Authors: Kevin L Murdock
The pool house was ahead as we walked down the gully. His smile and sense of self-worth hadn’t diminished a bit. The gawks made me feel like I was a date of a celebrity walking the red carpet for the first time. I didn’t know what to expect, but at least a sense of pride boosted with confidence filled my chest. Tom was probably feeling emotions he hadn’t experienced since he had scored a winning touchdown or stood on the fifty-yard line with the runner-up, expecting to win. Samantha had perpetrated afflictions on my family, and I couldn’t forget that. At least I could have some good info in a few ways to bring into the meeting. It was with this sense of optimism that we entered.
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As we neared the pool house, I observed nothing had been done with the pool. The old green winter cover was still in place. The diving board was still removed. It was doubtful it would ever see the light of day again. People were ahead of us entering and a few trickling in behind us. Most who had seen the lawnmower were quick to gawk and then run to spread the news. A newspaper or source of public gossip had been absent, and they were fast to fill the void. It was still cold outside and everyone was dressed for winter. Tom was saying nothing, but smiling like he had a winning lotto ticket in his pocket. Mentally I kept flashing forward and backward while reviewing my busy morning. We’d seen a plane. Yay. We’d found a lifetime of coal. Yay. We’d figured out how to start at least some mechanical power. Yay. We’d found coal, which could be contested by other communities for possession. Boo. Hank had passed away. Boo, even though I hadn’t known him. Slav and their contingent had threatened my family. Boo. I used to bounce on a see-saw as I was growing up. I reflected undecidedly for a moment if I was up high about to fall or low and ready to spring. Unsure, I entered the pool house, ready to react to either scenario.
Tom stayed outside to finish his beer and flagged me forward to go ahead. He either wanted to enter solo to a hero’s welcome or else he just really wanted to finish his beer. With Tom, the latter was more probable. An individual had just gone in before me, and the door closed just out of reach as I grabbed for it and missed. With the briefest of pauses, I looked around me. A small group was outside smoking and Tom was behind me gulping what was left in the red-and-blue can. At least he was honest and consistent in his shortcomings. Even as the fabric of civilization had developed a giant tear, smokers were still accustomed to standing outside in the cold and puffing rapidly to finish and return to the warm environment in order to carry on with their day.
Cigarettes were cheap and plenty,
I thought, but then again so were canned beers not long ago. Oh well, Americas first cash crop was tobacco. At least it was an honest sin where someone faced it legally several times a day unlike other narcotics that forced people into denial and other deceitful acts. Anyone who had made the health transition to the electronic cigarettes would soon be puffing the real thing again.
The hall was full, but not like it was a couple of days before. It immediately struck me that people were missing or not present. Instead of feeling like being on the Tokyo subway at rush hour, I now felt like I was in an old college fraternal gathering in the early morning hours past midnight. It was full, and one had to be mindful while respectful of others around them, but it wasn’t anything like before. Had they left? Were they still coming? The thoughts crossed my mind but only briefly. As soon as I crossed the plane of the door, it was as though I had stepped through to Hades’ personal man cave. The entire neighborhood had changed in two days. It was hard to discern at first, but noticeable. Not in the way a person gets a haircut and looks vastly different the next day. It was a subtle change, but one a keen eye could detect. A demoralized and distraught fear permeated the air.
To begin, eyes were looking down when I entered and heads slowly perked up and peeked at me before returning back down. A defeatist attitude had become contagious. Whether caused by famine or the threat of it, the society I was raising my kids in had degenerated into something like a serfdom congregating before its lords for an annual directional meeting. Immediately I wondered if I wasn’t overfeeding myself or my family. We were somewhat rationing, not eating anywhere near the normal portions we had been previously. I had probably lost a pound or two with all the walking. Samantha had probably discussed rationing more in depth with the rest of the community as she made her rounds. If they weren’t in it by compulsion, they were willing volunteers early. I figured this was probably why everyone was quiet and present in body, if not in mind. It didn’t bode well for what was coming.
My eyes panned the hall left to right as I entered. It was bright outside, but the color of everyone seemed somehow impossibly darker than it had previously been. Their mood was influencing their appearance. As I searched around for someone I knew or trusted, I made eye contact with Roald. He was off to the side near the front of the hall and immediately gave a big smile when he saw me. He tapped his husband Rick on the shoulder to get his attention, and they both waved to me, gesturing for me to come over to where they were. As I crossed the hall, I was confirmed in my first impression of the attendance. There were still a lot of people present, but it was noticeably less crowded than it was the last time.
I was walking over to Rick and gently put my right hand on a black man’s shoulder in front of me to politely ask him to move so that I could get through a crowded spot. As I reached for his shoulder, I froze. My hand was visibly shaking as a geriatric person’s might. For a brief moment, I realized that this morning had almost shattered my nerves, and it was now catching up to me. The fatigue and stress was having weird effects on my body.
Put it aside,
I told myself and then reached again while making contact. As he turned, it was a familiar face that I was happy to see.
“Hey, Nana,” I said mustering all the cheerfulness I could collect. I hadn’t seen him since the previous day when we were on guard duty. “How’s it going?” Probably our oldest and most used greeting, especially when we can’t think of anything else to say.
He gave me a small smile to acknowledge my friendliness, but then his face turned serious. “Not good, my friend. I have food for a few days is all. I skipped breakfast this morning and feel tired now. I’m going to only eat once a day going forward. I hope they have some good news for us today.”
“As do I,” I said in total agreement. I didn’t trust our HOA any further than I could throw them, and after this morning, I didn’t even want to see them. Still, what would be said here would impact all of us, and I’ve never been one to let my opinion drift quietly off into the netherworld. My gut told me I would face an uphill battle today, but it was a stand I would have to make for Stacy and the kids. “Get any word of the agenda?”
He shook his head and was on a level playing field with myself. His bright white teeth then came out as he gave one of his characteristic large grins. “Did you hear about the airplane?”
His smile was infectious, and I returned it back at him. “Yeah, I actually saw it. It was an old World War 1 era plane. It buzzed right on by our neighborhood as it headed south, probably to the White House area.”
“This is a good sign, Josh. Maybe the government has figured out how to start restoring power to things. Maybe they can air drop food or supplies to us.” Poor Nana was exhibiting all the signs of delusional optimism that a person in distress always experiences.
For a moment, I grinded my teeth with a closed mouth. Delivering bad news was never fun, for this was almost as bad as terminating an employee at work. I didn’t want to crush his newfound hopes, but he needed to understand where he was in relation to reality. “I don’t think so, Nana. It was a tiny plane. Maybe it could carry a sack of mail like they used to, but it would be worthless for supplies. Tom and I managed to get a lawnmower started a few minutes ago. Electrical wires are still fried on everything. Some motors that start by hand or crank can be fired up. That’s what we were seeing with that plane. We don’t even know if that was a government person or just some local who got adventurous at the local airport and got lucky. For now at least, we can’t expect or count on anything from the government. We’re on our own, buddy.”
He had started intently at my eyes as I told him, and now he looked down at his shoes. Even in a deranged world, Nana showed his flare of fashion and was wearing a pair of loafers that probably cost him a week’s pay. Slowly he looked up at me again and then continued up to see the ceiling. A quick nod of the head acknowledged what I had just said, and he reached forward and gave my shoulder a brotherly squeeze. If he was out of words, he at least showed me that we were still on the same team, and we were going to need to come up with and execute a game plan. I gave a small squeeze back and then continued walking over to my new friends Rick and Roald.
As I approached them, Rick took a step forward and gave me a large hug. It was most unexpected, but he may have still been sobbing over the loss of Hank this morning. I don’t think any of us knew Hank, but walking in on a dead person was never an easy thing. His squeeze said it all and I returned it back. He was looking for consolation, and I was surprisingly happy to receive some. Outwardly tough, he at least could let out his feelings in my presence. Roald wrapped his arms around us both. I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered being in football huddles like this when I was a boy. This was no huddle, though we were a team, and I felt like I might need to be the quarterback and move us along.
As we disengaged from a group love feast, Rick wiped a tear away from his husband’s face and gave him a smell peck on the cheek. My views on gay marriage had changed over the years. While I was brought up to believe two men couldn’t love each other, I could see clear as day that these men were committed and loved each other. The meeting would soon start, and I turned my gaze toward the front. Jean Pierre was seated at a table with a couple of folders filled with papers. He also had a yellow notepad out with lots of writing scribbled around it. Samantha stood behind him and was looking over his shoulder as they reviewed what was on the yellow paper and talked amongst themselves. I didn’t see Slav or Miller. Perhaps they knew to stay away from me now.
Tom still hadn’t entered. I was hoping he would at least get this meeting off to a positive start and give it some momentum in a good direction. He was probably getting drunk and chatting with the smokers outside about some offhand topic. Puba was in her usual spot, in the corner, with Zeke close at hand. Perhaps she was being a motherly influence on him, or they had something developing on the side. Odd, I reflected, but not worth dwelling about.
Mohammad was across the forum with Chumi. He had gone home and cleaned up from this morning and looked presentable again. Upon close inspection, her baby bump was just beginning to show on her petite frame. She was rubbing his shoulder and standing next to him as he had collected one of the chairs from the front and was seated, resting. I probably needed some rest too and could feel my legs barely holding me, but I would rough it out just a bit longer. It would be wrong of me to go home and not play with the kids but sleep and rest were my top priorities after we adjourn.
THUMP THUMP THUMP
echoed throughout the hall. All the chattering in low voices that was akin to a white noise came to a sudden silence. By the third knock of the hammer on the desk, the sound reverberated and almost turned itself into a fourth thump.
Jean Pierre stood from his chair and announced in a loud French accent, “We shall start in two minutes, ladies and gentlemen.”
Instantly the chatter began again and snippets of gossip could be overheard. “Food,” was a word that carried and could be heard several times from several conversations. “Dead body,” was another one that briefly grabbed my attention. “Gangs,” jolted me in a different direction. Like a soft drink that was just shaken violently and opened, everyone’s emotions were bubbling out. Rick and Roald were next to me, discussing this morning’s events, but my attention was sporadically spread thin. The vibe, collectively, was a general fear, but a new face caught my attention.
A man I didn’t recognize was standing tall in front of Wenda Alvarez. He was a middle-aged white man with slicked back, gelled, black hair that was clean cut and had dressed up in a suit for this occasion. A few people were formally dressed again today, so that wasn’t what jumped out at me. The intensity in his eyes burned as he kept talking over whatever Wenda said while repeatedly touching the bible he held in his hand. It looked as though he was giving her a sermon, and she couldn’t get a word in. Wenda was shaking her head, indicating she didn’t agree with this man.
The previous minutes, I was a fly on the wall, soaking up the atmosphere in the room. The exchange that Wenda Alvarez was having with this man now was starting to draw stares from others besides me. Their voices were still muted, but an intensity was present in what was being said. Finally Wenda took a step back, shaking her head, and the man became angry. Suddenly he was aware that he was an object of attention for everyone, even Samantha Levin and Jean Pierre. As if he had flicked a switch, his face turned from having an angered callousness to that of a Holy Spirit-infused peaceful disciple of the lord.