by SF Benson
Weed made Mark as chatty as a girl. I just wanted a little peace and quiet. I took another hit and passed it back. “Hell, yeah. Everything changed when he died.”
“Why’d you stay in Michigan? I thought you were from California.”
“First real chance I get, I’m leaving.” I’d been waiting for that moment for months. Mama Sibley said all I had to do was call her, but Grandpa and Grandma wouldn’t hear of it. So, I was biding my time, waiting for my grandparents to want me gone.
“Lucky you. You’ve got some place to escape to.” He bobbed his head along to the heavy metal blasting through the speakers.
We sat there, lost in the music, for a long time. A horn blaring brought me out of my stupor. Blue lights filled the car’s interior. I noticed the police cruiser in the side mirror. Sweat pooled in my armpits.
Mark turned to me. His bloodshot eyes mirrored my fear. Clumsily, he attempted to crush the still-lit joint against the dashboard. It fell to the floor.
“Run,” he hissed.
The car doors flew open. Mark ran in one direction. I attempted to run in the other, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. An officer, wrinkling his nose against the telltale smoke, grabbed my jacket collar. My head bounced on the hood of Shiloh’s car.
The officer yanked my arms behind me and slapped on the cuffs. Cold metal on my skin confirmed what I didn’t want to admit.
My ass was toast.
Officers photographed, fingerprinted, and placed Mark and me in a narrow room with concrete walls. Since we were minors, they kept us separated from the adult prisoners. A window embedded in the door didn’t allow a glimpse outside of the cell. We sat on stools bolted to the floor with our hands cuffed to a steel table.
A burly male officer sat in front of us asking questions. He pushed a pad of paper and pen toward us. “Write down contact info for your parents.”
Mark glanced at me and scribbled Griffin’s phone number on the pad.
“You too,” the officer said, looking at me.
“We’re cousins,” Mark said. “My brother’s an adult. He’ll come for us.”
An hour later, we were free on bail.
Well, I thought I was free.
My assumption lasted two days. I was thankful Ruby didn’t press charges. She told officers that technically the car belonged to me, but she was keeping it until I was old enough to drive it. If she hadn’t stood up for us, Mark and I would be in juvie.
None of that mattered on the third day.
A very angry Grandpa greeted me after school. He nearly knocked the door off its hinges when he came into my bedroom, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. It was a written complaint and summons from the Taylor police department.
“What the hell did you do, boy?”
I calmly removed my headset and turned off the music. He crossed the room and confiscated my phone. My movements must have been too slow for the man.
“You do realize that’s my property?” I yelled.
Arrogance was the wrong tact in this situation. Grandpa lifted me off my bed and deposited me on the floor. My butt hit the ground with a thud.
“Don’t you dare move or say one word to me, you little shit.” He yanked the pillowcase off my pillow and started gathering up my stuff—remote to the television, my PlayStation, my laptop.
“Hey, I need that for school,” I bellowed.
“Not with the grades you’ve been getting.”
“What’s all the yelling for?” Grandma appeared in the doorway.
Grandpa shoved the summons at her. She read it and shook her head. He added my phone to the pillowcase and said, “You’re grounded. No afterschool activities. You’ll do all your homework with one of us by your side. Once it’s done, we’ll take the laptop back.”
“And, like, how long this time?” Punishment was as familiar to me as breathing—just something I had to endure.
“Try a month, smart ass.”
Grandpa left the room, and Grandma shot me a look of disappointment.
But restrictions didn’t stop me. If anything, I became more defiant. To bypass Grandpa’s punishment, I cut classes. Mark and I became regular delinquents committing petty thefts—stealing snacks and even lifting a wallet or two—all over town. Needless to say, I spent so much time getting bent I didn’t notice what was happening until Ruby stopped coming by.
One afternoon, I had a bad case of the munchies. I was busy raiding the kitchen cabinets and didn’t hear Grandma enter the room.
“Asher?”
“Yeah?” I said over my shoulder, stuffing potato chips in my mouth.
“We need to talk,” she said quietly.
“Go ahead.”
“Boy, sit down,” she yelled. Grandma rarely raised her voice.
I trudged over to a chair. “What is it?”
“You heard about the sickness going around?”
“Yeah. I’m good, though. Healthy as a horse.” My mind was on the bag of chocolate chip cookies I spotted.
She shook her head. “It’s not about you. It’s the Millers. The whole family is sick.”
Shit.
For the first time in a couple of months, I thought about Cindy. Thanks to weed and alcohol, I’d tucked away my memories of her. It helped with the heartache, but hearing about the Millers brought back the pain.
What about the babies?
I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Shiloh and Becky. “Everyone?”
“Yes. It took a week before they all came down with it. Ruby called. The kids got sick earlier today.”
I put the bag of chips down. “They went to the hospital, right?”
“Authorities say there aren’t any available beds. You’ve spent so much time with your head in the clouds you have no idea what’s going on. Hazmat teams go through neighborhoods. Anyone identified as sick has a red check mark spray painted on their door and they’re quarantined.”
My grandmother reached into her dress pocket and removed a couple of envelopes. She pushed them across the table. “One of these came for you today. The other one was shoved under our door.”
One was from Mama Sibley and the other one from Cindy. My heart thudded against my chest as I snatched up the letters, and ran to my room.
My hands shook as I opened Cindy’s letter.
Hi Asher,
I hope you’re still healthy. My whole family came down with this crap. Once we’re well, I’m going to speak to my parents about us. It was really unfair of Ruby to separate us. Everyone makes mistakes. Why should we be penalized?
I really miss you, Ash. Not a day goes by I don’t think of you. I miss us together.
I’ll call you as soon as I’m better.
Love Always,
Your Cindy
I clutched the letter tight and prayed, something rare for me. It wasn’t a belief issue. I wasn’t a fan of going to a building to pray to this grand, benevolent being who made sure we took our next breath and meted out justice as needed. Besides, after losing my family, I wasn’t a hundred percent certain God existed. If He did, Cindy and her family wouldn’t be sick. No one would be sick. But if there was a chance God did exist, I needed His help to save Cindy and her family. I couldn’t take losing anyone else in my life.
I agreed with her regarding our punishment. It was too harsh for a couple of kids who made a mistake. Ruby took care of the pregnancy. We said we would be careful next time. With all the turmoil in the world, Cindy and I needed each other.
I contemplated reading Mama Sibley’s letter later, but something nagged at me. What if she was sick, too?
Hello Asher,
I wanted you to know Steve and I are doing well. The virus hasn’t reached our neck of the woods. We know the outlook isn’t good in your area. It’s odd how the virus hits hard in the places the fighting is the strongest.
Once this thing clears up, Steve and I want you to come to Los Alamos. Stay as long as you want. Give me a call, please.
I love you!
> Sibley
Apparently, things had become horrid in my world, but I wasn’t ready to deal with any of it.
I called Mark instead of my grandmother.
“But in your wickedness, you forget
One day all of this shall pass.”
—from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018
April 2020
Life has a way of catching up with you whether you’re ready to handle it or not. Hanging with Mark, skipping school, and dodging my grandparents was how I coped with it.
Nothing mattered to me anymore. My carefully groomed appearance fell to the wayside. I looked like the human version of Shaggy from the Scooby-Doo cartoon—hair hung to my shoulders and covered my eyes, and I had a scruffy beard. Most days, I wore the same jeans. I only changed T-shirts to please Grandma.
I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter and rifled through the fridge, grabbing the milk jug. I turned away from the door while chugging the liquid. Grandma sat at the table.
“We still have cups in the cabinet,” she said quietly.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my arm and returned the container to the shelf. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Sit down, Asher.” Grandma’s eyes were bleary and bloodshot.
“What happened?” I stood with my hand on the back of the chair. “Is it Grandpa?”
She shook her head. “Sit down.”
“Tell me what’s happened,” I insisted. She needed to stop treating me like a child.
Grandma pulled a wrinkled tissue from her pocket. “It’s…it’s the Millers.”
“No.” My knees buckled, and I grabbed the edge of the sink.
“One by one. Within days the whole family—”
“Cindy?”
Grandma shook her head. “No one made it, Asher. It’s not unusual for this illness to kill entire families. Reporters say it’s very contagious and…”
I didn’t hear another word she said. My heart broke, and I crumpled onto a chair. I thought back to the last conversation I had with Shiloh. He wanted me to remind the kids of him. How could I remind them now?
I screwed up. Royally.
Shiloh gave me my instructions. I was supposed to look after Ruby and the kids. It didn’t matter that he was dead. I still had a job to do, and I failed. Miserably.
How much more shit would I have to endure?
Uneven steps carried me up the stairs to my room. I spent the next few days staring at the ceiling. Somehow, time stopped for me. I didn’t feel the need to eat or drink. I don’t remember showering or even going to the bathroom. All I did was stare into space.
I do remember Mark coming by. My grandmother let him come upstairs. He snuck in a bottle of Jack. We lay in bed, side by side, drinking. Mark didn’t judge me, didn’t ask questions. He knew and just let me be.
Grandma and Grandpa took care of the memorial for the Miller family. The CDC declared a state of emergency. Cremation was the protocol for anyone who died from the virus (UEBOV), a virulent strain of Ebola of unknown origin. I didn’t attend the service.
My life flipped upside down after the Millers death. It was hard enough surviving the loss of my parents and Shiloh. I couldn’t make sense of why someone as kindhearted and loving as Cindy had to die so soon. And the kids? They definitely didn’t deserve their fate. That was my fault. I should have taken care of them.
“Asher, there’s a reason for everything under the sun. We had our time with Cindy. God simply called one of his angels home,” Grandma offered, attempting to comfort me.
“Bullshit!” I punched a wall, and Grandpa ran into the kitchen.
“What the hell?” he roared.
“Leave him be, Edward. He’s grieving.”
Understatement. I’d had too much loss for a teenager. I tucked my throbbing hand in my pocket and stormed out the room.
I spent more days away from school. Petty crimes with Mark became my entertainment. We got high and stayed drunk. Most nights I didn’t come home and I didn’t sleep. Whenever I drifted off I saw everyone I lost—Shiloh, my mother and father, my niece and nephew, and Cindy—flashing through my mind. I’d wake up screaming.
“Ash, wake up!”
My eyes popped open to Mark shaking my shoulders. I pushed his hands away and backed into a corner. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
He sat on the side of the bed. “No. You’re not. You’re starting to scare me.”
I propped my legs up and dropped my head between my knees.
Just breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
“I can’t take much more of this, Mark.”
“More of what?”
“These damned nightmares. They, like, won’t stop.”
“Maybe you should go back and see that shrink.”
The last thing I needed was time on Mrs. Ramirez’s couch. I needed my life back or something to fill the space. “Naw. What I need is a drink.”
I kept up my recklessness while the world exploded. Although I stayed with Griffin, I kept going to school for appearances’ sake. Most of the time, I just reported to homeroom and snuck out.
One day, I was leaving school when a student collapsed in the hall. He dropped like a load of bricks and twitched on the floor. Blood trickled from his nose. A couple of girls closest to him knelt to help. One girl removed a T-shirt from her backpack and dabbed at his nose. The other one grabbed her cellphone.
“Nothing to see people,” announced Assistant Principal Anderson. He shooed everyone away from the body. I kept my distance at the edge of the crowd. When I was sure no one was watching, I exited through a side door.
Forty-eight hours later, the kid was sick along with a few of the students who were in the hall. The assistant principal also came down with the virus also. By the end of the week, every school in the metro area closed their doors. Soon, businesses closed and every state issued mandatory curfews. The CDC along with the government declared that the United States was on lockdown—no one could leave or enter the country.
Crematoriums stayed busy while the illness spread like wildfire, becoming a global pandemic. Citizens confined themselves to their houses. I stayed at Griffin’s and refused to face the seriousness of the situation.
It was rare for Griffin to watch the news. For some reason, he felt compelled to tune in while reporters conveyed the treacherous nature of the virus.
I sat beside him and he increased the volume.
“Reports are spreading concerning the identity of Patient Zero. The CDC is working with researchers and WHO, the World Health Organization, to find a cure for the virus. Joining me now is Dr. William Manfred. Dr. Manfred, what can you tell Americans?”
“Well Janice, we have identified Patient Zero. A lab technician was studying the virus when he accidentally broke the vial and jabbed himself.”
“Dr. Manfred, aren’t there precautions to prevent such things?”
“Normally, I’d say yes. We aren’t sure why the fail-safes didn’t work. We are investigating.”
Griffin turned off the TV and turned to me. “You plan on going home? Might want to check in on your grandparents.”
I ignored what Griffin tried to tell me and left the room.
After spending two weeks at Griffin’s house, he sent me home. He grew tired of my nightly screaming sprees. It was the longest stretch of consecutive time I had spent away from my grandparents’ house. If I’d had a choice, I would have gone anywhere else. Someplace without reminders of everyone I’d lost.
The plan was to switch my dirty clothes for some clean ones and hit the road again. I had no idea where I was going. It didn’t matter. My grandparents had a different course of action.
Grandpa blocked the doorway. “Going somewhere?”
My grandmother stood in the hall. I dropped my bag and dragged my feet to my bed. I started to answer him. Probably best if I kept my mouth shut.
“We’re not running a motel here,”
he announced. “You can’t just come and go as you please.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
My grandfather took a step toward me. “We are trying to be patient with you, Asher. We understand you’re having a hard time—”
“Hard time? That’s an understatement!” For a moment, I considered his words and then, I realized he didn’t get it. “Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t understand shit.”
Grandpa lunged for me. Grandma grabbed his arm before his fist connected with my jaw.
“You’re crossing the line, boy.” His nostrils flared and a vein throbbed on his temple.
“Let me talk to him, Edward,” Grandma urged.
“Fine. Talk some sense into him before I knock it into him.” He slammed the door as he left the room.
My grandmother lowered herself to my bed. “Asher, you know we love you, right?”
I nodded and sat beside her.
“We know you’re hurting and you want the pain to stop. We get it, but the road you’re on is the wrong path. You’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble if you keep this up.”
“I’m not hurting anyone,” I mumbled.
“You’re hurting yourself, honey. Drugs and alcohol have never solved anything.” She put her arm around my shoulders. “Asher, you’re just a kid. You have an entire life ahead of you. Things will get better.”
I clenched my fists. “Can you guarantee that one?”
She sighed. “Life doesn’t come with guarantees. We deal with the hand God gives us.”
“What do you think I’m doing, Grandma?” I stuttered and choked the words out. “I’m dealing with the crap I was given.”
“No, you’re not. Far from it.”
My grandmother planted a kiss on my forehead and left my room. She didn’t understand. No one did. I took one last look at the guest room which had become my space, before grabbing my bag and slipping out the back door.
An hour later, I sat in the front sat of Shiloh’s car with Mark. This time, no one would report my vehicle stolen, and Mark had a driver’s license. He scored a stash of weed and a few beers from Griffin’s fridge. If I’d been thinking back then, I would have wondered why Mark’s cousin was so willing to help a couple of teens screw up their lives. Sadly, I didn’t give any thought to the circumstances of my life.