The Days and Months We Were First Born- the Unraveling (3 page)

The man pulled a small pistol from under his shirt, but before he could get a goo
d aim, the soldiers opened fire.
The man took a shot to each side of his chest. The gun flew from his hand. He did a half-turn as if trying to run, but instead, he crumpled to the ground. Everyone in the line scattered, the Southerner and I included. Panicked people screeched like wild monkeys. Kids began to cry. It was hell on top of hell.

Two soldiers stepped in and dragged the dead man away by his feet. The other soldiers had us surrounded. Our exit thr
ough the courtyard was blocked.

Quickly, the soldiers corralled us back in line as if we were livestock
.
After a few minutes, we were all in the same place as before.

The NHC workers were still flushed. Their cheeks were red, their eyes were wide, and the breathalyzers shook violently in their hands. But they had gathered enough of their composure to continue. The one on the left adjusted his mask with his free hand. Once the mask was in place, he took three deep breaths, he stood upright, then he calmly called, “Next.”

The Last Trip Home

I was lucky,
blessed, whichever you like to call it. My result came up green. I was immune.

After the test, I returned to Julie’s apartment.
And as I made the short trip back, I couldn’t stop shaking.
I had never seen a dead person before other than at a funeral. So to see some poor bastard gunned down like that, even if he had it coming, well, it was just…damn.

Julie had moved from the living
room floor. When I entered the bedroom, she was lying in the bed with a hollow expression on her face. I stood at the door and asked if she wanted to go and get tested. I told her that I would come with her.

She looked at me. Her eyes came to life. She gave me a stare that said:
No, you asshole.
Then her gaze emptied once more.

That was the last time Julie paid me any attention. From then on, she stayed in bed and watched television in silence.
She didn’t pay
attention to anything on the screen. Likely, it was just something for her to see. She only left that bed for two reasons: to go to the bathroom, or to get something to eat and drink from the kitchen.

My time that night was split between trying to call my family and watching the news.

I couldn’t reach anyone on Julie’s phone or my PCD. There was only a buzz
for every number.
A buzz for my parents, a buzz for my brother, a buzz for all my sisters, a buzz for my cousin, Bruce, in Toronto; for everyone I called, there was only a buzz, buzz, fucking
buzz
!

The news was more fruitful.
It
explained the nature of the virus and confirmed what the doomed Southerner had told me (He wasn’t immune, and the vanishing of his chipper attitude was drastic. He burst into a fit of tears and ran away before I could say a word to him.). The news explained how the virus had spread worldwide. Correspondents were swamped on every continent, either conducting interviews or giving eyewitness accounts. The news explained that if one was immune, one didn’t have to wear the mask. And people were stranded unless they walked, biked, or had their own vehicle. Public transportation
was done for.

I slept on the couch that night. I tried sleeping with Julie, but it was way too strange. Around 11pm
,
I had cut the television off. And in response, Julie walked to the wall and pressed the button to cut it back on—when she could have commanded it on with her voice. Then she returned to bed and resumed her blank stare.

I grabbed my pillow and left without saying a word.

On the couch, I made up my mind. I was going to my parents. They were the only members of my family close enough. Usually
,
I would take the commuter train, but that obviously wasn’t an option. I thought of how to get to Long Island and a host of other things while lying in the dark. I might have gotten two hours of sleep.

***

In the morning
,
I pleaded with Julie to come with me. I told her it would be best if we were around others, and tried to convince her that we shouldn’t be apart. But talking to my girlfriend at that point was
useless. I might as well have been talking to the air.

After an hour of useless lobbying, I made a sandwich-sign; packed a book bag full of clothes, toiletries, and food; promised Julie I’d
return;
and I left.

I was pissed as I exited the building. I shoved the front door open, and it nearly knocked me out cold when it swung back in place—my hands caught it just in time.
I stormed
down First
Avenue, muttering
curse words and other nonsense aloud.
We all handle grief differently, but I felt
that
Julie had no right to shut down the way she did.

***

My sandwich-sign read:

HEADED TO SOUTHAMPTON TO BE WITH DYING PARENTS!

I made it from some of Julie’s art material. It was a poster board for my front side, another one for my back side; and both were scribbled with permanent marker and held together with duct tape.

I made as far as Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn before anyone had cared to stop. By that point, I had been on the move for five hours. I was agitated, sweaty, and numb with dejection. I must have looked as haggard as I felt. As haggard as that Christian fanatic from the day before.

A horn blew to grab my attention. I turned, and it was a navy blue Mercedes. A tinted window rolled down and a cloud of smoke escaped.
Then the voice of a female asked,
“
You n
eed a ride?”

***

“She wouldn’t say anything?” asked Eliza Goldberg.

“No,” I said. “Julie looked at me once and that was it. Everything else was a void. Gone. I don’t know what to do. At least she’s not shitting on herself. Thank goodness for that, but still…”

Richard, Eliza’s husband, burst into laughter. Loud and inappropriate laughter. He let go of the steering wheel and we swerved onto the right
shoulder.
But the sound of tire hitting sandstone snapped
him
back to
focus.

“
How long are you going to stay at your parents before you go back for her?” Eliza said. She took a pull from her Marcee
cigarette.
The inside of the car was a fog. I could barely see her or anything else.

“I don’t know…a day or two,” I said. “If she’s still in that damn stupor of hers, I’ll see if I can drag her by force.”

“Well, hopefully, she will be alright by the time you get to her,” Richard said. He had grabbed another pre-rolled joint from the silver case on the dashboard. He held the joint in his right hand. “Having my wife with me is the only thing that makes this bearable. This is not a time to be alone.”

“I tried,” I said.

“Well, whatever you do with yourself, Martin, make sure not to take your life for granted,” Eliza said, while lighting the joint for her husband. “Richard and I were so busy at our boutique. We always believed we’d have time for a family. And now look. We won’t live to see thirty-five.”

Richard passed me the joint. I took it, pulled a long drag, and held it in my lungs for a few seconds. I exhaled, and the only thing I could see was a gray-white cloud. Richard had his window cracked, but I had no idea how he could see to drive.

“I know I should be upset, but I don’t feel angry. I don’t feel angry at all,” Richard said, while taking the joint back from me. “If anything, it’s all put in perspective now. God is wiping most of us out, but it is all part of a bigger plan.”

“But the virus is man-made,” I
said.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Richard countered. “And even if so, it’s God’s will that it was carried out. No one could carry out such a thing as this without His will.”

My head slumped on the leather seat. My mind was swimming. I was lost. Lost in the gentle swaying of the Mercedes, lost in Richard’s powerful statement, lost in the toxic atmosphere, and lost in the high that made the toxic atmosphere tolerable.

“I enjoyed my life,” Eliza said. “I enjoyed living on this
Earth
, and most of all, I enjoyed my husband. I thank God for him every day. And I’ll thank God for him every day we have left.”

I couldn’t see Richard’s face, but he certainly must have been beaming. I felt a vague sense of jealousy and admiration for him.

Every now and then, I’d look outside, and I had to cup my hands between the window and my face to see. We were on Highway 27, headed east, and we were in one of the few vehicles traveling in-island—everyone else was heading toward the city and mainland. Among them were a few hitchhikers and bicyclists. They were traveling with whatever possessions they could carry.
And they reminded me of the street messengers I used to see in the city.

An assortment of government vehicles were on patrol, keeping things in order. There were green military
Humvees,
Nassau County police cruisers, NYPD police cruisers out of jurisdiction, and many more.
For a second, I was paranoid
because of the marijuana, then common sense prevailed:
No one gives a shit about drugs
right now!

Overhead, there were news copters and private aircraft. The news copters were hovering in place; the private aircraft were flying one way or the
other.

***

We arrived in Southampton around 6pm. Richard pulled the Mercedes to the side of the road and we all got out, right where Montauk Highway turned into Hill Street. As we stood in front of the car, I gave the Goldbergs my thanks and wished them the best. They asked if I was sure I didn’t want a ride the rest of the way. I told them, no thank you, and that they had been troubled enough.

They both took turns giving me a hug—we were
all
saturated with the smell of smoke—and Richard told me to keep with God. I told him that I’d do my best, and that I’d keep them in my memories and prayers.

As I walked down Hill Street, the couple held each other and watched. They watched me as if I was the child they would never have. It was sad and unnerving. I turned, gave them one last wave, and then made a right on Captains Neck
Lane.

***

The little shops and food stands along Dune Road were closed, but other than that, things were normal. There wasn’t a policeman or a soldier in sight, and a few locals were out for the afternoon.

One man, in a white T-shirt and jean shorts, was walking his Collie along the beach. The dog made a break for a seagull that was close, but the owner held her back with an effortless tug of the leash. I tried to gauge the man’s mood, but couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His face was
vacant
as he and his dog strolled by.

F
arther
along, an old couple was jogging in the opposite direction. They both had on matching, navy-blue sweat suits on a blazing hot day. Both were drenched in their own perspiration and both looked ridiculous. As we passed, the two flashed me cordial smiles.

There also was a sandy haired lady; she was well into her thirties. She was dressed in overalls, and she was washing her gold-colored, drop-top convertible in her driveway. The car glistened in the sunlight, and there was a rainbow in the water spray from the hose. And the woman had a content
ed
smile on her face

That walk and everything along it was a complete
contrast to the barely contained hell of the city.

***

After half an hour, I spotted Mr. Kingston, my parents’ neighbor, in his front yard. He was standing on a stepladder, clipping his bushes. I approached him, happy to see the first familiar face.

“Mr. Kingston!” I said.

He stopped trimming and turned toward me. He shaded his eyes with his left hand. The afternoon sun was a bastard.

“Martin,” he said. “It’s good to see you, young man.”

“It’s good to see you too, sir.”

Mr. Kingston stepped down from the ladder and came to stand in front of me. I took a good look at him. He was old, older than my father
who was sixty-seven.
His skin was damn near orange in hue, wrinkled, and covered with liver spots. However, his face was friendly, and he
oozed
earnestness. He was wearing a soaked, white linen shirt, with khaki shorts and dark leather sandals, and he had on a wide straw hat. He flashed me a bright, dentured smile.

“Have you seen my parents, Mr. Kingston?” I said.

“I saw them yesterday. We were at the clinic together. You must know their status by now. I’m sorry for your
eventual
loss, young man,” he said.

He lowered his gaze and exhaled dramatically.

“Thank you, Mr. Kingston,” I said. “Are you…”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll be joining my wife soon, and I am counting the days. The only thing left for me to do is keep my place tidy and enjoy the beach.” He tilted his head and paused for a moment. “I felt my wife and I were cursed because we couldn’t have children. But now, I believe we were the lucky ones.” His lips quivered as he finished. 

I was at a loss for words. What could I possibly say to a man who
is
waiting for the end?

His wife had died
a couple of years before.
She had been in a car accident while leaving Shelter Island. Mr. Kingston was devastated, and my parents took it upon themselves to help him through. They invited him to dinner every evening for over three months. Then one day, Mr. Kingston declined, and never came to dine with my parents again. He might have talked to my father occasionally if they met on the beach or in their yards, but that was it
.

“What about you, Martin?”

“I’m immune, sir.”

I said it as if I were guilty of something. Couldn’t help it.

“Praise God,” he responded, and I gave him a perplexed look. To my knowledge, Mr. Kingston had been a devout Atheist. “You have been given a gift, young man. I hope you plan to do good things with it. Make sure your life means something.”