by C C Roth
Dad whistled and gestured for us all to follow as Frank was leading him through a back door. “Frank thinks he might have some of what we need out back.”
There was a large storage room with poor lighting, full of boxes and random piles of stuff. It was basically a tiny indoor junkyard. Frank seemed to read the expression on my face as I stared at the carefully cultivated piles of crap.
“One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure, my dear.” He smiled at me and got to work tossing some empty boxes across the room.
“Looks like you’re tipping a little heavy on the garbage side of things back here,” I blurted.
He chuckled and pulled aside another cardboard box. Underneath was a large spool of chicken wire. It was just what my dad wanted for the garden but he studied it with a thoughtful face, acting like it wasn’t quite right.
“Well, I was hoping for a bit more. But that’ll get us started. What do you want for it?”
Frank thought it over. “I’m a fair man, Jack. What do you have you can part with?”
“I noticed you were short on flashlights and such. I’ve got a new lantern and a couple flashlights we could spare. Never been used.”
Frank scratched his head and moved his gray hair around as he thought. “That’s not much but it’ll do. Bring ‘em on up to the counter and we’ll have a look.”
My dad nodded and we all walked back to the jeep together, my fingers itching to grab the shower gel as I passed it again. Mom lifted up the back hatch of the car to expose a couple of boxes stashed behind the seats. She pulled one out and sorted through the contents. There were three flashlights and a new lantern as well as a can of chocolate syrup, soups, cooking oil and a bottle of whiskey.
“We only give what we have to,” she said as she moved the other items into the second box and took the flashlights and lantern in the first. We brought it back inside and met Frank at the counter.
He turned the lights over in his hands and nodded. “It’s alright. I’d usually ask for more ‘cause this is a lot of wire, but these’ll go quickly. I hope you’ll come back with anything else of interest you find. It’d be nice to see familiar faces these days.”
“Will do, Frank. We appreciate what you’re doing here.” Dad nodded and turned to Frank’s wife. “Thank you.”
She offered a nod but nothing more. Her hand still hadn’t come up from under the counter. This Ellen chick was no joke.
A thought popped into my head as we were leaving, and I stayed behind while my family wandered out to the lot. “Hey, Frank? Do you see many kids around? Like my age?”
Frank glanced at his wife and shook his head. “No, darlin’. Not lately. We lost our son a few weeks ago, he was 17, and since then I haven’t seen anyone under 30 that I can recall.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I…”
“That’s alright.” His face had morphed and was suddenly heavy. “You do me a favor and stay away from Bloomfield, like I said. That’s how we lost our boy.”
His cheeks reddened and his eyes were filling up. I felt bad for him but his sudden sadness was making me a little uncomfortable.
“Tell your parents I said so again, it’s just not safe. In fact, stay away from anyone you don’t know.”
“Okay,” I replied warily. “But technically you’re someone I don’t know so…” I took an exaggerated step backwards.
He chuckled a little at my joke and I was thankful to change the emotional climate. I never quite knew what to say when someone was sad.
“Well now that we’ve met you don’t have to stay away. In fact, Ellen and I would love some company from time to time if you all are able.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Frank.” He was sweet. I turned and ran to catch up with my family who were chatting at the produce tent outside. It was nice to talk to people again but how weird was Frank’s comment about never seeing anyone my age? There had to be other kids around, right? And what happened to his son, why wouldn’t he tell me more than that?
Mike helped Dad load the large coil into the back of the jeep. It was just what we needed. There wasn’t any lumber there, but the wire would work with what we could chop down ourselves or salvage along the way. Mom said it was time to go, that we didn’t want to push our luck. We thanked the people under the tent again and left. It was a relief to take our masks off once we were in the safety of our car. They were itchy and made my face feel hot and sweaty.
“Nobody touch your face until you’ve washed your hands!” Mom yelled from the front seat.
I rescued my phone from the floor of the car and switched it on, waiting for that familiar ding that signaled a message. But there was nothing, just a silent screen and no service. Instead of delivering an instant rush to satisfy my ever-growing need for stimuli it gave me an empty void. That may have been the last time I looked at it for a month.
✽✽✽
The next week was exhausting. We were working on building the fence for the garden every day, but by that point it was more like a small farm, and on top of that there was always something that needed to be done. The water tank needed sanitized or we had to practice catching and cleaning a fish or there was a leak in the roof. Every day was hard physical work but it was also one of the best weeks I can remember having with my family. Mom and I were getting along more and things felt, in a strange way, like they were getting better. The world was crumbling but we had our routine and we were safe and happy.
Dad even announced that we would be going to visit Frank again in a couple days to see if he could locate any insecticide for us and maybe while we were there, we could explore a bit more. A trip into a tiny redneck town should not get a teenage girl that excited but any excursion at that point felt like a ticket to the Super Bowl.
“Seriously?” I asked excited. “I liked Frank. He was nice. Maybe we could get some of that body wash too while we’re there?” I folded my hands pleadingly in front of me and tried my best to look angelic.
Dad snorted. “Nice try. Does that face ever work on anyone?”
“It might. Maybe on people that don’t know me.”
“Maybe we can get the body wash. Maybe.”
“Yes!” Years of experience told me his “maybe” meant “yes”.
I was feeling pretty good about the world at that moment. Well maybe not the actual world. The actual world was still crappy and dying, but my tiny little world felt okay for that second in time. I scrubbed my hands after having worked with Dad outside all morning and grabbed the Remington for a little target practice. It had become one of my favorite things to do since there were really only like, five things to do at the cabin besides work. The weapon in my hand no longer gave me pause but rather felt like a friendly handshake and all my apprehension about shooting had left completely. It’s funny how quickly people can change. I’d always been a little off, or different, or out of control. But I was feeling that less, like those feelings were fading away and being replaced with something else, like I was finally complete.
I set up targets in different positions around the most open area which was tucked inside hills on all sides. A can on a tree branch, one on the ground near a log, one tucked into a bush. I made sure that they were spread out so I could work on my speed in aiming accurately. I set up further away this time, maybe 50 yards, behind a fallen branch and rested my rifle on the moss-covered bark. My eyes closed and I breathed slowly letting the rest of the world fade away. I was alone with the cold little center inside me, telling me everything was going to be okay. Telling me I was strong and could handle anything our dying world threw at me. I never felt so calm as I did in the moments before I fired that rifle. It was becoming like meditation for me. A really loud and violent meditation that hammered everything else into a blurry pulp.
Let’s see what we can do. Go.
One, turn and squeeze. Two, turn and squeeze. Three, turn and squeeze. I floated through the movements like I was gliding across an ice skating rink, the bolt of my rifle sliding seamlessly as if
on its own. I hit the final target easily and suddenly a turkey flew up from some brush nearby. He must’ve been hiding from me, and the last shot startled him out of his cover. I turned, aimed and he was falling to the ground before I even knew I had pulled my trigger. I remained crouched and frozen for a time just staring at what I’d done. Even though we’d been hunting before I hadn’t actually killed anything yet. I hadn’t wanted to. I didn’t want to right then either, but it had just sort of happened. The bird moved and I killed it. I walked over to look down on its dead body, his feathers lying softly in the leaves. I should have felt something. Excitement or sadness or…something. Mike had been pretty proud of himself when he’d shot a deer a month ago, but I could tell it had really bothered him. He was feeling guilty about it and he hadn’t taken a shot since. Should I feel guilty about this? It wasn’t moving at all and I was thankful it had died with one shot. Having to put it out of its misery might have been too much for me. I supposed that my parents would be happy to have the meat but a part of me felt like I should hide what I’d done, that I should be ashamed or something. Maybe if I hid the body under some bushes they’d never know. A coyote or something would come along and get rid of the evidence for me. I scanned the hills around me wondering what the best option would be and that’s when I saw my mom at the top of the south hill looking down at me. We just stood there for a beat staring at each other.
Adrenaline spiked through me and I felt as if I’d been caught. I needed to say something quickly. “I got a turkey,” was all I managed. I did my best to sound nonchalant about it.
She nodded. “I saw.” Her tone was accusing somehow. “That was quite a shot, Sam. Did you know he was there?”
There was a right answer here but I knew from past conversations I would probably answer wrong no matter what. “No. Just got lucky.”
“Yes, you did. Lucky that wasn’t a person that jumped out of the bushes.”
“Well if some creepster weirdo was hiding in the bushes it’s probably not a bad idea to shoot first anyway, right?” My sarcasm had fallen flat with her.
She stood there another minute watching me then waved for me to come up. “Bring the turkey. I’ll show you how to clean it for dinner.”
She was going to make a big deal about this, I knew it. So what if I had shot the damn bird? It was a turkey. We ate them all the time at home except someone else killed them and put them in a grocery store. There wasn’t that big of a difference. I grabbed the dead animal by its feet which felt the like the least disgusting way to carry it then headed up the hill. I hoped she wasn’t going to make me clean it by myself, ugh. The world was blowing up, people were dying, and my mother was going to give me a lecture about a dead turkey. If she’d told me to shoot it then it would still be dead so what was her problem?
A little voice inside me reached out to calm me down. You should be proud. It was a good shot.
“Yeah. It was a good shot.”
You’re probably a better shot than your mother. She’s just jealous.
The thought made me chuckle a little, but it could be true. Maybe she didn’t like that I was finally good at something.
By the time I’d reached the top of the hill I was convinced that I was in the right and once again, Mom needed to chill out. She was waiting for me over by the cabin with a large knife and a bucket.
I laid the turkey at her feet dramatically and bowed. “Your bird, my lady.”
“This isn’t funny, Sam.” Her tone was stern but even at her maddest she couldn’t phase me. “I saw you take that shot and we need to talk about this. That gun is not a toy.”
“Do you see me playing with it?”
“No I saw you fire it without stopping to think. Without registering what you were even about to kill.”
“That’s not true. You just didn’t have a good view from the hill. Obviously I knew the turkey was there.” I lied. I did that a lot.
She stared at me with knowing eyes. “Sam, that gun is not something you can use carelessly. What if that had been your brother or father?”
“Why would they be jumping out of bushes when I’m doing target practice? That makes no sense! You’re way overreacting as usual. Everything is fine, no one is hurt. Can we just clean this thing and cook some yummy bird?” I gave her my best angel eyes but that didn’t work on her any more than her mom-stare worked on me.
“Sam—"
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t want you to tell me what I want to hear. I want you to understand the consequences of your actions. Every action you make has a consequence and there are some you can never take back. Ever.”
I was so bored with her lecture but if I didn’t pretend to care and reach some moral compromise then she wouldn’t let it go.
I used my best sincere voice. “I will be more careful. I will. I understand and I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “Do you? Do you really?” Her face was pinched with worry, her eyes filling with tears.
Geez, all this over a dumb bird.
“You’re gifted, you know? There aren’t many people who can shoot the way you do and so quickly. You have a talent.”
Somehow it didn’t sound like a compliment. It was more of a judgement or a lily pad jump away from an accusation.
“I’m sure there are tons of people who are better than I am. But I’m glad you taught me. I feel like I needed this or something.”
Her brows arched quizzically. “Why do you say that?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I just feel better when I’m shooting. More like myself maybe.”
“You’re good but you should be careful, Sam. Don’t let a little piece of power change you. You could lose yourself.”
“Would that really be so bad? It’s not like anyone would miss me.” I laughed but I was the only one.
It was clear I wasn’t going to joke my way out of this. I was running out of patience and I could feel my temper rising. One more second of her tedious angst and I was going to lose it. Luckily Dad and Mike wandered over and started celebrating when they saw the turkey, before they could read the mood. Mom’s lecture was over, at least for the moment. I joined in their cheers and smiled at all the fuss they were making hoping my joy would put out Mom’s overbearing frustration. Even after all the drama, it turned out to be a good night. I faked being grossed out and got Mike to do most of the nasty dead bird cleaning and Mom even lightened up when she showed me how to prepare and cook it. We listened to music and told goofy stories in the kitchen while the smells of roasting turkey wafted through the air. It kind of felt like Thanksgiving which was nice considering the last holiday had been spent imprisoned in our home watching news reports about all the sick people.
I wish I could go back and appreciate that night again. All of us together and locked away from the fallout of so much death. And the turkey turned out pretty good too.
4- Say Goodbye
Iwoke early two days later and headed into the kitchen thinking I’d be the first one up. Mom was sitting alone at the table writing something in a notebook. She looked startled as I approached and quickly closed the book as if she had something to hide.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just my journal.” Her tone was overly casual.
“I didn’t know you kept a journal.”
She nodded as she ran her fingers over the black leather cover. “I’ve been writing in one for as long as I can remember. I bet there are 15 or 20 of these boxed up in the basement back home. It helps me…keep things straight. Like when I’ve had things I’ve felt I couldn’t tell people about. This helps me figure it all out.”
I felt one of her “talks” coming on so I did my best to seem uninterested and grabbed a cup of water to start making some oatmeal.
“So, a journal huh? I’ve never even seen that before. You are just a riddle wrapped in an onion, Mom.”
She shrugged it off, “Well we
have a bit more space at home and I usually write when I’m alone but there isn’t really anywhere to be alone here.”
“Right? I’m sharing a loft with captain snores a lot up there, I’m aware we don’t have ‘alone’ space.”
“Do you ever feel like that, Sam? Like you can’t talk to people about things?”
Bullet not dodged. Here we go. “Sure. I guess everyone does, right?”
“Yes. But I mean serious things that you think people wouldn’t understand? Things you think I wouldn’t understand.”
I rolled my eyes in her direction. “Mom, this would be easier if you just told me what you want me to say. Then you can tell me how I’m wrong and it’ll save us both a lot of time.” I said it with a smile but my tone had come out snarkier than I’d intended. I’d hurt her feelings.
“I worry about you, Sam. I’m worried about what this world is going to do to you. I worry because I’m a mom and that’s just my job but also because you, well…you process things differently. You seem to internalize so much. What I’m trying to say is that you can talk to me if you want to. About anything. I’m here and you can tell me whatever you’re feeling.”
I pulled out a chair and flopped down across from her. “I don’t feel anything, Mom.”
That comment didn’t seem to put her at ease and she studied my face with that analyzing expression of hers. That face always drove me crazy. She never looked at Mike like that. I was suddenly frustrated and too tired to bother hiding it.
“Why do you want something to be wrong with me? Why can’t you just let me be? I’m fine.”
I wasn’t fine but I didn’t know it yet. She could see it though. Mom could always see it I think.
She shook her head and her perfect hair fell around her shoulders. “I don’t want something to be wrong with you, Sam. I want…I just want to know that giving you that gun wasn’t a mistake. Promise me you’ll be careful, okay? Promise me you’ll think.”