It was a somber night. One full of dread, depression and fear. Being so alone for so long wasn’t the issue. When I came home to an empty apartment every night I wasn’t a whimpering sack of shit. No, I made dinner, watched some TV and went to bed; then I’d do it all over again. Wasn’t scared or sad (maybe the odd month). I was focused. Friends, work, bills, that treadmill kept me rolling. Now, the treadmill’s been hit by a plague, my friends are all in the dirt and my company’s stock fell through the floor. I guess I don’t miss bills much.
Clinging to that motel mattress I felt lucky. It wasn’t the fresh water or the stockpiled cans of food and case of beer next to the shotgun (God bless those rednecks). No sir, I felt lucky because I never watched my family suffer, or had to chose between saving someones life at the expense of another. I just got out of dodge when the shit hit the fan and got lucky. Too bad I can’t seem to balance loneliness with luck.
“BANG”
A thundering knock at my door. Nearly crapping myself, I rolled out of bed fumbling for the shotgun. Heart pumping more blood then it ever ought to. Adrenalin surging I shouted. “Who are you!”
The banging stopped.
Lifting my leg, I kicked the door. I hoped it would swing open, but the door was an “inny” not and “outy,” hurting my knee pretty bad. Shaking like a fool, I grabbed the door knob. On the other side was the wind. It was at this point that I started going crazy and realized how truly alone I was.
Days, Weeks, Months, Years they started to chip away at my bones. Cobwebs showed up in my head. I started reciting lines from Seinfeld episodes. I played the part of George, Jerry, Elaine, Kramer, Newman, fucking Bob Sacamano; just to keep myself entertained while I walked across the country. I didn’t spot a single person. Plenty of birds, but they make for shit conversation. I thought, no, dreamed that I’d one day run into someone. Maybe a kid who can’t find his parents and we’d team up like Jonny Quest. Or I’d find a grizzled war veteran who’s trying to rebuild the country. Or some hot blonde who’s hungry, tired and needs a lover. She could have some of my food, I’m lousy with it. There plenty of cans and the super markets are pretty full. No one’s buying. God I miss another voice. Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve spent time with plenty of people. They’re just decomposing or getting picked clean by dogs. Hey, dogs don’t have can openers.
You grow numb to a lot of shit when there’s no one around. Not too long ago I started wearing a basketball jersey (I pulled out of the hall of fame), a ten gallon hat and a speedo. No one’s judging my style. But I wish they would. Reminds me of normality.
I made camp at a little house on the prairie. There I lit a fire and pretended to watch ‘Gilligan’s Island.’ The dusty black maw of the television gave me little respite. Especially since it was that episode where they fucked up getting off the island again. Ugh, what am I saying that’s all of them. I can’t even tell the comedic stylings of Bob Denver apart anymore. This thought led me to romancing the idea of killing myself again.
“BANG” A knock. “BANG” Another.
Before I could put my dick back in my speedo and reach for the shotgun, the door was open.
A clean cut man, no older than thirty, entered the abandoned ranch house.
“Jesus, son what are you doing here!” He said, pulling a shiny green apple out of his jean jacket.
“Who… Who…” I babbled.
“What are you an owl? This is my neighbors place. What the hell are you doing here?”
“You–You’re, not sick?”
“Shit, no. And I’m assuming neither are you.” He took a bite out of the fresh apple.
I turned away from the shotgun. “N–No. I thought– I thought I was the last one.”
“The last what? Pervert? I don’t think you even know what gauge that shotgun is. Listen friend, I got some clothes that might fit you back at the house, but you need to promise me you’ll–”
I lunged at him, filthy skin and scraggly beard rubbing against his pants.
“Please! Please can I stay with you.”
“Get off me! You smell like piss.”
“I’m covered in it. Please you don’t know what its like. I’m not a bad guy! Dead people and birds suck.”
“I know. The word is before everything went to shit that only a few hundred are immune. There are some high up government types out there too, trying to restore some kind of order. Anybody else is long gone.”
I let go and fell to the floor. I didn’t know if I was crying because I was happy or crying because I couldn’t find another way to express what I really felt. Maybe I was just a bitch.
“Listen, I’ll have to talk to the Missus, but I could use an extra pair of hands on account of the world ending and all. If you ain’t afraid of some hard work, there’s a spare room.”
My teary eyes met his steel blue ones, and I made a gargling sound followed by a smile. I guess he took it as a “Thank you.”
“This is only, if you ain’t a pervert.” He extended his hand.
“D–Deal.” I shook it.
“Now let’s find you some pants to cover up those chicken legs.”
ofwhatmusing 