Filtered by G.K. Lamb Page B

back, and I’m not going to have my family choke and die because some penny-pinching custodian won’t inspect the building again!” Her frantic tone morphs into a steely resonance. “If you don’t ensure the safety of MY apartment, then I’ll be forced to call the authorities. For all I know, YOU could be a subversive attempting to murder every man, woman, and child in this building.”
    “What? Hold on a minute, there is no need for any of that. I’ve already inspected everything. All of the building’s safety certificates are up-to-date. Besides, who’s going to pay for all that? You? Do you even know how much a backup air purifying system for a building this size costs?”
    “For a moment I thought you would see reason, but I’m convinced now that you are a subversive. I’m calling in Peace Officers.”
    Mother moves toward the phone—the phone in the kitchen. She won’t be happy if she finds me in here without my mask on. Even if I wanted to put my mask on, which I most assuredly do not, there’s no time. Bracing for her arrival, I’m saved. Mr. Standish jumps in front of Mother. Placing a trembling hand on her shoulder, he speaks through quivering lips.
    “I’ll do it, I’ll do it all. Every crack, every crevice. The second redundant system is going to take a week or more to install, but I’ll have my people get started on it right away. Just please, don’t call them.”
    Mr. Standish sighs, defeated, then makes for the open door. His face looks weary with a hint of fear in his eyes. Mother’s face remains emotionless, veiled behind her mask. He passes the kitchen without noticing me then closes the door gently behind him. Holding my mask in my hands, I look into the two small glass circles and see my eyes reflected back. I see his fear in my own eyes. I unwillingly stand up from my crouch, ready to face Mother without my mask.
    “What are you doing? Get your mask on! Quickly, before something happens.”
    “You heard Mr. Standish, Mother, nothing’s going to happen. He already checked it.”
    “How much of that did you hear? Can’t you tell how worried I am, and you still want to side with that man over your own Mother? I love you, Evelyn. That’s why I want you to wear your mask. I don’t want you to die.”
    Mother begins to sob. Grief clouds her eyes.
    “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
    “Nothing to worry about? Children are dying in their classrooms. Do you think that’s nothing? You are too young, thank the Caretakers, so you don’t know how much there really is to worry about out there. I know I let you do what you want, but not today, not this time. You will wear your mask from now on! Period! End of discussion! I’m not going to lose my child! Put on your mask and go to your room!”
    “But…”
    “Now!”
    I’ve never heard Mother scream with such fury in all my life. Muffled as it was by her mask, it lost none of its power. My fingers dance over my mask’s straps, electrified by the intensity of her voice. Fumbling, I get the straps loose then slip it back over my face. In my haste to tighten it down, I get some of my hair caught in the straps and it pulls out painfully. I keep my pain inside.
    I take my backpack off and hold it in one hand while opening my bedroom door with the other. Closing the door in one instant and tossing my backpack across the room in the next, the tension and weight of the day wash over me full force. I flop ungracefully onto the bed, listening to the heavy rasps of my stress venting through my mask. The day boils in my mind. Did those students really die? They couldn’t have, Delia didn’t. But how is Delia now? How is Victoriana? Do they know it was me? Why was Mr. Standish so afraid of having the Peace Officers called? Why is Mother so afraid of subversives? Why is she demanding things of me now, when she never has before? Will she fight with Father again tonight? Too many questions,