EMP Causality

by Michael Kravitz

  What to do? My own father would say, “If nothing else works, try two aspirins and two shots of whiskey. If that doesn’t work, forget the aspirins and double the shots. But in reality, it will only make matters worse.”

  How about Alice’s take on this? She has been a faithful wife and mother. She has supported Ben financially so he could pursue his master’s degree. Her motherly instincts say, keep the family together. In her heart, she gets upset with Ben for being so stubborn. Quietly, she would say, “Damn you, Ben! Why won’t you at least let them talk? Jessica is in a fragile state of mind. You are so pigheaded. Now everyone is suffering.”

  Imagine, if Ben and Alice were two aliens from another planet. Since they are not talking to one another, they still can read each other’s minds. It would be a telepathic communications. Their war would only escalate. Maybe that’s why aliens are often drawn with big heads. Pressure just keeps expanding inside, always pushing outward. Back to earth, Ben! Time to motivate. With all these thoughts running through him, he shut them down and clasped his Bible with two hands. Breathe in, breathe out.

  He sensed his wife was awake. She was waiting for him to leave. The feeling inside of him was strong. He just knew it was time to boogie. What to wear? Shorts or cargo pants? Coming into the summer days in the Boston area can be tricky. Even though it was a little cool, within a few hours, it could be hot and muggy. Just then, he heard a little annoying buzzing sound. A familiar sound just the same. Slap! He just killed a mosquito. All right then, cargo pants it is! A little more protection from those critters.

  Off to the bathroom to use the john and wash his hands. The town water was only trickling in. He filled the back of the toilet with a bucket of water. After putting the Bible on the bookshelf, Ben wrote and left a note. As he was writing, he just shook his head. Pretty sad. Communication with his own family was at an all-time low. Karma, something good has to happen. He wrote, Taking a walk to Officer Ryan’s house. Need to do a favor for William. He signed it Ben. He could have wrote on the top of the note. To whom it concerns . . . That would be like pouring salt on an open wound, and there would be no hope of reconciliation.

  Peace, serenity was found as he closed the front door of his house. It was like the Genie went Poof! Inside the house was his family. They didn’t care if or when he left. Back to being single, a new reality, that no one cares about you. Ah! Got to have hope. Just surviving the EMP blast was enough of a challenge. Coffee, need that fix? A coping mechanism. Like smoking, a daily shot of alcohol. Actually, a morning run or walk would be better. Today, Ben is going to do both. Officer Ryan’s house was on the outer limits of the collaborative. There were several houses in between that were not in the collaborative. Allowing a police officer in was a no-brainer to all the collective members. Officer Ryan offered protection and communication for the collaborative.

  Ben washed his cup out and started to walk. He cleared his mind of stress and negative thoughts. As he was walking, he took notice of his surroundings. He saw the neighborhood with more clarity than ever before. Before the EMP blast, everyday stress was intense. Driving to work on the mass pike was a challenge. His work also was an intense mental workload. He has his master’s degree, but in this Boston area, many had their masters and PhD degrees. He was working with some of the most talented people on the planet. He had to be on the top of his game. Driving to and from the Boston metro west suburbs was different than driving in Nebraska. In winter, there were snowstorms; summers, the hot and sweltering heat. Those damn tolls. Traffic would back up forever. Finally an upgrade was made. An electronic “Easy Pass” was installed. The toll takers lost their jobs, but driving was made easier.

  After months of hard work, he finally bought a new Honda Accord. Sweet, such a nice ride, air-conditioning, the all-around speakers for his radio. The Honda became his safe space, a break from work and family. As he drove into his driveway, he never really looked at his neighbors or their homes. It was the castle or perhaps prison for the typical middle-class life, as each grind out their daily lives.

  The Honda Accord wasn’t even broken in when the EMP blast went off. In a split-second, his car went from a luxury ride to a pile of metal. What a sorry state of affairs: no job, no Honda Accord, no electricity. It’s gone. What’s even worse, his own family has put the hex on him. But on the bright side, all his bills are in limbo. Mortgage payments, electric, cable, taxes, even his food, clothing, and educational bills were gone. Wait! All he has to see now is the US postal service delivering his income tax bill on horseback. Wouldn’t that be a bummer? No one can get to a job to earn money. You wouldn’t have to worry about the gangs because there would be no money for them to steal. There would be massive suicides, and the postal man on horseback would say, “Don’t blame me, I’m only the messenger.”

  Ben started his journey on foot to Officer Ryan’s house. His view of the neighborhood is different. Like The Twilight Zone, a different dimension. He sees things that he never noticed before. The divorcee’s house looks so inviting—the plants, shrubs, and even her front door. She seems to have an eye for beauty. Mr. Henderson, a contractor, has a well-built dwelling.

  The garage, shed, tractors, heavy equipment, and tools give it a masculine touch—inviting to a hands-on person but not to many others. The union man’s house was well maintained but lacks the charm of the divorcee. I guess one knows who the boss in that house is.

  Now, Ben looks at the drunk’s house. Ah, how misery likes its own company. Whew! What a mess. Broken shutters, moss on the roof and stairs. Shrubs that seem to be swallowing the whole house. It looked like the house on Wuthering Heights. Most of all, the drunk has nothing to look forward to. Dust to dust, he was waiting for his calling—his calling to exit the vessel he was living in. He so wanted to be in the afterlife. The loneliness and pain were unbearable to him.

  Ben’s sadness now enabled him to see it. He never looked at it his way before. It was a cry. The real sad thing is it was not a cry for help—instead, a cry for an ending. Most of us fear death, but to the drunk, it was a welcoming journey. A journey that he pinned for, every single day, as he got lost in his bottle of whiskey.

  As a microbiologist Ben had an inquisitive mind, always trying to put a new puzzle together. The lab where he worked needed talent—talent that would keep them viable and up-front in a competitive field. Ben knew he was in the big leagues. Coming to work in Boston afforded him that opportunity, and he was humble about it.

  Scientists deal with facts, theories, and building blocks. Even music has a series of steps, octaves, harmony, beginning, ending—a certain beat, a sequence that would entice an audience. Looking at an abstract painting? If Ben walked into a museum and saw a patron with his hands on their chin, first thing Ben would think: What’s up? What are you looking at? Looking at an abstract painting and understanding the soul of the painter is beyond Ben. I guess that’s what makes the world go around.

  In a practical sense, the last house in the immediate collaborative belonged to William. He was neurotic but rich, and it showed. His house was always well-maintained. The grounds were laid out by a professional and maintained by a lawn service company. The grass is now overgrown. One has to strain to see hints that William once employed professional landscapers. Officer Ryan’s place was the outlier for the collaborative. There are many other houses between William’s house and Officer Ryan’s place. He was a real asset, a real score for the group, but unlike the other members, Officer Ryan did not need to live within the protective bounds of “fortress collaborative.”

  Coming to William’s house, something looked amiss. It was still early morning. No watches, but looking at the sun, Ben knew it was not even 7 a.m. William’s client Fred was outside the gate. He had a bag that looked like he had his lunch in it.

  “Morning Fred” Ben said in a curious tone.

  “Morning, Mr. Randal. I’m waiting for my ride. That damn William, he is lazy, that’s all.”

  Fred proclaimed in a louder vo
ice, “I don’t know what the matter with him is. I told him he had to pack my lunch! Lazy, he’s just damn lazy.”

  Fred, William’s client, usually goes to a state program three times a week. It’s a structured itinerary. He is there with like-minded clients. They have social workers, nurses, a program director, and various staff members. Usually Fred is picked up by 8:30 a.m. and home by 3:30 p.m. It is perfect for everyone. They also schedule dances, luncheons, ball games, etc. It is funded both by the state and private contributions. The odd thing is, most of them are happier than us. With no bills, driving, making meals, washing clothes, their lives are simpler. Yes, once in a while they get angry or have something to stress about. The staff is generally very professional. They place them in a “time-out spot,” a safe place where they can unwind.

  Fred is generally happy, but the EMP strike has left him bewildered. He blames William. He wants to see his girlfriend, LuAnn. Once a month, Fred goes to the flea market. There he buys a ring for his girlfriend. Like clockwork he asks LuAnn to Marry him. Liking the attention she gets, she always says yes. Ever watch Bill Murray in Ground hog Day? He keeps repeating the same day, over and over. Fred wants to be a fireman, buy a motorcycle, and ride off in the sunset with his new bride. He has a fireman’s badge. In his mind, this lets him be an important person, since at some level, he knows he can’t get a job and have kids.

  William is a great caregiver. He listens to Fred’s stories and his desire to be like everyone else. Why spoil a dream? You never see someone jump off a bridge with a lottery ticket in their hand. When there is hope, there is a kindred spirit to push ahead down that windy road. Fred likes to sleep on the sofa. His mother always flies down from heaven to visit him at night. In the morning, Fred describes his dreams to William. He misses his mother badly. Every once in a while, he would look up in the sky and say, “Mom, someday I will be buried near you, and I will go up to heaven to visit you. He would cry for a minute, then William would try and redirect him. It is an ongoing battle. Most psychiatrists and therapists recommend that you pick your battles. Making any kind of change is slow and tedious.

  William tried to explain to Fred what has happened. It is of no use. Fred is a creature of habit, like most clients. When a nor’easter snowstorm hits, homes are often left without electricity for hours or a few days. But this is now turning into months. Many clients feel they have done something wrong. Most challenged adults have a hard time without their TV. William would like to take Fred on a road trip. Getting to a tent city would serve many purposes—primarily, satisfy Fred loves of being in a car or jeep. Second and most importantly, Fred should see a doctor. The insulin he is getting is old and not the right type. A high sugar count is destructive to any human being.

  “Fred, I really don’t think the bus is coming today,” Ben said in a low, sensitive tone.

  “G——!” Fred yelled out as he threw his lunch on the ground. He then kicks the dirt up. He raised his right hand up with the palm facing inward. “This isn’t right! How am I going to see my girlfriend? It’s not right!” he yelled out as he kicked some more sand.

  Caught off guard, Ben just kept quiet. After Fred calmed down a bit, Ben responded, “Listen, Fred, William loves and cares for you. He is doing the best he can,” Ben continued in a soft yet commanding voice.

  “I know, I know. It isn’t his fault. I have to see my girlfriend.” Fred went on in a sad voice.

  “It will all work out, Fred. I have to go, catch you later,” Ben explained as he continued his journey. Ben got back to his walking. Why didn’t William come out to greet him? he wondered. Maybe he was superstitious. Perhaps he did not want to jinx the mission. William checked his 9mm, making sure there was a round in the chamber. He felt confident there would be no problem. Although there was one gang killing nearby, he felt safe. Most thugs are cowards, and with transportation almost nonexistent, it would be hard for them to get here. Besides, Ben was a good shot in the army.

  Going by the homes seemed eerie. Grass was overgrown everywhere, hardly a dog around anywhere. If someone was inside, they would not know who Ben was. There is one constant that almost the whole street knew. Officer Ryan and his wife were just a ten- or fifteen-minute walk away. Talking to Fred provided a needed distraction for Ben. It got his mind off his own family problems. It was a needed pause in Ben’s ever-mounting stress. The smell of distant fires, and the occasional crack of a 9 mm pistol was a constant reality check. Dangers lurked everywhere.

  Approaching Officer Ryan’s home, Ben decided to walk to his side door. An old-fashioned pull cord lawn mower stood nearby. Officer Ryan and his wife liked to keep the outside tidy. It was a good omen for the neighborhood. It was as good as reading a sign that said: Thugs Beware! This Place Is Occupied. The two family cars were neatly positioned on the driveway, but in reality, they were now just a pile of metal slowly rusting away. If things ever got back on track, the price of junk cars would plummet.

  Fortunately, Officer Ryan does have access to an old relic of a motorcycle. Officer Ryan is clever enough to maintain it himself. He opens the sliding door in the back of his house to wheel it into his living room. Now that’s what is called “under lock and key.”

  Ben came by the side door. As he knocked, he yelled, “Officer Ryan? Hello, this is Ben Randal.” After a few minutes, Officer Ryan’s wife, Annett, came to the door. Everyone calls her Ann. For most middle-class people, Ann is easier to say, especially up in the northeast.

  “Hello, Ben, I didn’t hear the Buick. Did you walk?” Ann said with curiosity.

  “I did; it is a long story,” Ben replied in a timid voice.

  “I hope there is nothing wrong with the Buick? Everyone is dependent on your son’s car,” Ann replied with a little hesitation.

  “The car is fine, really. I was hoping to speak with your husband,” Ben replied, looking past Ann to see if Officer Ryan might be home.

  “I am sorry, but he is doing a shift at the prison. Strange, many of the prisoners are now happy to be in prison. Many were offered an early release after the EMP bomb went off. Can you believe more than half refused? They are aware that they have food, water, and a secured place to live,” Ann said with a smile.

  “That is weird.” Ben stated as he shook his head.

  Ann Randal is also a police officer. She met her husband at the state police academy. She is of Italian descent and grew up in the north end of Boston, the well-known Italian section of the city. It is now a tourist area near the seaport. Many gift shops and noted Italian restaurants are located there.

  Her father was an abusive man, always yelling and sometimes beating his wife. It was a real dysfunctional family. Life was hard for Ann and her three brothers. Two of her brothers were near her age. The third, Dean, was a lot older. They lived in a large multifamily building; it was built before rent control and better city codes. Her father went off to work with a lunchbox every morning. When he came home, the yelling and the hitting would start. Her father would often complain about his meals and put everyone down.

  His behavior kept going until Dean put a stop to it when he was in junior high school. By then, he was almost as tall as his father. He told his father that if he hit his mother one more time, he would kill him. Dean had reached a breaking point, a point where his rage was greater than his fear. The father did stop, but each time her brother came home from school, he could feel the tension in the house. This dysfunctional family left emotional scars. A few years later, her father developed dementia and was no longer able to work. It was a difficult decision to leave high school, but Dean had to. Someone had to pay the bills.

  Whenever Dean left for work, Ann was left with the responsibility for her other two brothers. When they came back home from school, they often tried to pick on her the way they saw their father mistreat their mother. Bad habits have to start somewhere. Finally, one day, Dean saw a bad bruise on his sister. With tears in her eye, she explained what happened. He spoke with his two brothers, but his instinct
s realized that it would not be enough. He took Ann to a karate studio on Saturday mornings. She had to learn to defend herself, and defend herself she did. By the time she obtained her brown belt, she was able to stand up to her other two brothers. Finally, a fragile peace arrangement arrived in their home.

  A few years later, everything changed. Her mother died and her father was in a nursing home. It was time for each to be on their own. A sad upbringing, but not all families can live the perfect dream. Ann did get a job and an apartment. Although she kept in touch with her brothers, she had a special love and admiration for her older brother. One day, when Dean came to visit, he told Ann he had met the dream of his life. This was it. He was going to get married and move to California. Ann was both happy and sad at the same time. Yes, there were aunts and uncles, but no one else gave her unconditional love.

  Dean’s dream match was a pretty woman, but Ann felt something very wrong. His fiancée often wore a very short skirt. Her whole manner of dress was rather provocative. The three of them were at a local restaurant when “the truth” appeared. As the three of them left the restaurant, warning bells went off in Ann’s mind. Her brother was happy to a have a show model as a girlfriend. However, other men were looking at her. It was his brother’s fiancée who looked back at some of the men. That bothered Ann. She always regretted not warning her brother.

  After Dean moved to LA, he became a police officer at the LAPD. He would call her from time to time. She was proud of her older brother. Ann had just turned twenty. She was working during the day and going to school at night. It didn’t leave much time for a social life. Besides, the way her two other brothers treated females had an effect on her. Instead of talking about what they were about, her brothers were often making references to girl’s body parts. To Ann, it was a turn off. She thought all men can’t be this shallow.