Break Down

BREAK DOWN

“Mom? Mom?”

Emily was on her hands and knees, searching under the bed for her other shoe amongst the dust bunnies and pre-packed suitcases when she heard her daughter’s call. To some degree, she was a bit of a Doomsday Prepper. Of course, anyone who had suffered losses to the outbreak over the past decade would understand. Sure, the Ministry played a pretty song about control measures, which everybody loved to dance to, but in the back of Emily’s mind there was no doubt that it would all come crashing down. One day.

If something could happen, it eventually would happen.

So Emily Samuels wasn’t ashamed of those three suitcases under the bed—there was pride in batteries and canned sardines, even if the blessed of this cursed shit-hole thought otherwise. Her clumsiness, however, was a different story. That, Emily was not proud of. She’d half-tripped getting into bed the night before and kicked her shoe to Kingdom Come.

“Mom!” Not a question this time.

“Jesus, Lucette. I’m running late. Whatever it is, can we talk about it when I pick you up from school this afternoon?”

“No, I have to give you this before you leave.”

With an exasperated sigh, Emily lifted herself up, faced her daughter, and in doing so, happened to spot her elusive Reebok wedged under the dresser. Like socks, like the television remote, she suspected her shoes came alive at night and tripped the light fantastic, finally giving in to the exhaustion of their explorations and coming to rest in unlikely places.

“Mom, you have to take this to work with you,” Lucette said, buzzing around like a mosquito that wouldn’t land anywhere long enough to swat. Emily snagged the shoe and sat down on the bed to slip it on.

“What?” Emily snapped with more bite than she’d intended. Fatigue always brought the gorgon out in her, some awful creature born of the nightmares that kept her awake. “I’m sorry, darlin’. You know how much I hate being late for work. Come here. What’s it you want to give me?”

Lucette hesitated, and then pulled her hands out from behind her back, presenting a jumbled origami attempt. As to what animal it was supposed to be, Emily wasn’t sure. “Oh, it’s lovely. You’re really coming along with that.”

Lucette raised an eyebrow, a look of skepticism that so resembled her father Emily had to turn away. “If it’s that good then tell me what it is.”

Emily stared down at the crumpled paper, trying to decipher some shape in its clefts and points. Why did kids have to insist on testing their parents like this? But then again, Emily had been the same to her folks, too. “Giraffe?”

“It’s a crane, Mom.” The girl stroked the paper, a makeshift pet. “I know I’m not very good. I’m working on it, though.”

“It’s lovely. I don’t have an office or desk to sit it on. I guess I could put it in the break room.”

“Oh, it’s not for you. It’s for the boy you told me about. Robby.”

While she’d displayed some prudence—glazing over how the young boy contracted his infection, for example—she shouldn’t have told her daughter about Robby in the first place. Confidentiality laws. But sometimes, like all nurses, Emily needed to debrief, and since she lacked adult companionship her daughter became a substitute confidant. Was that wrong? Selfish? Emily couldn’t tell, or maybe she just didn’t want to. Lucette was her only real friend, and there were times, just as before when she’d evoked her father’s expression, when her little girl really didn’t seem quite so little.

Or perhaps I just need to get back in the saddle.

Christ.

The world’s scary enough without having to date.

“I thought it might be something nice to put out in his room, to cheer him up,” Lucette said. “Tell him I’ll send some more once I’m better at it. Once I’m a pro.”

Emily’s smile was melancholic. Lucette Samuels was a flower growing through concrete, blooming into a world that had no time for pretty things anymore.

“He’ll love it,” she said. “He doesn’t have much in his room right now, just a few comic book posters we managed to scrounge up. I’m sure he’ll be pleased as punch.”

“Maybe I could go visit him sometime? He’ll need a friend you know.”

Her daughter’s compassion and generosity was almost blinding. A child’s purity could be very delicate, a thing that should be nurtured, yes, whilst shielded at the same time.

“Darlin’, the hospice isn’t a place for children.”

“Robby’s a child and he’s there.”

“Yeah, but he’s sick. Everyone there is sick.”

“You’re not.”

“You know what I mean, young lady.” She puffed out her chest, standing tall. “I’m a trained professional who knows how to protect myself.”

“I know all the safety rules,” Lucette said without a sense of play. “You drilled them into me enough times.”

(a yellow stick-figure family painted on a blue mailbox)

“I’ll think about it,” Emily said.

Lucette jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “That’s not a no.”

“And it’s not a yes either, but we’ll discuss it.” Emily tousled Lucette’s hair. “Now I’ve got to get going. You make sure you’re ready when the bus gets here.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“And don’t you leave this house until Mr. Reynolds pulls up outside.”

“I know.”

“Check the windows before you go outside, and if you see anyone that seems off, you stay in this house. I’d rather you miss a day of school than—”

“I know, I know. You go over this with me every single morning. Do you think I’m dumb or something?”

Emily didn’t think her daughter was dumb, but she hadn’t thought she and Jordan were dumb, either. She knew that the bus drivers for the district were trained to handle ‘situations’ if they encountered anyone infected on the route, but Emily didn’t like leaving Lucette’s safety in anyone else’s hands. “It’s important to be careful. Never forget that.”

“I won’t. And don’t you forget to give Robby the crane, okay?”

“Promise, I’ll do it first thing when I get to work.” Emily kissed Lucette on the forehead, pinching her cheek. “Love you, darlin’.”

“I love you too, Mommy,” she replied, wiping the kiss off her skin.

In the living room, Emily shrugged on her coat, grabbed the keys from the coffee table, and slung her purse over a shoulder. She had one foot out the door when Lucette said, “Please don’t forget.”

“I told you, I’ll be sure to give him the crane.”

“Not that. Don’t forget that you said we’d discuss me going to visit Robby.”

Winter’s breath blew at Emily’s neck. The girl before her in her stocking feet seemed so trusting. Guileless. Just as she imagined Robby’s must have been. Back before the night of the Halloween festival.

I’ve got to keep her safe. No matter what.

I have to keep her safe.

Emily sat in her car, staring at the origami crane perched on the dash like the statuette of a Hawaiian hula dancer from another time. The honeymoon that never happened; another pipedream down the drain. And no doubt, once Lucette’s interest in Japan had expanded into full-blown obsession mode, there would come a conversation Emily was already dreading.

Mom, I’d really love to visit Tokyo.

It’d be such a great experience to see another country, don’t you think?

But, Mom, all my friends are doing it!

To some degree the answers to these questions were already written.

We don’t have the money, sweetie. Your friends’ folks have good jobs; they’re not slumming it like us. I know it’d be a great experience—but who can tell what outbreak security is like in other countries?

Emily shook her head, acquiescing to the terrible realization that she was turning into her own mother. The more things changed, the more they remained the same.

Raise your angels just to clip their wings later.

It was a harsh way to live, though fair—one of her mother’s favorite expressions. It might as well have been etched into her tombstone.

Thankfully, the travel conversation was still far off. Emily had to get through the current workday first, and like those that had preceded it, this morning was beginning the same way. Emily had pulled into the parking lot fifteen minutes earlier, cut the engine, and started to cry. This was her new routine. She hadn’t been running late for work, not really; the truth was that Emily liked to arrive half an hour early so she could spend time in the car preparing herself for the shift ahead.

Robby weighed heavy on her thoughts.

He was a bright boy, smart and funny, and Emily enjoyed being around him, but just as Lucette was never going to get to Japan, Robby was never going to become a paleontologist, or get married, or have kids of his own. All he had ahead of him was a painful death without his family by his side.

There was one silver lining in Robby’s short future though: His incubation period wouldn’t be long. The neglect he’d suffered, both at the hands of those who’d kicked him to the curb and that he’d self-imposed, had led to a serious case of pneumonia. His immune system was shot to hell.

Robby was already refusing solids. His hair was falling out. The night staff reported screams coming from his room. It was all there in his notes.

Emily popped open the glove compartment and drew out some napkins from the stash she’d collected from various fast-food restaurants, using them to wipe at her eyes and blow her nose. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, glanced out the windshield at the Right-to-Lifers, already gathered outside the hospice at this hour.

If there was one thing she truly hated about working here, it was that the parking lot was across from the facility. Sure, she’d heard there was a side entry into the building you could sleuth into, but Emily had yet to find it. Not that she minded the few extra steps; she just dreaded having to pass the protestors every day. And they were always there, rain or shine or sleet, more dependable than the mailman.

Ha. Another one of Mom’s expressions.

Emily recognized a few faces in the crowd, including the old woman who’d accosted her on her first day. But it wasn’t always the same people each morning. It was almost as if they had a rotating schedule in place.

Full-time prejudice came with part-time commitments.

Emily wondered if Robby’s parents were in the group today, if it was their shift, or if the fact that their son was now a ‘guest’ would keep them away. She couldn’t see them, thank God. As terrible as it sounded, their absence was preferred over Robby’s incarceration serving as greater motivation for their protests.

Not that I can pretend to understand how their minds work.

During the early days of the outbreak, Emily assumed those who were the most terrified of the infected and screamed the loudest for their deaths would change their tunes once someone they loved became affected. Then they would be able to put a face to the disease, realizing that the infected were just human beings, not statistics in the making. That assumption turned out to be naïve. All over the world, parents disowned children, children turned their backs on parents, spouses split. There were reports of people killed by family members simply for being suspected of having the zombie parasite in their veins.

Blood wasn’t as thick as water, and neither was thicker than fear.

Knuckles rapped the passenger-side window. Emily gasped, followed by a shaky laugh when she saw that it was Mama Metcalf out there peering in.

“Yoo-hoo! Space for two?”

Emily motioned for her to get in, which she did. The old woman cupped her wrinkled hands over the vents for warmth. “That feels good,” she said in her slow drawl. “It’s only two blocks from the L station, but it’s cold as a witch’s tit out there and I’m a walking popsicle.”

An involuntary laugh sputtered from Emily’s lips, to which Mama Metcalf’s reply was a blank, questioning look. Emily enjoyed the older woman’s company because she obviously had no idea just how funny she was. No matter how dark the mood, this squat little stranger could elicit smiles from stone. Emily had even seen Woods buckle to Mama Metcalf’s randomness.

“Well,” Emily said, “you’re welcome to share my warmth.”

“Same here, sweetie. I saw you sitting in the car looking like somebody done pissed all in your Cornflakes. I thought maybe you could use a friend.”

The heat suffused Emily’s cheeks, and she wiped at her dribbling nose with another napkin. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t very professional of me.”

“Ain’t no shame in letting it out sometimes,” Mama Metcalf said, patting her knee.

(There’s no shame in that, Robby. We all have to let it out.)

“It’s just that, you know, this job. It’s—”

“It’s rough. That’s why there’s so much turnover.”

“Yeah. How long have you been volunteering for?”

“Going on four years now.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. What’s the secret?”

Mama Metcalf scratched her chin. “For starters, I’m old. Not much I ain’t already seen or had to deal with. But you’se never too old to hurt. Breaking down empties out all the bad so you can face another day.” She smiled. “And it looks like you know that secret, too. You’re in for the long haul, I can tell.”

“Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence. Sometimes I’m not so sure. The last few days have, well, they’ve tested me.”

“The boy.”

Emily closed her eyes, nodded.

“Whole thing’s a tragedy. Bad enough what happened to him, but for his folks to just dump him that way. Can’t wrap my brain around it. I mean, far as I’m concerned you don’t throw your kids away no matter what. Whether they’re on drugs, in jail, gay, or zombie.”

Laughter bubbled up again, and though Emily tried to contain it, it slipped out anyway.

Mama Metcalf took her hand. “If you think it’s hard on you just imagine how he feels. And that’s where we come in. He needs people to help him through this, people he knows he can count on. If his folks are too piss-poor to be those people, it’s our job to take up the slack.”

Emily smiled. Piss-poor. Yet another hit from The Best of Bessie Samuels, one Emily hadn’t heard since she was a child herself.

“Mama Metcalf, I’m just curious, where are you from originally?”

“Little town in South Carolina called Gaffney. You probably never heard of it.”

“Ha! It’s home of the peach-shaped water tower. It looks like a giant ass hanging over the interstate.”

“We’re famous for our giant ass,” Mama Metcalf said with a wheezy laugh. “How come you know about Gaffney?”

“Because I was born and raised in Charleston, South Carolina.”

“A fellow South Cackalackian! Never would have guessed. You ain’t got much of an accent.”

“I’ve been out of the South for a long time now,” Emily said, not wanting to mention that she’d purposefully worked at losing her accent because she thought it made her sound like a dull-witted hillbilly. This, in spite of the revolution that had sprung up on those very streets.

“You know what they say, ‘you can take the girl outta the country but not the country outta the girl’. I moved up here a few years back after I split with my old man so I could be closer to my son, Erik. ‘Course, I still don’t see him much as I’d like. He’s got his own life. He runs a business with his husband, Paul.” Mama Metcalf paused and looked sharply at Emily. “My Ervin’s queer. Not that bitchy kind of queer, though. Not like Mykel.”

Emily didn’t even try to mask her giggles this time. It felt good, this unrestrained release. Freeing. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet another southern lady like yourself.”

“That vice is versa, sweetie. You should come by my apartment sometime for supper. I make a killer cornbread that’s so good you’ll swear you’re back in your own mama’s kitchen.”

“I might have to take you up on that.”

“Please do. Bring the young’un.”

Emily dabbed at her eyes again. “Oh shit. Well, there’s no more putting it off is there? What do you say we get inside and start this damn day?”

“You go on ahead, sweetie. I’m going to brave the cold for another minute and get me in a few puff-puffs.”

The two women exited the car, Emily carrying the crane and Mama Metcalf pulling out a pack of rolling papers and a bag of loose tobacco from her purse. Emily started for the street but stopped at the curb when the older woman said, “You ever need a friend, sweetie, I’m here.”

Emily smiled, said thank you, and continued across the street. The Right-to-Lifers yelled as she passed, but their hatred was like water off a duck’s back.

Another expression from better times.