“Here you go,” his nana said at his side. She coughed again, heavy and wet. It didn’t sound good.
Tony didn’t look away from the television and took what she handed him. The unfamiliar feel of the item broke his focus on the screen and he looked at what she handed him. It was a pack of Marlboro cigarettes with a Bic lighter stuck in the plastic outer wrapper. The same type of cigarettes that his grandpa had smoked, right in this chair. His nana had already turned and was shuffling towards the kitchen in her pink slippers. Each step she cleared her throat with a grumble and her breathing became more labored in the heat. The house needed air conditioning and she needed to never light another butt up.
“Nana?” Tony called out to her.
“Yes, George?” she replied after stopping, catching her breath and turning around to look at him.
“Why’d you give me these?” Tony asked her as he held up the pack of cigarettes. “I don’t smoke. Plus I’m under 18.”
Tony watched as she looked him in the face, then as her eyes went fuzzy.
“Antonio? I’m sorry. I thought you were… I thought you were your papa. You look like him, you know? When he was younger. Give those back. Those things will kill you,” she said as she shuffled back to him. “They took your grandfather, and they’ll take me too.”
He handed her the smokes. “Not too late to quit.”
“I’m too old to care, George. I’ve seen my share and it’s almost my time. Our daughter will take over for us, and she’ll raise her boys well, and they’ll get married and raise kids too.”
“Nana, I’m not grandpa.”
“Right. I’m sorry, Antonio,” she said, wavering in and out of a dream. “Let me go fix your supper.”
Tony watched as his nana shuffled back off into the kitchen, getting one of the cigarettes out of the pack as she went. He heard the switching noise as she spun the lighter to life, and heard her take a draw off the cigarette. She exhaled, and coughed hard several times. Tony got up from the recliner–waking all the dogs in the process and setting them off–and went to the phone that sat on a walnut stained end table beside the ugly brown couch that had been there forever. He dialed his mom, and got her voice mail.
“Hey, Mom. Hope you guys are doing good. I uh, just had a weird exchange with Nana. She thought I was grandpa, and even when I talked to her, she still kinda treated me like I was grandpa. She called me George, and tried to give me his old cigarettes. I don’t know quite what to do about that. I mean, I didn’t smoke any of them, so relax. Anyway, call me as soon as you get this message. I’m worried about her. Oh, and she’s coughing a lot, having a hard time breathing. I think we she make her an appointment with her doctor.”
She coughed again out in the living room and Tony smelled the odor of her cigarette.
“I love you guys. Call me a soon as you get this message. Okay, bye.” He hung up, and worried.
- Part Three -
Going Shopping
Tony loved riding his bike on the country back roads in the morning. Unlike riding his bike on any of the concrete mazes of the air bases his dad often had them living on, or in the crowded suburbs where they occasionally got off-base housing, these roads were… perfect.
Lush green trees full of leaves hung their heavy branches over the uneven asphalt, creating a tunnel of life, and protecting him from the growing heat of the summer day. It was always a little chilly when he left his nana’s place, but he put his hoodie on, and always a little warm when he got back, so he took the hoodie off before returning.
The ride up to Auburn Lake Preparatory Academy was one he’d grown fond of, even though it was a pain in the ass when the dogs refused to stay behind. Most days he’d yell at them until he turned red in the face for them to turn around, but the old, idiot collie, and the sheepdog with the matted fur just wouldn’t listen.
They’d trot about three bike lengths behind him, panting and laboring like his nana. He’d ride up to the bridge that marked the edge of the private school’s property, and they’d run to the water’s edge where they’d lap at the lake until they could breathe again. Tony would get off his bike, look at all the fancy houses that served as dorms, and the big school building, and the admissions building, and skip a handful of rocks into the lake’s depths and hope against all hope that one of the girls who went to the boarding school would walk out onto the bridge and ask him all about his nana’s dogs.
Once, a thin blonde leaving what he thought was the cafeteria stopped and watched him for a few seconds. She held a plastic food tray in her hand, and examined him. He would’ve described as “aloof.” He puffed his chest out to look manlier, and she saw through him. She walked off out of sight, and Tony never saw her again.
No girls asked him about his nana’s dogs the last ten mornings, and it didn’t happen this morning either.
Tony hopped back on his bike, summoned the two old mutts and headed down the winding country road, past Prospect Circle and Jones Road, back to the little gas station, and then back to his nana’s home. He gave the middle finger to the idiot driving the Camry talking on his phone as he bombed past him. The good catholic kid almost seized up after doing it. Tony slowed his bike and breathed a sigh of relief after the man didn’t turn him around or stop and wait to give him hell for being so rude.
Shitty driving aside, of course.
He put his bike in the back of the house against the pale yellow siding, near the red aluminum shed and headed inside the house through the door that led into the kitchen. He stopped cold when he saw his nana counting piles of cash at the old table with the chintzy tablecloth.
“Nana?”
“Yes, Antonio?” she asked him as she laid a stack of bills down on the table several fingers thick.
“Where’d you get all that money?” Tony asked her as he sat down at the table.
“Oh, your papa kept his money stashed away all over the place. He wouldn’t trust a bank with his pocket change. Coffee cans, mostly. One under the sink, one on top of the furnace in the basement. Another buried in the old garden. He thought I didn’t know about all of his hiding places, but he wasn’t too sneaky.”
She threw a thumb over her shoulder and pointed at the plastic trash bin in the corner of the wallpaper covered kitchen. There were a dozen old cans of coffee, each covered with an armor plating of duct tape and missing lids. They were empty.
“How much money?” Tony asked.
“I counted about $1,200,” she said, nonchalant about it. “Tony I need you take my Costco card, some of this money and go get some stuff for the house.”
“Want me to take your car?”
“Yes. I need you to go right now. Before it gets too late. Here, take this shopping list, and this stack of money.”
She handed him a slip of paper decorated with a print of a cornucopia and a wad of 20 dollar bills. He looked at it and thumbed through the sheaf of bills. It was the most money he’d ever held, ever seen. He then read the list of food she wanted him to get.
“Canned French cut green beans, beets, corn, corned beef hash, dog food, cat food, bird food. Six boxes dry milk, and six cans each of a bunch of juices. Ten boxes of cereal. Six gallons of water. Seriously? Are we having people over?”
“No, I just think we’re getting low on some supplies in the pantry, and I thought with you here, I know you eat and drink more than I’m used to.”
“Okay, I’ll take the wagon? You’re sure about this?”
“I am. On your way back, stop at the gas station and fill the tank. Then ask them if they’ll let you buy me a pack of cigarettes. They’ll know what kind. Oh, and buy yourself a candy bar while you’re out. Keys are hanging on the hook near the toaster oven.” She covered her mouth and coughed hard, hacking up several bits of what might’ve been pink phlegm. She spit it into a napkin already in her hand.
“Okay, Nana. I’ll have my phone with me, call me if you need anything else, or change your mind.
“I will, Antonio. Now go before
everyone buys all of what I’ve asked you get for us,” she stood up, and kissed the crown of his head.
Tony loved the warm feel of her touch, and tried to ignore how bad her cough had gotten.
“Have fun, George.”
*****
Tony shaved time off the chore by going to the local supermarket instead of the Costco. He prayed his nana wouldn’t see the bags, and he just wouldn’t bring the receipt home. She’d forgive him for not going to the discount store, but he didn’t want to disappoint her at all right now. The traffic was peculiarly bad that morning, and the closest Costco was in the city, well over a half hour drive away. So hoodie adorned, he headed to the local grocery store.
“Is everyone being a jerk today, or is it just me?” Tony asked the cashier as he made his second run through the check out. “Two old ladies pushed me out of the way in the juice aisle to get the apple juice and a guy in the canned goods aisle gave me a dirty look as I bought creamed corn.”
“It’s getting worse with every new customer in the door,” the young girl said back him as she scanned the boxes of dry milk he got one after another. “Everyone is spooked by the news.”
“What news?”
She looked at him as if he’d just poked his head out from under a rock.
“The news on the television and internet? Violence in Africa and Europe? Terrorist stuff I think. It’s starting here too. Rabies virus or something. People biting people, trying to eat them. It’s almost as bad as when we get a big snowstorm in the forecast, or a hurricane. We’ll be out of water by noon,” she said with a sigh, moving on to the cereal and water gallons he got.
“Like, zombies?” He asked her as he loaded in the stuff he’d bagged himself into the cart. Water gallons went below. None of the checkouts had any baggers.
“I guess,” she said, scanning the last of his water gallons and sliding them to the end of the checkout. “I don’t watch horror movies. Two-eighty, seventy-five.”
Tony pulled out his gangster-thick roll of bills and started peeling off 20s.
“Are you a drug dealer?” she asked him.
“Maybe,” Tony said with a smile, and a little satisfaction. He had no idea how old she was, but she had to still be in high school.
“Cool. Do you know Zach and Ryan?”
“I’m not from around here,” Tony said, and handed her 15 bills.
“Oh well if you’re new to town, you should track them down on Facebook. They’d be good to get to know if you’re holding.” She counted out the $300 and gave him back his change with the receipt.
“Thank you,” Tony said. “Have a good day. I hope the store calms down.”
“Me too. Take care,” she said, and moved onto the next customer in line like he’d never existed.
Tony grunted and pushed to get the heavy shopping cart moving. His reedy legs had to heave and shove against the smooth tile of the grocery store to move the laden cart, and he was almost exhausted by the time he could back off and walk behind the coasting beast. He was halfway to the door when someone called out to him.
“Hey, son. Can I have a word?”
Tony looked over his shoulder and saw a man with a light blue button down shirt that strained to keep a prodigious belly in check. He wore a nametag that said, “Manager.”
“Yes?”
“It looks to me like this is the 2nd trip out of the store you’ve made today,” the large man said, adjusting his belt beneath his belly. “And I saw on the cameras that you paid in cash both times.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there a problem? I haven’t stolen anything. I paid for everything,” Tony said as he felt an irrational fear rise inside him. He didn’t know why the adult was questioning him like this, and it scared him.
“Adults find a high school kid wearing a hooded sweatshirt with that much cash suspicious,” the manager said. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Where’d you get all that cash?”
“You’re wondering where I got all the money I just spent in your grocery store?” He didn’t want to appear suspicious. What would his mother say? What would his father say?
“Mmhm. Do I need to get Chief Moore in here to talk to you about it?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I got the money from my nana. She wanted me to stock up.”
“Who is your nana?”
“Christina Angellini,” Tony said.
“Tina Angellini is your grandmother?”
“You call her Tina? That’s so weird,” Tony said, feeling a weird relief come over him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her called that.”
“She’s a regular here. Always gets the butchers to cut her meat fresh for her. She’s a character. How is she?”
“Struggling. When Grandpa died she took it hard, plus her health isn’t so good. The heat isn’t helping. I think she’s getting senile too,” Tony said. He was happy an adult was listening, even if the adult was being a jerk.
“Watch out, kid. When the 1st of an old couple goes, the 2nd isn’t too far behind. And if this zombie talk is for real, you might have to do a really hard thing. Take her out,” the manager said.
“Right,” was all Tony could manage. He wasn’t happy anymore.
“What’s your name?”
“Tony.”
“Alright, Tony. She might’ve said your name before. Sounds familiar. Tell Tina I said hi, and we look forward to having her business when she comes in again.”
“I will. Thanks.”
The manager walked away, leaving Tony to the struggle of getting the cart moving yet again. Dutifully the grandson stopped at the corner gas station near his nana’s house, pumped the wagon full of regular and asked them if they’d sell him a pack of cigarettes for his nana. He explained they didn’t have to, as he was underage, and he didn’t want to bring the pack home for her anyway. The fifty-ish year old woman sold him the cigarettes, and told him to keep quiet about it. She could be fined.
When Tony got home, he loaded all of the canned goods into the shed, all of the dried goods into the small pantry closet, and fed and watered all of the animals. By one in the afternoon he was exhausted, stressed, worried, and at his wits end about his mother not answering her phone. He passed out in his grandfather’s recliner, surrounded by the animals he’d taken care of, house phone in his lap, flip phone in his hand.
All that time Nana sat at the kitchen table, smoking her Marlboros one right after another as she looked at a framed picture from her and George’s wedding in 1958.
She cried, but Tony didn’t see that.
- Part Four -
Things are a Little Weird in the Dark
Tony woke up after dinner, after the sun had fallen behind the trees but before it disappeared over the edge of the world. He’d had weird dreams of his grandfather. He and the old man he idolized had been sitting in the very same living room he woke up in, and they had been watching a rerun of a classic baseball game from the 1960s. The Yankees had been playing. Or maybe it was the Mets.
They had chatted about his nana as the game played. His grandpa seemed worried about something that was about to happen, but Tony couldn’t remember what was about to happen, or why, and that bothered the boy tremendously.
Tony sat up in the dark living room and two cats jumped off his lap to the rug. He checked his phone and saw he had no voicemails, or missed calls.
“Mom, come on. Where are you?”
He grabbed his nana’s home phone and dialed his mother and yet again, she failed to answer. This time, the phone call refused to connect. He got an automated message about all circuits being busy and his belly felt weird. Like butterflies, but not in the good way. It felt the same as not knowing what his grandpa was worried about.
The television wasn’t on.
Tony reached over to the end table and picked up the small remote. He turned the set on, and within a minute, wished he hadn’t.
The cashier he met that morning had be
en right. There was a lot of violence in Africa and Europe. Asia too. And based on the footage of what was happening in America, it was outside, right here too. The cashier was also right about people biting and eating people. That same footage that the newscasters ran over and over again over their shoulders showed the gory scenes play out in spades. Hundreds of pale skinned, mangled people getting up and hurting others for no good reason. He watched over and over as housewives killed children, fathers killed each other and soldiers and police tried to kill them. There was rampant, mass chaos and no one knew how to stop it.
The anchor warned that reports coming in indicated that people were dying, and returning to life in a homicidal rage against all those around them. Thousands had died–tens of thousands–and by dawn the next day, Tony knew that number would be dwarfed.
Tony had seen it all before in a dozen movies, and a part of him laughed it away. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be.
Then he thought about his mother, and his little brother, and the calls he’d made that were still unanswered and the laughing stopped. He searched in the dark and looked for the animals. The birds were silent in their cages for once, and the cats were present, mostly. The dogs he could see were all at the doorway, looking out through the front screen at the state route outside. No cars passed, and the world seemed silent, but still, the dogs remained vigilant against a threat they sensed.
“Nana?” Tony called out. “Nana where are you?”
The silence outside equaled the silence inside. He got to his feet, and the cats disappeared. Down the hall to the kitchen he saw no light, and smelled no smoke. The stove appeared off, but sitting on the burner was a Pyrex dish covered in tinfoil. His dinner.
She wasn’t semi-invisible on the dark brown couch across the room and that meant she was either outside for no good reason, or somewhere else in the house. He decided to try outside first while there was still light.
The Shed Page 2