people I don’t know all that well. It’s only my true friends and family that get the snappish redheaded side of me. True to form, I was still using my nice voice.
Tucker didn’t leave. He looked past me out the door to the street.
“Damn it, listen to me!” I swatted his arm. “Go back.” Some angry little piece of me added, “If you’re doing this to impress Meri, don’t bother. She has a boyfriend.” As soon as I said it, I felt bad.
Tucker nodded slowly. “That may be, but you aren’t going out by yourself as long as I can help it. I don’t particularly care if you sit down now and have a tantrum, in fact, it’d give me an excuse to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back upstairs. But if you’re going, I’m going. I won’t bother you, and if you prefer, I’ll stay back a bit, so you aren’t embarrassed to be seen with me.” By the end of that statement there was a definite edge to his voice.
Now I felt completely guilty. I sighed, not knowing what to say to make this go away. I finally mumbled, “Fine,” in a tired voice and pushed open the door, heading out for the first time since all this crap hit the fan.
The streets were nearly deserted. Many of the storefronts had broken windows, so there must have been looting or violence here. I thought about asking Tucker, but he still seemed annoyed, so I decided to ask later. There was a large pileup of cars at the corner of our street and Vine, which was a relatively busy intersection. The cars hadn’t been towed or moved; it seemed as if the drivers had just abandoned the vehicles. I suppose people saw the cars and just knew to take a different street, not that I saw many cars moving anyway.
I was a block away when I saw my first “official.” This was an Army Jeep at the corner where the little grocery store stood. I hadn’t realized that we had Army here as well as National Guard. I saw several people near the Jeep, at the little table that had been set up. There was a black banner waving near the table, and as I walked closer, I realized what was happening. This was one of the places where you told the Army or National Guard where to come and pick up the dead. I looked at all the people with their blank faces. Dear God, were that many people still dying? I’d thought the deaths were just at first, but even as I stood there looking, I saw more and more people coming down along different streets and heading to the table to report the deaths of their loved ones. I wondered what happened to the bodies—did they bury them all? I felt a shiver run down my spine and thought about movies I’d seen of mass burials in Nazi Germany—bodies bumping over one another.
Swallowing back the urge to vomit, I headed away from the death table and into the grocery store. I walked about, as shocked by the reduced produce and meats as I was by everything else. Weren’t we getting supplies? Would we run out of food? No. I had to believe that soon this whole thing would right itself. Soon things would get back to normal.
I saw Sarah Richardson at the checkout counter, and hugged her like an old friend, even though we’d never been close. She asked me a question I suddenly realized must be what everyone was asking each other as they met along the quiet streets or at the death table: How many have you lost ? How many. Not who. The stakes were too high now for “who” and it was sufficient to just name a number. I thought of Eddy, and my parents, and Mrs. Frisch downstairs. Finally I said woodenly, “One.” I knew it was expected, so I said, “What about you?”
Sarah nodded and said, “Both my parents and my little brother. My little sister is sick but getting better, I think. And I didn’t even get the sniffles.” She looked a little angry as she said this. Survivor guilt.
I paid her and left, leaving her to the next customer. As I exited the store, Tucker took the sack from me, and I walked quickly until I was about halfway home. As soon as
Tucker didn’t leave. He looked past me out the door to the street.
“Damn it, listen to me!” I swatted his arm. “Go back.” Some angry little piece of me added, “If you’re doing this to impress Meri, don’t bother. She has a boyfriend.” As soon as I said it, I felt bad.
Tucker nodded slowly. “That may be, but you aren’t going out by yourself as long as I can help it. I don’t particularly care if you sit down now and have a tantrum, in fact, it’d give me an excuse to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back upstairs. But if you’re going, I’m going. I won’t bother you, and if you prefer, I’ll stay back a bit, so you aren’t embarrassed to be seen with me.” By the end of that statement there was a definite edge to his voice.
Now I felt completely guilty. I sighed, not knowing what to say to make this go away. I finally mumbled, “Fine,” in a tired voice and pushed open the door, heading out for the first time since all this crap hit the fan.
The streets were nearly deserted. Many of the storefronts had broken windows, so there must have been looting or violence here. I thought about asking Tucker, but he still seemed annoyed, so I decided to ask later. There was a large pileup of cars at the corner of our street and Vine, which was a relatively busy intersection. The cars hadn’t been towed or moved; it seemed as if the drivers had just abandoned the vehicles. I suppose people saw the cars and just knew to take a different street, not that I saw many cars moving anyway.
I was a block away when I saw my first “official.” This was an Army Jeep at the corner where the little grocery store stood. I hadn’t realized that we had Army here as well as National Guard. I saw several people near the Jeep, at the little table that had been set up. There was a black banner waving near the table, and as I walked closer, I realized what was happening. This was one of the places where you told the Army or National Guard where to come and pick up the dead. I looked at all the people with their blank faces. Dear God, were that many people still dying? I’d thought the deaths were just at first, but even as I stood there looking, I saw more and more people coming down along different streets and heading to the table to report the deaths of their loved ones. I wondered what happened to the bodies—did they bury them all? I felt a shiver run down my spine and thought about movies I’d seen of mass burials in Nazi Germany—bodies bumping over one another.
Swallowing back the urge to vomit, I headed away from the death table and into the grocery store. I walked about, as shocked by the reduced produce and meats as I was by everything else. Weren’t we getting supplies? Would we run out of food? No. I had to believe that soon this whole thing would right itself. Soon things would get back to normal.
I saw Sarah Richardson at the checkout counter, and hugged her like an old friend, even though we’d never been close. She asked me a question I suddenly realized must be what everyone was asking each other as they met along the quiet streets or at the death table: How many have you lost ? How many. Not who. The stakes were too high now for “who” and it was sufficient to just name a number. I thought of Eddy, and my parents, and Mrs. Frisch downstairs. Finally I said woodenly, “One.” I knew it was expected, so I said, “What about you?”
Sarah nodded and said, “Both my parents and my little brother. My little sister is sick but getting better, I think. And I didn’t even get the sniffles.” She looked a little angry as she said this. Survivor guilt.
I paid her and left, leaving her to the next customer. As I exited the store, Tucker took the sack from me, and I walked quickly until I was about halfway home. As soon as
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