The Happy Advent of the Elbow
Denise Roosendaal
Mr. Condyle approached the stage, adjusted his mic, cleared his throat, and ignored the sweat gathering at his brow. This was it. Here went nothing.
“Change is upon us! For so many decades, opposable thumbs have been the darlings of evolutionary thinkers. Thumbs were extolled as evidence humans are adaptable and smarter than all other living things. Thumbs enable us to grab a Coke or twirl a corncob or twist a screwdriver. Thumbs are supposed to set us apart as superior, elite, exceptional. Thumbs, thumbs, thumbs!”
Beneath his thumbs waving in the air, he looked out beyond his mic at the crowd, confused and silent. The attendees of the annual conference for the Society of the Elbow were a quiet bunch. What a mistake. This keynote address might be the end of his keynoting career.
“Listen, the moment of the elbow has arrived. All these years, we’ve been waiting in the shadows doing menial tasks like serving as the power behind hammering nails or chopping wood or sweeping floors. We’ve acted as the silent arbiter of so many beer drinking binges. And the bruises we endured propping up the oh-so-dainty cocktail glasses filled with pink Cosmos. Oh, the snarls, jabbing our way through subway cars and clinging to the stand-up pole. And we won’t mention how long we’ve suffered as the unsung hero of so many ridiculous cornhole matches. Those days of suffering in silence are coming to an end.” His voice screeched out at an octave above its safe range.
“Alas, the time is now as never before. No longer are thumbs allowed to punch elevator buttons or lead the masterful grasp of a handshake. Gone, are the days that thumbs can outshine all other body parts as the studied and erudite. The thumb has ruled the world for too long. Truth be told, the thumb got cocky. The audacity to think they could launch a rocket ship with one upward reach or stop a car when stuck into the wind on the side of the road. Being attached to that galaxy-exploring hitchhiker did not make them more existential than the rest of us.
“In fact, the thumb has been hiding a terrible secret. It is dirty, filthy, nasty even. We always knew the thumb was no good, leaving prints on the front of refrigerators or silverware at dinner parties or on the candlestick in the library with Colonel Mustard. And now, lifting little squirmy germs and handing them off to the next guy, the mastermind of an epidemic. This lurking, evil doer can hide no more!
“Truth is, we all knew the thumb’s days were numbered when the Orange Man arrived, sporting his thumbs in the air with such arrogance, flashing his ignorance with such impunity, trying to convince the masses of his winning status. The way those tiny thumbs wiggled in the air atop the triangle-shaped steeple when feigning that faux-confident power stance—bizarre. Oh, and the lies those thumbs thumped out and flittered into the twitter-sphere. We’d almost feel sorry for those thumbs if we weren’t so appalled. Yes, if anyone has ushered in the quick demise of the thumb, it would be the Angry Cheeto. Such sad little thumbs.” The chuckles from the crowd grew.
“Yes, the elbow. Ridiculed for so long with monikers like the funny bone or elbow grease, scorned by tennis elbow and elbow turns. We’ve been called crooked and bent and hyper-extended. We’ll take it no more! The elbow now leads the world as the harbinger of friendliness, a replacement for that handshake. Holding doors, hitting the walk-sign button, hugging bottles of anti-bacterial. Watch out, there’s a new Sheriff in town and he’s got a point!
“Lest you fear that our new-found dominance will lead to haughtiness, you must consider our softer side, our humble side. How we can hold a baby’s head just right or prop beneath a lover’s pillow at night. Likewise, we have long relished our place in history supporting the thoughts of Rodin’s Thinker or holding up John Jr.’s salute or pumping out a Tiger Woods’ win on the 18th hole. Heck, where would Wonder Woman be without us, by golly?
“Historians may look back on this happy arrival with suspicion, saying it was all just a conspiracy or a hoax. But the truth is, the elbow has always been more powerful, more cunning than the lowly thumb. I mean, I ask you: what would a noogie be without the brawny grasp of the elbow?!
“So, be gone digit! The elbow as arrived.”
The room erupted in applause as the gathered elbows extended into the air, reaching forth their applause. They cheered, yelled even. Mr. Condyle bowed, bending before his fans. The curtain closed, but the elbow, in fact, had arrived. The year 2020 was their year. The sole beneficiaries of this catastrophic year that was.
Denise Roosendaal
Denise Roosendaal received a Master of Arts in Writing degree in 2015 from Johns Hopkins University and has attended a variety of writing conferences, including those at Wesleyan University, Yale University, and Vermont College of Fine Arts. She has authored a number of short stories and flash fiction pieces. The first chapter of her novel, BAREFOOT OVER BROKEN GLASS, was recognized as a semi-finalist in the University of Arizona Book Festival contest 2020. The novel was also a finalist in the Hal Bernard Memorial Award from the Southeastern Writers Association 2020. She resides in Manassas, Virginia, with her husband, Pete, and a twenty-year old cat named Sheba.