1:39 a.m.
VOICE MAIL FROM MOM
“Hi, darlin’, it’s Mom. I hope you can hear me over Trevor crying. I was really hoping to talk to you, but I imagine things over there are as crazy as they are here. We’re trying to get everyone up and moving and it’s pretty chaotic. Listen, I only have a second, but I want you to be sure to stay with your dad and don’t try to come home. It’s too hectic to try to make a switch now, and I worry that we’ll end up separated in all the confusion. Stay with Dad and Jennifer, and we will meet you all when we get there. Okay, Maddie? I love you with all my heart, and I can’t wait to see you. Tell your dad I’ll call him.”
2:07 a.m.
VOICE MAIL FROM MOM
“Hi, sweets, it’s Mom again. We were going to drive ourselves, but it sounds like that’s not an option so it looks like we’ll be on one of the transports. I can’t get through to your dad, but hopefully we’ll connect at the embarkation point. If not, we’ll see you when we arrive, okay? Try not to worry, baby. I love you!”
2:21 a.m.
Text Messages
Emma 2:30 a.m.
Thank god we didnt end up sleeping over! isnt this freaky?! which transport r u on? call me!!
Ashanti 3:03 a.m.
hey girl!!! im scared out of my mind and i cant believe we got so lucky imagine if we hadnt been home????we r in line for #78 but the guy says its full so i dont know if we’ll get on where r u? i hope we r on the same transport!
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Panic
Speed-dial. Mom. Now.
Voice mail. (damn)
“Mom? Where are you?
What’s happened?
I wasn’t at Dad’s last night.
I stayed alone at Grandma’s.
Call me back, please, Mom?
I’m really worried!”
SPEEDDIALDADNOW.
Voice mail.
“Daddy, it’s Maddie please call me right away
I don’t know what’s going on and I’m scared
please call me, Dad!”
Emma:
Voice mail.
Ashanti:
Voice mail.
I
text
text
text
text
text
text
everyone.
Nothing.
Television
Reach for remote.
Grave-faced news anchor talks to camera.
“… imminent threat resulting in emergency
evacuations… state of emergency… top
priority to secure the homeland… infrastructure
protection… western United States… information
security… crisis and emergency planning…”
TV shows farmland.
Soldiers erecting rows and rows of tents.
Highways and traffic jams for miles.
Picture changes.
Hundreds of sleepy-looking people
standing in lines waiting
climbing into military buses
vans, trains, trucks.
I scan the crowds
for family or friends but
don’t recognize anyone.
Don’t even know if
I’m looking at images
from Colorado.
Grave-faced news anchor continues.
“… national threat advisory… others
on pre-evacuation alert… temporary
shelters in multiple jurisdictions… reduce
vulnerability… the safety of American
citizens… stay tuned for more
up-to-the-minute coverage of Operation
Relocate Freedom…”
Grave-faced news anchor disappears
and a cartoon dog barks at a whale
on the screen.
I drop to my knees
crawl to the window
peer over the sill.
No one is in the parking lot below.
No one is swimming in the pool.
No cars or traffic pass by on the street.
I don’t see a single person.
Imminent Threat?
What kind of threat?
Are we under attack?
Am I in danger?
Everything looks normal outside
except for the absence
of human beings.
What sort of threat are they talking about?
Why can’t they be specific?
I’ve got to get out of here.
I’ve got to find my family.
Is it safe?
I’ve got to find out, either way.
I turn away from the window
and reach for my shoes.
At the Last Minute
I think about air.
What if the imminent threat is in the air?
Some kind of poison?
Should I be breathing?
How can I not breathe?
I grab Grandpa’s red bandana
off the brim of his gardening hat.
Unroll it. Tie it around my face
so I look like a surgeon
from a Wild West sci-fi movie.
I make my way out into the hallway
and sniff.
I don’t smell anything except
for Grandpa’s aftershave.
Downstairs outside
I cling to the sides of the building.
Peek around the corner.
Nothing.
The sun is warm.
A breeze blows a piece of junk mail
across the parking lot.
Birds are singing.
Singing birds need to breathe!
Maybe no poison?
I take a shallow breath
and run for my bike.
Evidence
I pedal down the street
toward the center of town.
I ride around clothing
photo albums, potted plants
alarm clocks, baby toys, framed pictures
laptop cases, cell phone chargers
sleeping bags.
I come to the parking lot
for the Park-n-Ride on the corner
by the megachurch.
Half-packed suitcases
lie open on the sidewalks.
This must be where they loaded
everyone onto the transports.
What did Mom call it?
The embarkation point?
If the streets and sidewalks are any
indication, it looks like people
had to leave a lot of belongings behind.
I coast around the street searching
for any signs of anyone.
Hello?
Anyone here?
Hello?
HELLO? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?
I get off my bike and
turn in circles.
I scan every direction
for movement of any kind.
Sounds come
from the bus shelter.
I run
hoping
someone
is
still
there.
Place Compromised Devices Here
At the shelter
labeled cardboard barrels
overflow with
cell phones.
I hear a ringtone.
Run from one barrel
to the next
dig inside to find
the ringing phone.
It stops.
All I can
hear
is my own
desperate
panting.
I sit down
on the hard pavement
surrounded by cell phon
es
and abandoned luggage.
I cry.
A Thought So Terrible
I dig my own phone out of my pocket.
Speed-dial Mom.
It rings in my ear.
A few seconds later
Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer”
—Mom’s special ringtone for me—
comes from one of the barrels.
I cry out.
Eyes blurring and breath shallow
I speed-dial Dad.
A barrel rings.
I dial Paul.
And Jennifer.
And Emma.
And Ashanti.
The barrels keep ringing.
All the cell phones
have been
left
behind.
Brain Churn
What now?
What now?
What now?
Bike twenty miles out to the interstate
and try to find someone?
Head north to the fire station
and hope emergency crews are still there?
Dial 911!
I hold my breath and pray
for a live person at the other end.
Eleven rings.
“… you have reached a number
that has been disconnected… check
the number and dial again…”
I call my grandparents in Texas.
“… abnormally heavy call volume… could
not be completed… try again…”
Grave-faced news anchor echoes in my head.
“… temporary shelters in multiple jurisdictions…”
With all my heart I do not want to think
the next, horrible thought that moves
like a fast-growing cancer through my brain.
The thought thinks itself anyway.
What if
my parents have been sent
to different shelters
in different places?
And what if
they each still think
I am with the other?
Without their cell phones
it could be days
—or even weeks—
before they realize
I’ve
been left
behind.
Upheaval
I ride through town, looking for any sign
of another human. Occasionally dogs bark
or a hungry cat runs across the road.
At Dad’s, the front door stands open
and Jennifer’s flutes are still in the house.
She never travels without her flutes.
I close the windows, lock the doors, and
slip the key into my pocket.
At Mom’s, the minivan is in the driveway
with the sliding door and back hatch open.
Duffel bags and suitcases sit on the front porch.
It looks like Mom just stepped inside
and will be right back.
My heart leaps with hope
but I remember the ringing cell phones
in the barrels downtown.
I swallow tears. Close the car doors
and go inside.
In their rush to leave
they left a mess.
open cupboards
open closet doors
unmade beds
scattered clothes
in the boys’ room
toppled baskets of toys
books piled in stacks
in my room
Trevor’s empty crib
humidifier still steaming
I switch it off
curl up on my bed
clutch my tattered
Lovey Bunny.
Reality Check
Twenty-four hours ago
I sat in school
surrounded by
classmates
teachers
custodians.
I went to
the grocery store
and navigated
busy streets
full of traffic.
Horns honked
and people
shopped
biked
stood in line
ate ice cream
played in
the splash fountain.
Now
the only sounds
come from the house
or the natural world.
The refrigerator hums
birds sing
the house fan kicks on
but not a single car
helicopter
or plane.
No voices
out in the street.
No basketball dribbling
in the Nortons’ driveway
next door.
No kabump-kabump-kabump
of a skateboarder
cruising over cracks
in the sidewalk.
Not a single human sound.
Just clocks ticking
and dogs barking.
Dogs barking?
I remember cats
crossing the road and
dogs in yards
as I cycled home.
No one took their pets?
Surely the evacuation can’t last long
or people would have taken their pets!
I have nothing to worry about.
People won’t let their animals starve.
Everyone will be back in a day or two.
Dread runs off my body
like hot water circling
the shower drain.
Relief embraces me
like a warm terry-cloth towel.
Productivity
If my parents will be home in a few days
I might as well make myself useful.
And maybe make up for the fact
that I lied to them.
Boys’ room:
pick up toys from floor
stack books on desks
pile dirty clothes into hamper
Mom and Paul’s room:
make bed
hang clothes in closets
turn off lights
Bathrooms:
clear counters
close medicine chests
wipe mirrors
Front porch:
bring in duffels and suitcases
water flowerpots
I find keys in the van’s ignition.
Pull it back in the garage?
I’ve only ever driven
one time
at my uncle’s ranch
in California.
Mom was pissed when she found out.
I lock the car
leave it in the driveway
close the garage door.
Heavy Call Volume
Every fifteen minutes, I call my grandparents
but still get the “heavy call volume” message.
I haven’t eaten all day.
I flip on the radio in the kitchen
and hear the Car Guys
teasing a caller about his carburetor.
The familiar voices comfort me.
I find an apple
almond butter
a gluten-free mac-and-cheese dinner with soy cheese
but I’m so hungry I don’t care.
A jingle plays and the news comes on.
What is the imminent threat?
How long will the evacuation last?
Reporters talk.
“safeguard the American people
the cooperation of patriots”
Descriptions of people
sleeping on cots
sitting in shelters
waiting in lines.
I listen for new information, but
no one makes any actual sense and
it just repeats what I’ve already heard
adding that “agencies across
the eastern half of the United States
are coordinating ef
forts
to take in displaced evacuees.”
I chew my apple.
Could there really be something
right here
in Millerville, Colorado
that is a threat to me
personally?
First Night
The streetlights come on.
They glow faint orange at first
then gain strength.
I search the sky for clues
but only the evening star
flickers over the foothills
and the moon rises
on the horizon.
I cross to the sidewalk.
Look up and down
the street.
The neighborhood houses
line up in tidy rows.
Some have lights left on
in the windows.
Others are dark.
Carriage lights on timers
glow on either side
of garage doors.
It’s almost
an ordinary evening
on Lake Drive.
To the west, the street dead-ends
at Miner’s Lake Park.
How many times have I taken the boys
to the playground there or to rent
paddleboats in the summer?
How often have I pushed Trevor
in the infant swing while Mom went
for a quick run around the lake?
Those untroubled days
seem long ago
even though
it was only yesterday
I was left behind.
Somewhere up the block
a dog howls at the dusk.
From the other side of the lake
a coyote yips an answer.
I go back inside and
lock the door behind me.
Being alone is weird enough
but being alone at night is
giving me the creeps.
I lock every window and
close the curtains.
Barricade myself from
the ghost town
that is my neighborhood.
Upstairs in Mom and Paul’s room
I turn on the TV.
Click and click.
“No signal”
on every channel.
Turn the cable box off
wait thirty seconds
on again
click over and
over
and
over and
over.
I give up.
Pull out The Philadelphia Story
Alone Page 2
