by Michael Noe
I know that true love exists. I’ve seen it, but I was just too selfish to give in. I was an only child so I was used to the singular life. I’ve seen both sides of marriage. It’s not always pretty and sometimes ends in a fiery explosion. No one tells you that no one stays the same. There’s this idea that people fall in love and stay exactly the same, but that’s not true at all. People grow and change all the time and sometimes you never notice it until it’s too late. When a marriage ends, there’s no consolation prize or even an award for good effort. Even kids in the Special Olympics get a prize for coming in third.
I had always been very skeptical of a variety of things. Kids, marriage and even the government. It was how I was raised. My parents were the kind of people that encouraged me to ask questions and to never take things at face value. Maybe that’s why I turned out the way I did. The cowardice was more selfishness than anything. I had little value for others. No one lived up to my high expectations which I had created. It closed me off and made me leery of everyone. I couldn’t even get involved in a serious relationship without feeling as if I were suffocating.
If I wasn’t a coward none of this would have happened. I would have been just another Billy bad ass with a gun and a mission to save the world. I saw the news, I watched the world around me and was pretty convinced that it didn’t want to be saved. In some way, the end of the world was all of our faults. The zombies were the last hurrah of a world that had pushed itself too hard too fast. In a way, we were the zombies. We had our faces pushed into our cell phones and tablets, oblivious to the world around us. When you’re alone, you begin to see just how far we drifted as a society. We didn’t need to talk to real strangers. We did just fine on Facebook. That made it easier for us feel important. We wanted everyone to know what we were doing all the time. It was a way for the losers to finally be someone.
It was the losers who flocked to Facebook and Instagram. After years of not fitting in, this was their bright shining moment to be noticed, but they didn’t realize that it came with a high price. Sure, they were getting noticed but no one really gave a shit. All those likes and smiley faces only filled the emptiness in their souls for a little while, but what happened when the computer was off and there was no one to talk to? You see just how little people mattered? Reality shows gave people a platform to be noticed but it was for all the wrong reasons. Money and notoriety only got you so far. At the end of the day, you would always be alone with your demons right there beside you. There was no way to be someone if you weren’t at least interested in interacting with real people.
I missed the interaction with strangers. Buying a coffee from Starbucks and flirting with the barista as she made my latte. The feel of her hand as it brushed against mine when she handed me my cup with my name on it. That was a reminder of who you were. Having your name on a cup of coffee meant that you existed. You were someone. No matter how much I hated people, I still wanted to talk to them, even if it was to gauge their level of stupid. As soon as someone opened up their mouths, you could tell just how intelligent they were. The Nascar fans were always the most fun. They loved the sport and looked exactly how you thought they would. When they opened their mouths, it was always a disaster because they weren’t the brightest bulb in the room.
I noticed that Nascar fans were the least intellectual and evolved. They weren’t readers, and for the most part, voted a straight Republican ticket. These were men that masturbated to pictures of Sarah Palin and swore allegiance to their guns and hunting. I missed their bullshit and hilarity. You could always spot them with their rebel flags, and patriotic slogan t-shirts. I missed that they were easy to anger and slow to make a valid argument, without throwing in rhetoric already spewed by a greedy politician who used scare tactics instead of logic. You would think that by having thumbs we would somehow be smarter, or greater. The sad fact was that most weren’t. No matter how much everyone evolved, it was the stupid people that ruined everything by breeding.
The world had always had problems, but now they were kind of solved. Natural selection had nothing to do with it. Regardless of how you looked at it, the world had crashed and burned. No more Super Tuesdays, no more political rallies in the name of truth and God. The lights had faded and there was nothing left but memories. That was the only thing that gives life any meaning. When you take a glance back, you can see the demons nipping at your heels. There’s nothing you can do to change the past. I’m at that stage where I have nothing to break apart the voices in my head, so all I can do is reflect and remember life the way it used to be. That’s the hard part. Waking up every morning, knowing that nothing is going to change.
The thing I’ve discovered is you can’t really blame God, or anyone else for what has happened. It was just a series of events that went out of control. I miss the Christians who threw their morals at me and wanted me to conform and be just like them, for no reason other than avoiding conflict and making life somehow more manageable. I’d actually gone through a phase where I was a Christian, but there was so much hypocrisy, it turned me away from all forms of religion. There were far too many cliques and the message of God and Jesus got shoved to the side. The compassion that everyone talked about was nowhere in sight.
They had all the answers though. They were so sure they were right but they all seemed wrong and a little too cocky. I could wake up every morning and pray, but what would be the benefit? There was nothing to cling to. Nothing to lead me into sin, or even temptation. When they died, what did they see? Was God waiting for them as they breathed their last breath? I miss the debates and the conviction that they had. It was always their beliefs that were so damned important. Now that I’m alone, my beliefs are all that matter and sadly, I have none. I’m a man without a country. I should be worried but I’m not. I’ve got the pills to wipe away any thoughts or doubt.
I once fell hard for a girl. I could say she was a woman, but does it matter? I was seventeen and fell head over heels in love with Amanda. She was a beautiful blonde with clear blue eyes and a body that wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was that one day she smiled at me and I swear to Christ I heard birds. Has that ever happened to you? It’s a beautiful thing and rare. She wasn’t very intelligent, but it didn’t matter because when she said my name, I wasn’t very intelligent either. That was real love to me. We would take walks and talk about what our futures would be like and like an idiot, I believed it all.
This was before I became cynical and yes, maybe even a little bitter. No other woman measured up to Amanda because in my mind she was perfect. “I love you.” She would tell me as we lay on our back, gazing up at the stars. Her slender hand would be in mine and I wondered if love would always be like this. We made love with this intensity that I never knew existed. It didn’t matter that we were outside where everyone could see us. I wanted them to see us. I wanted them to know that this was the woman I would die for.
Amanda and I were together for about three months and then she moved away. Those three months were the most amazing days of my life. We promised that we would keep in touch. Like an idiot, I swore that I would love her forever, but soon the letters and phone calls stopped. When I tried to call her she was never home. Soon, I just stopped calling and plunged into a soul crushing darkness. I was convinced I would never feel that way again. Now that I’m writing this, I can see why I never allowed myself to get close to anyone after that. I was afraid that I would feel that way again and lose it. It’s all a part of the game.
Losing Amanda hurt, but what hurt the most was being lied to. I had trusted her and look where it got me. If she had been honest and told me that she had met someone else, it would have been less painful. Instead, she just drifted away and I was left wondering what I did wrong. Nazareth was right; love hurts. It hurts a lot. Amanda had moved on and because of her I had changed as well. I still sometimes wonder what if? Would we still be together or would we have drifted apart anyway? It’s hard to say but I wished I’d have
gotten the chance to see how it could have turned out.
I had never felt love that strongly and now I doubted that I ever would again. There was a small part of me that was still hoping, but it didn’t look very likely now. In all of those horror stories about the end of the world and zombies, there was no longer love or the desire to connect with someone on some meaningful level. It was about preserving the species. Sex lost its charm and became just another function you had to do or else there could be no future. That was a huge burden to place on someone. It made the act of lovemaking a job. What happened to good old-fashioned fucking? Why would anyone want to preserve the species anyway? Think about it. Kids were a lot of work and a great deal of responsibility. The beautiful thing was that I didn’t have to worry about it.
I did miss sex, but not for the reasons you might think. It may sound completely stupid but I missed the intimacy of it. The act of giving yourself to someone was a spiritual moment that allowed you to trust someone for a little while. There was beauty in touching and feeling as if the world was opening up all around you. I would lay there after sex with Amanda and know that everything I wanted was right there. We were higher than God. There was nothing between us but the night. I sound like I should be in one of those cheesy dramas, don’t I? If you think about it though, the feel of a woman’s flesh is one of the greatest feelings in the world. There’s nothing better.
Relationships were always hard for me. I actually made them harder than they should have been. As you can already tell, I’m quite stubborn and I hate that in a relationship there’s so many sacrifices. I always assumed I would end up alone and here I am, sprawled out on my couch, naked and high on Xanax. I could never allow myself to fully trust anyone. It’s all Amanda’s fault. If you look back at all the girls I had been with, none of them were long term relationship material because I wasn’t either. They were expendable. I knew that I would grow bored and need to move on. All that mattered to me was the money and the occasional romp in the sack. I didn’t need a commitment. I just wanted a warm body that I could use for a night or two.
I thought I had time to find a girl and fall in love. The American dream was possible. You just had to want it. I thought I knew what it was but looking back, I can see I had no clue. Everyone wanted something different. I was achieving success to silence everyone who had assumed I had gotten where I was because of my father. He owned the motels so I was poised to take over. The thing was, I had to prove myself. I couldn’t just walk in and expect the keys to the kingdom. Maybe it worked that way for other families, but not in mine. I watched my father and learned how to be successful. From him I inherited the drive to succeed. I wanted to prove to him that I could do it without any help.
I started out with the lower paying jobs that others didn’t want, simply because it was a chance to learn everything. If you’ve never sat behind the front desk or pushed a maid cart, then how can you relate to the people that you’re supposed to be in charge of? Starting the way I did earned me respect, and when I talked to other people, I can tell them from experience what the problems were and how to fix them. My father watched me to see if I would quit or ask for a different job and who knows, maybe I had been promoted because my dad ran the hotel but when I graduated college, I was confident I could keep the business growing if anything happened to my father. In the five years I worked with him, I had successfully branched out into other states and made us a lot of money.
I sacrificed a lot but the thing was it was worth it. While other people got married and started families, I was busting my ass making as much money as I possibly could. There was never a moment where I felt as if I were missing out on something. I would see married people and their wonderful demon spawn. They looked miserable. It just didn’t make sense to me how anyone would want to limit themselves by having children. Now I can see they weren’t miserable at all. They had achieved what they wanted and had something I would probably never have. I always thought I had time for the wife, the kids, and the white picket fence. Turns out I was wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time and probably wouldn’t be the last.
I’m sitting here and the thing that pisses me off is that I will never get another Tool album. The years rolled on and there were new Puscifer remixes and that goddamned wine, but no new album. People made fun of me because I kept telling them that it would come out next year, and then another year would pass and I would feel that crushing weight of disappointment. Now the world had ended and I realized there would never be a new Tool record. It was like waking up Christmas morning and finding nothing was left under the tree. I could only listen to the old records and think about what might have been. How close were we? It’s a question that will never be answered thanks to those fucking zombies.
The zombies destroyed everything. Star Wars sequels, true love, romance. All gone. Whatever happened to innocence? In this new world, will we ever get it back? When someone discovers how to kick on the lights, will we return to our Facebook feeds and Pinterest boards? If there are survivors out there, I wonder how they’re communicating without a screen in front of their faces. Are they sad that we’ll never get another Tool record or am I the only one that shallow? I miss people. I never thought I would ever say that but I do. The mindless conversations, the awkward chats that seem to center around everyone’s ailments. We are a very vocal bunch. We bitched and moaned about everything and now all we have are zombies and who knows where these zombies are.
I would walk outside and just look around and feel the emptiness grip my soul. Sometimes, I would imagine that I was being watched, but soon I just stopped. It got too depressing. I took to drinking and looking for drugs at my neighbor’s house. I also found that the local pharmacy’s still had some good drugs left too. In my house I had a pretty good stash, but I didn’t want to become an addict. It appears that way, doesn’t it? I don’t want to give you this impression that I was an addict wandering the streets naked. Where would I carry my gun? I took enough drugs just to keep the edge off. When I felt too isolated and alone, I would just drink and pretend that everything was normal.
When everything goes away, you only have your thoughts for company. You start to argue with yourself over the tiniest things. I missed a lot of things that I thought I’d never miss, but when you’re alone, that happens. I had even entertained the thought of going out and looking for survivors just to keep myself from being alone. The silence got to me that badly. I would sometimes think about all the shit that annoyed me and I would wish just once that I could sit down at a restaurant and hear a crying baby. There would come a time where I would want to kill the baby, but that was a familiar sound. There were so many sounds that were just a part of my life and I wanted them back.
Damn the silence for reminding me I was alone. Whatever happened was supposed to take everyone out. Why did I have to live? Why was I one of those that survived? I hated to think I had some purpose in life. I wasn’t the hero type. I didn’t want to be someone who people could rely on. It got to be too much and the ache of loss lulled me to sleep at night. The depression was a warm blanket that warmed me on cold nights. Sadly, I doubted I was alone in feeling the way I did. I’m sure there were others in some other part of the world, wondering why they had lived and so many had died. I just hoped I didn’t have to meet them.
Chapter Six: The Warbler
I woke up one morning to hear someone singing. This was the off-key singing of someone who was either drunk or badly in need of a mental institution. It was early in the morning and I had spent the evening reading The Handmaid’s Tale. I tried to read 1984, but it depressed me too much. I enjoyed reading by candle light despite it playing hell with my eyes. Not to mention the way it made the shadows dance on opposite sides of the wall. It was eerie and looked as if someone were in the room with me, just beyond my field of vision. The book kept my mind from wandering. but as I was pulled from my slumber, I felt annoyance and then joy.
The voice was coming from the street. I was frightened at fi
rst but then I became overjoyed at the idea that there was someone else out there. They may have been drunk, but it was better than anything I had experienced in a long time. The voice was loud and boisterous and was sure to bring out unwanted company. My instincts told me to stay where I was but I was far too intrigued by the butchering of Silent Night. It was May for fuck’s sake. Why not something else? I would have preferred Shake It Off over a Christmas Carol.
Still, she was out there, hanging onto a telephone pole, looking lost. I haven’t seen anyone in a month and of course, the first person I see is drunk or maybe just crazy. That could be me! Hell, it could’ve been anyone on a Saturday night. All you needed was a good bar and alcohol. For some people, a bar wasn’t even important. Alcohol was one of those things you just couldn’t control. This lady was all the proof you needed. I threw on a t-shirt and headed out to see if I could offer some assistance. It was a bad idea of course, but I just couldn’t leave her there to die. She didn’t deserve that. Even if she was sober, she didn’t need to be wandering around singing Silent Night at the top of her lungs.
I stood on the front porch just watching for a moment. It had been so long since I had spoken to someone, I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to say to her. There was so much. I realized that now I wasn’t alone anymore. How crazy was it that out of all the people I could have seen and talked to, it would be her? She looked up at me and smiled. She was wearing brown pajamas. Her button up pajama top was unbuttoned just enough to show off a tanned belly. Her brown hair was greasy and hung loosely. The eyes seemed to sparkle as she saw me and from the lines and wrinkles on her haggard face, I would have placed her age at maybe fifty.