fields and infiltrated the land with cement trails. For the last two decades, a Park’s employee and his family have resided in the old farmhouse.
Roy has chemically treated the house every sixty days for the past fifteen years as per city ordinance. He enjoys treating this house the most, it rest in the southeast corner of the park. A safe distance away from the paths most traveled. Unlike other houses, a house owned by the city, does not require the presence of a resident while he is there permitting him a key. In this house, Roy feels content. Contentedness is the closest he can get to happiness. This house is also, where he keeps her.