at my son’s initiative, and even more so impressed at his teaching Simon Morse code. Of course all Simone sent out was ‘SSS’, but it was cute.
We awaited Burke’s arrival like he was a long lost relative. It was taking an exuberant amount of time. The last radio broadcast I received from Burke was a call of assurance that they were making progress. It had been three hours and I worried about Sam. Once again, he was at it. Once again he was outside. How much more would his body take? I reviewed the handbook I had purchased on how to survive a nuclear war, and researched the topic of radiation sickness. According to the book, for all intents and purposes, Sam should have already been sick. He wasn’t. Other than the cough, he exhibited no illness. Not even fatigue. I started to believe that it was his persistence to push on, and resistance to stop that halted anything from invading his body. By the grace of God, Sam was protected and was remarkably beating the odds.
I thought that Dan would have gone with Sam to help and speed things along. But Dan didn’t offer and Sam didn’t push. Both seemed rather content in having Dan stay in the shelter. Dan did have one thing in his favor. He had no problem eating the ‘disgusting’ shelter food everyone else wanted to avoid. Like the ‘Red Hot Pickled Sausages.’ Quaint little red things, wrapped in airtight packages. I bought them bulk because they were cheap, they were meat, and they had a shelf life of forever. Sour and gross tasting, Dan consumed them in a slow savoring manner as if they were a delicacy. He even chomped on dehydrated split pea soup as a snack.
Matty’s small daily dose of words were unexpectedly about Dan. She whispered to me that she didn’t like him. Dan overheard and felt compelled to try to convince my daughter he wasn’t all that bad. Simon listened intently, and kept trying to interject by saying, ‘But I like you, Dan. I like you.’
It amazed me, it did. A closed in area, extreme circumstances, apart from the occasional bouts of tension, we were doing extraordinarily well in the shelter. No doubt, things would soon take an interesting turn. Which direction that was—good, bad, smooth, rough—remained unclear. But it was certain, one way or another, things would change.
Burke was on his way.
It had taken just a minute or two under four hours and Burke transmitted he was coming. I knew it wouldn’t take long after the radio call, and I started to fill with not only anticipation, but anxiety as well. I never thought Burke wouldn’t survive, and be part of my little after-war plan. To me that wasn’t an option. However, the effects of Burke and I in the same shelter never had crossed my mind. We had a history of bickering, childlike, non-progressive. We had done so since we met. Burke was a brick wall in size and in mind. When there were bigger things to concern me, I worried about the petty stuff before he arrived. I shouldn’t have. The second Burke stepped into my basement; all of my worries went out the window. Even if it ended up being only for that brief reunion moment ... I was ecstatic to see Burke.
9. House Rules
“Cycle Three. Hourly Report. May thirteenth. If anyone is listening I have the radiation levels. Currently we are at 16 roentgens per hour. It is still advisable to remain indoors and below. Next report ... ”
“Craig.” Burke grabbed the microphone and approached the airwaves conversation in his typical gruff manner. “Every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ hour it’s advised to stay indoors. So, on the chance someone else is listening, why don’t you tell them what is a safe level to go out.”
“You did this to me last hour.” Craig replied.
“And you didn’t respond.”
“I know I didn’t respond.”
“Why?” Burke asked.
“Why should I?”
“Why not? I don’t think you know.”
“I know.”
“Then say.” Burke instigated.
“Fine.” Craig huffed, then rambled fast.
We awaited Burke’s arrival like he was a long lost relative. It was taking an exuberant amount of time. The last radio broadcast I received from Burke was a call of assurance that they were making progress. It had been three hours and I worried about Sam. Once again, he was at it. Once again he was outside. How much more would his body take? I reviewed the handbook I had purchased on how to survive a nuclear war, and researched the topic of radiation sickness. According to the book, for all intents and purposes, Sam should have already been sick. He wasn’t. Other than the cough, he exhibited no illness. Not even fatigue. I started to believe that it was his persistence to push on, and resistance to stop that halted anything from invading his body. By the grace of God, Sam was protected and was remarkably beating the odds.
I thought that Dan would have gone with Sam to help and speed things along. But Dan didn’t offer and Sam didn’t push. Both seemed rather content in having Dan stay in the shelter. Dan did have one thing in his favor. He had no problem eating the ‘disgusting’ shelter food everyone else wanted to avoid. Like the ‘Red Hot Pickled Sausages.’ Quaint little red things, wrapped in airtight packages. I bought them bulk because they were cheap, they were meat, and they had a shelf life of forever. Sour and gross tasting, Dan consumed them in a slow savoring manner as if they were a delicacy. He even chomped on dehydrated split pea soup as a snack.
Matty’s small daily dose of words were unexpectedly about Dan. She whispered to me that she didn’t like him. Dan overheard and felt compelled to try to convince my daughter he wasn’t all that bad. Simon listened intently, and kept trying to interject by saying, ‘But I like you, Dan. I like you.’
It amazed me, it did. A closed in area, extreme circumstances, apart from the occasional bouts of tension, we were doing extraordinarily well in the shelter. No doubt, things would soon take an interesting turn. Which direction that was—good, bad, smooth, rough—remained unclear. But it was certain, one way or another, things would change.
Burke was on his way.
It had taken just a minute or two under four hours and Burke transmitted he was coming. I knew it wouldn’t take long after the radio call, and I started to fill with not only anticipation, but anxiety as well. I never thought Burke wouldn’t survive, and be part of my little after-war plan. To me that wasn’t an option. However, the effects of Burke and I in the same shelter never had crossed my mind. We had a history of bickering, childlike, non-progressive. We had done so since we met. Burke was a brick wall in size and in mind. When there were bigger things to concern me, I worried about the petty stuff before he arrived. I shouldn’t have. The second Burke stepped into my basement; all of my worries went out the window. Even if it ended up being only for that brief reunion moment ... I was ecstatic to see Burke.
9. House Rules
“Cycle Three. Hourly Report. May thirteenth. If anyone is listening I have the radiation levels. Currently we are at 16 roentgens per hour. It is still advisable to remain indoors and below. Next report ... ”
“Craig.” Burke grabbed the microphone and approached the airwaves conversation in his typical gruff manner. “Every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ hour it’s advised to stay indoors. So, on the chance someone else is listening, why don’t you tell them what is a safe level to go out.”
“You did this to me last hour.” Craig replied.
“And you didn’t respond.”
“I know I didn’t respond.”
“Why?” Burke asked.
“Why should I?”
“Why not? I don’t think you know.”
“I know.”
“Then say.” Burke instigated.
“Fine.” Craig huffed, then rambled fast.
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