I shuddered as I heard the screen door open. School was out and the kids were home.
"Go downstairs, Trevor, I'm sick" I moaned from the couch where I was lying. I had been there all day. I had been there all week.
I was sick. I was always sick lately. I had incredible headaches. It was like a huge piston in my head going up -- chug -- and down -- boom. Chug -- boom -- chug -- boom -- chug -- boom. I hurt everywhere. My legs ached when I tried to stand; my legs ached when I tried to sit. My legs always ached. My arms hurt. My fingers even ached.
I was cold. I was immensely cold. my body quavered from somewhere deep inside me until it seemed to erupt in violent shudders -- as waves breaking the surface. My throat was raw and scratchy, my eyes were burning. My face was red and swollen. My nose and eyes flowed continuously.
I kept the heavy quilt pulled up tightly under my chin as I watched the snowy screen on the television. It was turned off the channel and the video the kids had left on had finished. The remote control was on the coffee table next to me within reach but I could not get my arm to move. The kids had played the video repeatedly over the past three days but I still had not seen it.
The phone rings. Stop it please. Reach the remote. Turn up the volume. Sounds of wind -- or rain. I still hear ringing. Then Trevor -- "Mom the phone's ringing."
"So answer the damn thing," I cried.
"Geez, what's wrong with you?" I still hear ringing. Then it stops. "Hello ... no I can't, mom's sick. Maybe I can come to your place."
Good -- it wasn't for me. I should feed the kids. When did they eat last? I don't know. When did I eat last? I don't know.
"Trevor can you make some soup?"
"There is no soup."
"Then make some sandwiches."
"There's no bread."
"Then make some macaroni."
"It's all gone mom. There's nothin' left in the cupboard."
"What do you mean, nothin'?" I'm up off the couch now. "Why don't you try looking in the fuckin' fridge?" My legs are holding me. I'm starting to walk. "There has to be something." I make it to the fridge. I open it -- it's empty -- I cry.
On the middle of the kitchen floor now. I cry and cry. I moan. I groan. I cry. I tremble; I'm cold. I have to make it. I have to move. I have to be okay. Try.
"Go downstairs and get some potatoes." That's better. I look in the freezer and find some moose meat.
"This is all the potatoes, mom."
Don't panic, we'll eat. Peel the potatoes. Fry the meat. "Dallas see if there are any peas left in the freezer." Ugh -- they're freezer burned. Cook them anyway. Keep standing.
You did it. They're eating. I can't eat. The couch again. Must sleep. Can't sleep. Too noisy.
"Okay, bedtime boys." They go. It's quiet. Too quiet. Turn TV on. Turn stereo on. Phone rings again. You're sweating.
Answer it. No! Chicken? No -- I'm nobody.
"H-hello?" Congratulations you did it.
"Hi, how're you?"
"Not bad..... that's a lie. I'm miserable, actually."
"Sorry ... I can't help you."
"I never asked you to."
"A... Haven't heard from you lately. Thought I'd call and see what you were doing."
"I'm not."
"Not what?"
"Not doing."
"Did you get the rest of the stuff moved in from the farm yet? I wanted to help you but I still don't have any insurance on my truck."
So why aren't you ever home? "I'm too sick to do anything anyway."
"You must have the flu."
"Yep, must have." Flu my ass. "I haven't got any money for gas either."
"Sorry, can't help you."
"Never asked you to."
"Yeah, well I just thought I'd call and see how you were doin'"
"I'm not."
"Ha-ha... well stop over for coffee."
"Sure, yeah, bye." Click.
The flu. Laughing, vibrating, shaking, rolling on the floor laughing.
Get up. Walk around. Have a cigarette. Still laughing. Go to bed. Tonight I'm going to sleep.
Wide awake. Not sleeping. Trying so hard. Wanting to sleep. I'd get up, walk around and try again. Finally I doze off.
SNAP! What was that? A firecracker? Couldn't be. Something breaks -- shattered glass. The lights are all on. Why are all the lights on? Who are these people? Why is it so cold in here? Suddenly I'm terrified. A bullet screams past my head. I scream back.
I jump out of bed and run down the hallway. Outside there are more people. They have guns. They are shooting at me. Tammy is out there. Why is Tammy out there? I look at the people standing inside -- I know them. They are my friends. They will help me.
I'm trying to hide now. Silence pierced by gunfire. Another explosion. More shattered glass. Still dodging bullets. My friends are ignoring me. Why are they talking so quietly? Why can't I hear them? Why can't I hear me? They must not see me. Can't they see what's happening? I have to get their attention. I have no voice. They are standing by the sink. I run to the sink and I stand between them. They see me and they push me back in front of the window. Another bullet shrieks by. They are my friends. Why won't they help me?
I switch off the lights. They switch them back on. They are standing there laughing at me. I switch off the lights. They switch them back on. I must see who else is outside. I lie down and crawl across the carpet. The windows are too low. The lace curtains are billowing inward. It is dark outside. A bullet screams past my ear. Glass flies across the carpet. I see them now. I know them all. Most are my friends. My friends are inside. My friends are outside.
My friends are my enemies. I stand up and start to scream. I know I'm screaming. I hear it faintly in the distance. I back into the hallway and I continue to scream. There is a hand on my arm. I turn to look. "Mom, are you okay?" It's Trevor. I hear him but the lights go out. The house is very quiet. Everything is quiet. All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I turn to look at my friends in the kitchen. They are gone.
Carefully I move across the room to the window. No one is out there. I don't feel the cold wind -- the lace curtains hang motionless. I lift the curtain to look at the window as I slide my hand over the glass. The glass is unbroken. I sit down and start to cry.
"Do you want me to talk to you, mom?"
"It's okay, I'll phone somebody." I check my watch. It's four a.m. -- I'll phone somebody.
Sorry to wake you but I was just getting shot at. Is Tammy okay?"
by Wendy J Hanson
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