The Quarantine Chronicles: Day 6

Sitting there with the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of my head, all of the complexities and nuances of life seemed rather simple. All of your perceived troubles slip away; there was an ease to things, if you could imagine. I was either going to die or I wasn’t. I assumed that this was where the expression “cold hard steel” came from; oddly enough, sitting here now, feeling the pistol on my skull, the barrel actually felt warm. The man behind me and the other one man that I could see in the room waited for Hammel; it felt like an eternity. I concluded then, that all of the world’s problems could be solved with the clarity that comes from a loaded handgun pointed at your head. When he finally entered, they spoke among themselves in a language that I had yet to pinpoint. Hammel approached me. “Who are you spying for, London? Who have you told about this meeting?” “Spying?!” I said, appalled at him for accusing me of exactly what I was doing, “I’m doing my job. A job that you paid me for.” Hammel turned his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Securing the site,” I said without breaking eye contact. He lit a cigarette, still looking like he wasn’t buying it. I sighed, feigning annoyance at his ignorance. “I stayed in case anyone showed up. Do you guys know the location and permit number that allow me to operate the site 24 hours a day? Can you refer to the proper exemption that allows us to operate while everyone else is shut down or the proper language by which you can prevent an inspection? Have any of you ever talked to the DOB before? If I’m not here and something goes wrong, it’s my ass and my income that is on the line.” Hammel looked like he was comprehending what was being said, albeit still not open to purchasing what I was trying to sell. He spoke to his countrymen in their own language. The men seemed to back away a bit. All except the man with the gun. He responded with what I imagined was a protest. Hammel smiled taking another drag. “You are not aware of Mr. Rossi’s past,” Hammel said in English, speaking to the man behind me but looking at me, “Mr. Rossi here hates law enforcement probably as much as you do.” They exchanged words in their own language, I heard the sound of the safety being engaged and the gentlemen left the room. Hammel regarded me curiously. Looking more at his dwindling cigarette than he was at me. I got the impression that there were far more options to why I was here than I had previously anticipated. I was sure when dating his niece, he’d had me checked out, he must have known that I wasn’t anything more than a nosy asshole. Finally, it appeared that the Jury is his mind had reached a verdict. Even though I felt like it wasn’t unanimous. “I’ll need another place in two days.” He said with an air of finality. “See Harry at the end of the night regarding payment.” The train was desolate, as it tended to be these days. Only occupants that I saw standing on the platform looked like they were going to study radioactive materials; milling nervously about, head to toe in whatever random protective gear they could scrounge up. I tired to reach out to a few friends of mine while waiting the twenty-five minutes for my next train. Everyone I talked to wanted to look down on me for being out and hail themselves as heroes for staying in. They would make unclear connections to the Italians who’d been making the news for singing to each other from their balconies, fully embracing the home lockdown with music and a festive spirit. Somehow this was what I was supposed to aspire to. Unfortunately, this was America; that dog doesn’t hunt here. I hung up with each of them more and more disappointed each time, feeling like I would never look at them the same again. I decided to stop calling them for fear that I wouldn’t have any friends left when this was all over. My train eventually came, and a passenger rushed out, nose bleeding and cursing. I moved aside and entered the car. A man in a surgical mask and latex gloves stood there yelling. I stopped short and looked at him. There was blood overtly noticeable on his blue latex hands. “…all these empty seats and that motherfucka want to sit next to me!?!” He said apparently needing all five of us on the train car to know his justifications. I sat down, uninterested in his explanation. I watched the inside of the tunnel flashing by. I had my headphones in but hadn’t bothered to select a playlist yet. I could still hear the social-distancing crusader mumbling to himself as he rubbed the blood off his gloved hands. This thing, whatever it was, had changed us and I’m afraid not for the better. A homeless vagrant walked between cars, as they do. No one was in a giving mood these days. Over two months ago, the unemployment number broke the record set by the great depression and had continued to soar every day since. If I was that guy, I’d hold onto my cup a bit tighter. It still begged the question, why had this gripped us so firmly and thoroughly? It was unnerving how the media pushed the public to a specific fear fueled conclusion. The public in turn, looked to their elected officials for answers and the elected officials worried about what all elected officials worry about – reelection. They reacted in a manner that the fear promoting media would subsidized: Namely more fear. It would gain no constituents to respond to a panic with facts. And it was those reactions from the leaders, who were supposed to be the better and wiser among us that caused the panic. Mass hysteria calls for National Guard and Military presence. Ironically, I’ve never met anyone who found the site of an assault rifle in their residential neighborhood to have a calming effect. But, such is life. I felt like I was in the middle of an Atwood story. Except I didn't have to create a dystopian world, didn't have to use my imagination in the least. All I had to do was look around; it was right there. I’m sure there was a minority among us who always thought that this would come but even the biggest conspiracy theorist thought it would happen gradually over the course of time, decades perhaps. No one had guessed that within thirty days in the late Spring of 2020 the government would decide who could leave their homes, who could work, and what you got paid. And the funniest part was we praised them for it. We celebrated the incarceration. We didn't ask questions, didn't bother to resist. Gil Scott-Heron was wrong. The revolution was televised; we just didn’t know what we were watching. Train stopped precisely at curfew, which left me three stops short of home. There was always an eerie feeling that crept up my spine whenever the trains stopped. In this city, they never stopped. Floods, terrorist attacks, gas main explosions, you name it. The trains always ran. Seeing the station dead like this gave me an uneasy feeling that I couldn’t shake. I walked the rest of the way home, careful to stay off main roads and in the shadows.

---

I didn’t truly feel relaxed until I saw the front of my house. My ten-foot patch of grass, which was considered a massive front yard in this city and was never tended to, gave me some comfort at last. Honestly, it only stood out because the older couple next to me kept their patch of grass perfectly manicured. I froze in my tracks mid-thought. The comfort vanished and a fear clutched my legs like iron shackles. I saw the wide gap of light between my door jam and the door. My door was open. I hurdled forward in a dead sprint. I entered the house to the sound of my daughter crying and saw my brother on the floor, a man standing over him with a pistol, not too dissimilar to the one I was recently acquainted with. A second man was trying to get a grip on Brittany’s wrist and subdue her while she screamed and struggled mightily. Quietly, I opened the foyer closet. Behind the coats, next to my tool bag was the axe. The type of day I was having, I was extremely tempted to use the sharp edge. In a second however, I decided to let reason prevail. I crashed the blunt end of the axe down firmly on back of the gunman’s head. My brother reacted immediately, taking the gun from him before he even hit the ground and sprinted outside. Hearing the commotion, the second man turned over his shoulder and ducked just in time to miss my blow. Brittany being released, grabbed Becca and started trying to calm her. The man looked to his partner laying motionless on the floor and started to head for the door. I swung again and missed again. He used this time to make his way to the door. At that moment, I heard multiple gun shots outside, the sound of screeching tires and a car roaring away. There must have been a third man in the car. The remaining intruder paused when he saw my brother returning towards the house with the gun. It took only that brief hesitation for me to land the axe blade in his waist. He howled in pain like a child who’d been burned by the stove. I felt a slight resistance pulling the axe back. It tugged a bit and then came free; I must have hit bone. The man wore a look of pure panic and decided he’d rather take his chances with the gun than the axe and stumbled down the front steps. He started to run down the road or at least he was trying to run. He was mostly hobbling and falling at a fast pace; using his hands along the street of ever-parked cars to keep himself upright. My brother, with rage in his eyes, lifted the gun and took aim at the hobbled criminal. I slowly placed my hand on top of the weapon, gently pushing it down. He looked at me. “Wipe your prints off that.” I said. He walked away but I could tell he wasn’t thrilled about not getting his pound of flesh. I dragged the first man, still unconscious, from my house into the middle of the street. The entire neighborhood was peering out at this point. Not a single house had an empty window. I went back inside and retrieved the axe. Heading back outside, I grabbed a brick from the neighbor’s perfect little yard. I placed it under the man’s ankle, lifted the blunt end of the axe high above my head and crashed it down for all to see. The sound of his ankle shattering mixed with the sound of brick breaking and audible gasps from the observers. If this was the world we lived in now, I wanted to make it clear so there were no misunderstandings; there would be consequences for entering my home. I closed the door behind me and took my shoes off as usual. Becca had stopped crying. “What happened?” I asked my brother. He wouldn’t meet my eyes looking down. I looked to Brittany and prayed for a better answer than what he gave me. “They said they were from the State and that they were testing everyone!” She said. I could feel the rage boiling up. “And you believed them? For three months, tests have been scarce and suddenly they can go door to door through every neighborhood and test?” She stood in silence realizing how stupid it sounded. She looked to my brother for help, but I knew he would have never opened the door for anyone. She yelled in frustration. I looked in my daughter’s eyes, she was on the brink of crying again. The sad confusion in her face almost broke me. She only knew two people in this world, and they were furious. Furious at each other, furious at the world, furious at the strangers that she had just seen fighting. More than that, they were afraid, and if they were afraid how could she feel anything but fear. I looked at the finger marks around Brittany’s wrist and forearms and I acknowledged, perhaps, this wasn’t the time to call her a moron. I breathed deeply trying to exhale the part of me that wanted to rip her head off for endangering my daughter and inhale the part of me that was sympathetic to the trauma she’d just been through. “Are you alright?” I finally mustered after a few more breaths, gesturing towards the bruises on her arms. Brittany looked at me for an instant and then collapsed in my arms. She was shivering she was so angry. Tears welled up drowning her pupils. I’d seen this before, the anger without a release made its way out through the corners of her eyes. She gripped me tightly around my waist, crying into my chest. The feeling was unfamiliar to me. We had gone several months without so much as a handshake. I figured that she would realize what she was doing soon enough and release me. She didn’t. I slowly placed an arm around her and felt her warmth as her body heaved with sobs. I caught my brother’s eye over her shoulder. He picked up my daughter and retired upstairs with her. “Sit.” I said guiding her to the couch. I knew we weren’t going to call anyone. There was no one to call. “I’m working on a solution,” I said trying to offer some reassurance. “I’m going to figure this out… Maybe I can get you guys out.” “What about you?” Brittany said. Laying her head on my lap but still maintaining her arm around my waist. It was a question I wasn’t really expecting from her. “I’m the only one in my immediate or extended family still working. You know that; I have to keep going.” Her grip tightened. “For everyone’s sake.” It was mostly true. This wasn’t the time to tell her about my foolish plans to be happy. Her tears subsided finally. I look down as she lay there curled up on the couch. Her head in my lap. She released my waist and adjusted herself until she was comfortable. She used to do this when we first started dating. “I can’t lose you.” She said quietly, “Despite everything that we’ve been going through… have gone through. What would I do without you? I’m just lost.” Not knowing what to say, I grabbed the blanket from the back of the sectional and draped it over her. “I still love you,” she said softly. “You’re in shock, Brittany.” I responded. She laughed a little. It made me feel better that she’d smiled. “I never really stopped loving you, London. Never really could imagine anyone else. Never wanted to if I’m honest…… I guess I always held out hope that you know…. After everything….” I rubbed her back over the blanket, trying to decrease the built-up adrenaline in her system. Eventually, it had the desired effect. The adrenaline subsided and she crashed. I watched her sleep, the full range of my responsibilities taking center stage today. There was a nagging feeling inside; I should have been there. Was it selfish to want to be happy? To want to be free, to be inspired? The man I was with Sara was the man I always dreamed of being. It wasn’t something I could express with anyone, especially not Sara. She would just retreat from me, stupidly thinking it would push me back to Brittany. Nonetheless, if I were honest with myself, I couldn’t see how Brittany and Becca would survive without me, much the same as I didn’t see how I would survive without Sara. It was a complex situation which could lead to many results. All of them, however, would require me maintaining Brittany and Becca’s lives while simultaneously funding my own. I smiled quietly at the irony. I needed more, in a time of less.