Simple sore throats or innocuous coughs, easily overlooked by busy adults trying to avoid burning a valuable medical visit, still spread germs. Unfortunately, polio was highly contagious. An airline passenger can infect an entire plane with one phlegmy throat. The government burden of bloated bureaucracy put the final nail in that coffin.
The epidemic started because of a Muslim law, passed in 2005, in Northern Nigeria. They issued an Islamic Fatwa, declaring the polio vaccine part of a secret conspiracy by the United States and the United Nations against the Muslim faith. Their claim declared that the vaccine drops, secretly designed to sterilize the Muslim true believers, stimulated the virus. It then reappeared in Nigeria and spread throughout Africa. In this world of high-speed airline transportation it didn’t take long. Legal immigration figures show the number one source of immigrants in the good ol’ U.S.A. to be from Africa. And who could blame them.
Amazingly, the United States, no longer the current super power, continued to draw the poor from all over the world as the land of milk and honey. In reality, it subsisted as the land of the free lunch. All U.S. border states now insisted on fences and guards. No longer could anyone jump the fence. The problem of illegal immigration, so obviously out of control in the second decade, forced the Socialist Democrats to finally acquiesce. Their mission accomplished, their aim to amass enough constituents to vote them into power for perpetuity, could stop.
The Socialized Democrat Party now exercised iron control of the government. The exceptionalism of The United States started its decline long ago when the masses realized they could use their vote to elect officials willing to rape the country in their efforts to sell their influence in return for votes. So they just voted for the politician and party that promised them the most swag. They didn’t care that someone must inevitably pay for it, as long as it wasn’t them.
As a result, availability of capital to grow the private sector diminished. Small business suffered and disappeared. Taxes shot through the roof. Large corporations left the country along with the wealthy. Hollywood elite baled quickly, France, London and Mexico their preferred destinations. A pound of chopped meat in a grocery store (if you could find it on the shelf) now cost $33.00 a pound. And it was mostly pink slime fillers at that. Thank heavens for food stamps.
The country now consisted of the unexceptional, the undereducated, the unemployable and the irrational. Oh, and the lazy, can’t forget the lazy. Birth control now remained a nasty word. The Socialist Democrats pushed it hoping to reduce poor populations, yet the poor refused to take it. Who wanted to give up the opportunity for another welfare check? The country, no longer a melting pot, became a country of fighting tribal factions and competing ideologies. The Socialist Democrat Party, the Muslim Brotherhood, the Green and the smaller Republican Party perpetually slandered each other in their quest to control what remained of the country.
The Socialist Democrat Party, made up of African Americans, highly paid union workers and ex-illegal’s (45 million added to the Medicaid rolls. Read: Totally free medical care.) that were granted amnesty by the Democrats in power in 2017 represented the majority. Ex-union officials made up 50% of the U.S. Senate and House of Representatives. The unions controlled 80% of the jobs. Either you worked for the federal or municipal government or you worked in the service sectors (100% union, thanks to Card Check legislation); manufacturing nowhere to be found.
There no longer existed a national language. Children attended school for four hours a day, eight months a year; the average work week a mere 25 hours. The public insisted the politicians respect their need for rest and recreation. If they didn’t, they lost their jobs—voted out. Capitalism reigned no longer.
The outdated pieces of paper called the Constitution lost its relevance and respect. The new law of the land required the courts to consider the beliefs and requirements of all global groups when assessing legal responsibility. Political correctness ran amok. And the deficit—stratospheric. Why do you think China had such a large economic presence? They owned the United States. Yes, what a lovely country the people lived in.
An ineptocracy. A government by where the least capable of governing are elected by the least capable of sustaining themselves. The mandate: to confiscate wealth from the diminishing group of the most capable. Welcome to the United States of America.
As a result, the vanishing elite upper class resided in a few tiny enclaves, no longer reviled, almost mythical, their wealth protected, their good will courted. The newly despised and envied middle class, the new six percent, consisted of politicians, some business owners, religious leaders, drug dealers and certain members of the burgeoning underground economy. The majority consisted of the poor and the poorer. The poor savored their relative happiness before the polio epidemic. Encouraged to procreate, their needs fully subsidized, initiative evaporated. Welfare, food stamps, subsidized housing, subsidized public transportation, free childcare, free medical care.
Whatever you need there is a government program to cover the cost. Cradle to grave, as they say. Yet the poor somehow always found the money for air conditioning, cell phones, I-pods, cable TV, shiny leased automobiles, and LED TVs.
The Chinese depended on that. Money for research and development in the U.S. vanished. Our scientists moved to other countries just like the best doctors, the rich, Wall Street and the entrepreneurs that found their spirits crushed by taxes and burdensome regulations. Everyone needed capital to survive. No capital in the U. S. The government would spend, spend, and spend on the populous. Surprisingly, the world’s super powers, China, Russia and Iran still allowed the U.S. to borrow money; even though repayment of the principal appeared unlikely. And the interest sure was a doozey.
Then chinks appeared. Every year the rationing guidelines became more restrictive, free education became the most expensive in the world with the lowest rate of success.
And then the polio came; the U.S the hardest hit. Over ten million children and four million adults died in the U. S. The highest percentage of adults came from minority communities, mostly immigrants from third world countries. Another three million left maimed and crippled to one degree or another. Urgent medical care meant emergency rooms came under siege; the doctors, almost nonexistent. Too many hospitals closed for lack of operating funds; too little reimbursement.
It didn’t come as a surprise to many to learn the United States Health and Human Services Department quietly stopped budgeting for the creation and implementation of the polio vaccine in 2013. They took responsibility for vaccines and immunizations away from parents that long rejected the poisons in the makeup of the vaccines. The Boards of Education, no longer monitoring the children’s vaccination requirements, demanded congressional investigations that went nowhere. Conspiracy advocates abounded. The most popular theory postulated the virus, deliberately released by the government, would serve to thin the ranks of the entitlement classes. Abdicating responsibility to deadly disease; clearly far easier and more expedient than Congress risking reelection in a controversial attempt at fiscal responsibility. C’est la vie. Massive riots in the streets enabled citizens to vent but the efforts for change advanced anemically.
Scotty grew hungry for his dinner, waiting for Germaine. If his best buddy didn’t show soon, they might lose their prize to the big kids. He didn’t want the big kids to spot him without Germaine for back up. The last time that happened, they held him down and pulled off his pants. They jeered and taunted him, calling him Scotty-Watty Tissue Paper and worse yet, Ass-Wipe. They left him pantless on the pavement to slink home in disgrace. His mommy held him and shed tears with him. His daddy made fun of him and called him a sissy boy. He didn’t think sissy boy sounded nice from his daddy’s mouth. Now his daddy referred to both he and his big sister as parasites.
He smiled the first time he heard it. It sounded like a big important word. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue. He liked to repeat the word over and over, enjoying the syllables that popped out of h
is mouth so satisfyingly. Then he noticed his mother’s face after his father said it. It looked crumpled in. That’s when he realized it must be a bad word. Now, the word just slithered out of his mouth like a venomous snake looking for prey to strike. He developed trouble sleeping, nightmares a common occurrence. He never remembered any of his nightmares but he knew they always contained a big dark murky figure that resembled his dad. Unfortunately, Scotty easily developed into a suspicious defensive little boy, trusting only his mother and his sister.
He loved his half-sister, Abby. Abby’s daddy and his mom never married. Everyone said young and foolish made a bad combination for marriage. That’s what Abby said, too. He didn’t think his mom ever behaved foolishly. If she had been his age he would have made her his very best friend. Even though playing with a girl made you look like a loser.
Thirteen-year-old Abby became Scotty’s strongest advocate. Whenever Scotty refused to go outside for fear of bodily harm, Abby would sit him down and spin stories of imaginary worlds, fantastic creatures and handsome brave little boys. He loved hearing Abby’s stories even more than playing with Germaine.
That’s why he couldn’t understand why his daddy ignored Abby. His mommy said sisters and brothers must always protect one another. But he knew his daddy didn’t want to protect Abby. Late one night when he got up to go potty, he heard his parents fighting. He heard his father shout something about Abby hanging around his neck like an anchor. He heard his daddy call Abby a bad name. His daddy said he didn’t want to be responsible for a bastard kid that didn’t belong to him.
Overhearing his daddy gave him a stomachache. His troubled sleep left him tired and cranky the next morning. But he still managed to promise his mommy he would always protect Abby, even if he had to stand on a chair to do it. He thought it would make his mother happy. He didn’t understand why she cried instead.
Late one fall day, Scotty came home from grade school, his paperwork in his eager hands. He wanted to show his mom the smiley face the teacher gave him. His daddy was supposed to take Abby to the hospital for her weekly dialysis treatment. Mommy worked six days a week at the grocery store, so Daddy reluctantly took responsibility. When Scotty remarked that Daddy should work so Mommy could stay home more, he claimed he had very important things to do and that a dummy like Scotty wouldn’t understand. Mommy looked like her tummy hurt when Daddy said things like that.
Actually, the little boy didn’t recall his daddy ever working like Mommy did. He often saw her late at night, removing her shiny leg brace to massage her tired muscles.
Scotty realized most of the dads in his building didn’t work. They formulated important matters to discuss in the rec room of their building. The dads wouldn’t let little kids in the rec room because of the beer and smoking. So when he found Abby unconscious on the floor of her bedroom, he ran down to the basement rec room and pounded on the locked door.
“Hello, anyone in there? Daddy, I need you. Daddy, Daddy. Help.” He knew Abby should go to the hospital this morning. Why didn’t Daddy take her? But no one would open the door to a crying six year old. He tried again, banging over and over. The door suddenly opened, omitting smoke and loud raucous music.
“Kid, what cha doing … screaming out here? Get lost.” The big man wore an old stained shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his fat hairy arms. He exuded an unfamiliar bad smell.
“Is my daddy here? I need him to come home; Abby’s on the floor.” Scotty danced nervously, his voice small and frightened, his wandering eye floating erratically.
“I’m not gonna say it again. Don’t be bangin’ on this door.” The big man burped, sending a gust of rancid beer breath in Scotty’s face. He cringed, the door slamming in his face.
Scotty knew saving Abby by himself would require some bravery.
He ran outside into the dirty street, his heart pounding so hard he thought the bullies in the neighborhood might hear him. Choking back his sobs, he ran up and down the street, dodging cars and screaming for the police. He glimpsed the old grannies from the neighborhood that congregate at the corner, lounging in cheap plastic chairs, holding court on the sidewalks. He scrambled out of the street, hurrying toward them.
“Abby’s going to die. She’s on the floor. Please, we need help.”
Unable to hold back the tears overflowing his wild eyes, he dragged the grannies to his family’s apartment. A nice Muslim lady sat with him while two other black grannies made a few cell phone calls. Soon, three strapping black men entered the apartment. Scotty, positive they might rob the apartment, stuck to them like glue. Relieved, he watched them lift Abby in their arms and carry her out of the apartment. He tried to follow.
“Hey kiddo, you stay here until your mom comes home. Your sister’s very sick. You need to hold the fort down. This nice lady will stay with you.” One of the black men, his eyes soft and moist, ran his hand along Scotty’s shoulder giving him a reassuring stroke and softly shut the door behind him.
The nice Muslim lady stayed with him until his mommy came home from work. He hoped Abby didn’t die. Fear made him pray.
He didn’t know much about what happened after that. His mommy asked him to stay in his room. He heard lots of crying and silences. Then his daddy came home and the screaming started. He didn’t know what it meant but he felt terror stricken anyway. He began to relax when the cops took his daddy away. Abby came home a week later, alive but painfully thin. Scotty began to sleep much, much better.
A few days later, his mother silently handed him a cardboard box, telling him to pack his toys. She folded up all their clothes except for Daddy’s, the brace on her afflicted leg clanking around the apartment as she packed up their little lives.
The night before the move, his mother sat them both down for a talk.
“Scotty, do you understand we’re moving far away?” She pulled her light brown hair back in a ponytail; long wisps escaping to frame her thin stressed face, her voice low and tired.
“Yes, Mommy,” he assured his mother, not understanding the meaning of far away. But he loved and trusted his mom. He knew every line on her wonderful face. A smile failed to appear as he scrutinized her expression. Somehow, he realized, she needed him to be okay with the move.
Abby picked him up and sat him on her lap.
“Honey, you shouldn’t strain yourself like that. The nurse said—.”
“Mom, it’s okay. Let me help.” She rocked Scotty on her lap. Her pretty face lit up, her affection for Scotty giving him confidence as he looked into her eyes, laughing. “You’re our big guy aren’t you, Scotty? It’s going to be you, me and Mom. What a great team. We can do anything; right?”
“Right.” Shouting and laughing, he looked at his mom. “Right, Mommy?”
“Right, baby, a great team.” She finally joined in the laughter, her children’s optimism infectious.
Chapter 2
The scary move to Sussex County brought many changes, none the least, never again seeing his only playmate, Germaine. Germaine said he would beg his mom to bring him for a visit but Germaine didn’t have a daddy to drive him there.
Luckily, Abby recovered from her sickness. Her physician’s assistant (she never actually saw a doctor, ever, not in her whole life) determined her kidney would have no lasting damage. Maybe. From now on, they must watch very carefully to make sure Abby got to her dialysis on time. It was critical. Mom told them about the cute little neighborhood not far from their new home that offered a health clinic with the services Abby needed. Relief washed over Scotty. He didn’t want to have to save Abby again. The traumatic event reverberated in his memory, too much for a little six-year-old boy.
Their sad little three-bedroom ranch in Sussex County looked as lonely and forlorn as Scotty felt. The roof desperately needed repairs. When it rained, they ran around, laughing and bumping into one another with pots in their hands, collecting the drips. When they took showers, the water didn’t stay hot for long; last one in froze. They learned they must accept
the landlord’s response to their complaints. He gave them two choices, suck it up or get out.
They did their best to make it a home. Mrs. Preston made sure she kept it spotless and full of love. Scotty screamed with happiness, thrilled to find it included a tiny back yard with his very own tree. The air smelled clean and fragrant. But, best of all, it didn’t have his daddy. His nightmares stopped. Whenever his mother mentioned he could visit with his dad, his heart raced with panic. On those occasions, he usually potties in his bed while he sleeps. The next day, when his mommy changed his bed, he would tell her all about his nightmare. Her face slipped into such a haggard and defeated bearing that he felt swamped with guilt, convinced his father’s pronouncements about him might come true.
Sadly, the little boy found no playmates in his hilly little neighborhood. The homes were fully occupied by mostly black and Spanish families and a separate enclave of Muslims, of course. The children in the neighborhood took one look at his bald spots and disfiguring scars and refused to play with him, turning up their noses. They made fun of his wandering eye, calling him cootie head, dick wad, faggot and douche bag. The older boys would jeer at him, enjoying his hurt. The most aggressive pushed him to the ground, kicking dirt and gravel at him to cover his cootie bugs.
Scotty wandered around and around the neighborhood, looking for someone to play with. His loneliness made him long to grow up quickly. Then he could do anything he wanted, not needing the attention or approval of kids that felt it necessary to call him ass wipe. His memories tasted nasty, festering like an infected wound.
One day, he found the top of the hill behind his neighborhood. He discovered a curious path that tempted him into the woods. The dead leaves from tall thick grandfather oaks, dried and crinkled, disintegrating under foot as he explored. Over time, he learned to entertain himself in the woods, fighting imaginary wars with imaginary magical creatures. The woods became an enchanting place for him. He felt peace. He felt safe. He loved the small clearings drizzled with dappled sunlight, the occasional sighting of little creatures. He never felt lonely, seduced by the magic of timid rabbits, quarreling squirrels, hyperactive chipmunks and the silent family of deer; all his unwitting playmates, enchanting him with their innocence and acceptance.
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