“I’m calling them,” the priest announced, seeming to ignore Cole’s inquiry. Straightening up, he prepared to go out to the front porch.
“Think we’ve got some brandy,” Michael offered to his cousin. Surely the young man will be through after another glass, especially that strong brandy. “I’ll grab it from the cabinet.”
Once in the kitchen, Michael reached into the bottom of the cabinet and pulled out the brandy. The amber fluid shimmered as he poured himself a glass. The burned wine brought the heat of a fire to Michael's lips as he took a sip and sifted the spirit in his mouth. He poured more into his glass to account for the taste-test before returning to the living room with another glass, which he made especially for Cole.
The drunkenness was already obvious on Cole; the boy was unpracticed in the art of partaking in adult beverages and it showed. In other circumstances, Michael wouldn't consider allowing his young cousin to drink so much, so fast. In the past, Cole had never drank more than a single beer. But, this is the end of our world, he reasoned. We’re moving very soon and Cole will never have the life we did, Lord knows what’s instore for him. His only brother has chosen savagery. For now, the boy deserves his drinks, as I do. Michael’s thoughts trailed off and he handed the glass off to Cole. The young man sniffed the glass and jerked his face back, grimacing.
“Yeah, it’s a hefty little drink,” John laughed, watching the boy, “and where’s my glass, Mikey?”
“You got legs,” Michael joked dryly.
“Ah, I see how it is.” He glanced over at Maria. His pregnant wife had the gaze of a hawk directed straight at him, unhappy that he was able to drink when she could not. He quickly went to the kitchen to fill his own glass, pretending not to notice the warning she wore on her face.
“Whatcha doin’ in there, John Foley?” She asked sharply, hearing the glasses clink together as he reached into the cabinet.
“Uh,” he hesitated, muting the sounds he made as he poured the pick-me-up, “just getting something to drink. Feelin’ sorta thirsty.” When he returned, he took care not to make direct eye contact with her, though he still felt her eyes boring a hole right through him.
…
The front door opened and the bearded priest returned, locking it behind him. “We’ll also need to inform your doctor, Maria. Just thought about it, she’d probably like to know that we’ll be leaving a lot sooner than expected.”
“Which is?”
“Well, just talked to them -- said they’ve got a truck bringing up some furniture to offload and will be making a stop at local breweries. Once they get whatever they need, they’ll rendezvous with us behind the old mall. We’ve got four days to get packed and ready to go. Keep it light, only what you really need. Put anything else in storage. Have y’all figured out what to do with the house yet?”
“We’ve decided to rent it to some of the local kids. They’ll maintain it for the neighborhood’s regular Mass celebration.”
“Good, I talked to Father James about taking up for me in my absence. I’ll get him to reach out to your renters. Just give me their names and contact information.” The priest made a quick to-do list of everything that needed to be done.
“Father, where we going exactly?” Cole asked, his head jerked momentarily after taking a sip of the brandy.
“Ah, it’s a tiny place -- a farm. Trip’s about three and a half hours away.”
“But where?” Michael, like all others in the room, had never heard the priest name the place.
“It’s south of here, that’s all I can tell you.”
“Fine, keep your secrets.” Michael chuckled shortly, pulling one of his long strands of hair from the glass of brandy and taking another sip.
The priest stood from his place on the couch and gave everyone his farewells for the night. “I’ll pray for all of you tonight and for Stone, of course. Y’all stay safe and get to packing as soon as you can.”
“Yes, Father, goodnight!”
The rest of the night, following the morning’s bundle of attacks was quiet after the priest left. No one argued and no one spoke. The house was cloaked in a heavy silence peppered only now and then with the faint echo of quiet sobs. Cole’s face was damp as his weary mind wandered into the realms of imagination -- dreaming that Stone was innocent and that he was safe. Once he woke up, he immediately knew it wasn’t so. Time turns back for no one and what is done, is done. Cole spent the next few days, like the others, packing his things, essentially one bag. No one heard a word from him, although they spoke, he didn’t answer.
…
On the day of the move -- the exodus -- everyone was silently jittery. Their hearts were broken; yet, possibilities of a peaceful future on the farms filled their every other thought. It was the comfort they sought any time Stone popped into their minds. The farms — surely the farms would provide a welcome refuge from such a violent and hostile world.
“Here, do you mind taking the copies of our keys over to Anita?” Amelia asked her husband, jingling the keys to bring him out of his short nap. “Would hate to forget about handing them off.”
“Sure thing.” Michael grabbed the keys from her and slipped on his shoes, once he managed a groggy rise from the bed. “So strange to be leaving this place, never having known anything else,” he noted, holding the keys in his hands, looking over their notches and shimmer.
“Don’t make me think about it,” Amelia pleaded, continuing to pack her suitcase full of her favorite clothes -- a decision that had taken days to make. She sat on the floor looking over them, wondering if she had forgotten anything.
Michael bent and kissed her on the forehead and went on his way to Anita’s. The walk over was surreal for Michael. The shadowed and dingy street had always been home to him and he was soon going to leave it. Soon, he would travel to a place opposite in every aspect, except for the fact that both places were farms of a sort. He would miss it, even though there wasn’t any true beauty to the neighborhood that sat in the shadow of the solar panels. Dogs barked and trains screeched in the distance, all sounds that would soon be only memories for his ears. The scent of rotting trash-filled cans and the smoke from chimney fires that lay trapped beneath the solar panels would no longer fill his nostrils.
He wasn't sure what farms smelt like, if the air was pleasant to breathe, or not. Excitement occupied his every nerve in a tingling sensation as he thought of the future. He did some research on farm life, devoured it in little bits available to him over the internet, and from what he saw it seemed to be a lifestyle untouched by the modern world. There, livestock roamed much of the land, instead of people; trees stood in place of streetlamps; and grass grew where Birmingham had gravel and concrete. The only thing that made him nervous about moving was the trip itself.
Joseph and Anita lived in the house two blocks over, a white single-leveled home with red metal roofing in great need of replacement. Their son, Ronny, was a fine young man who, like all the other men in the neighborhood, worked on the panels above them. It was his job to clean them, so he never worked directly with Michael, but they saw each other often. His family was one of the many that attended Mass each night it was celebrated -- always in Michael’s house -- they cheerily helped with dinner by bringing casseroles and pasta.
Michael pushed the antique orange button on their porch and heard the chiming from within their house. A small dog barked inside and he heard the quick steps of a young man, "I've got it, Mom!" A large figure could be seen through the translucent door window. The lock rolled and the doorknob turned.
“Hey, Mikey!” Ronny greeted him, shaking hands with his shorter visitor. The towering young man had shaggy blond hair, about half the length of Michael’s.
“Hey, bud. How’s it going?” Michael smiled.
"I'm good, everyone's good. Mom's lil' sad, but you know…bird's gotta fly sometime."
“I hear ya, I hear ya.” Michael laughed, excited for him, “I was just coming by to drop these off. Don’t lose th
em, we’re taking the other copy.”
“Ah! Thanks, I’ll put them somewhere safe,” he promised as Michael placed them into the gigantic palm of his hand. “Say, you wanna come in? It’s pretty freezin' out here." Ronny laughed and rubbed the sides of his arms to generate heat.
“Sure.” Michael stepped through the door held open by the shivering young man. The house was a wreck with empty take-out bags on the coffee table and dead cockroaches belly-up on the floor. If a person focused intently on the walls covered in saints and crucifixes, the home’s uncleanliness could be ignored. That’s exactly what Michael tried to do when he wasn’t making direct eye contact with Ronny. He remarked on the painting of St. Padre Pio hanging above the couch on the wood-paneled wall behind it. Clanking noises came from the kitchen, then the sound of dishes and water running over them.
“Y’all leaving tonight, right?”
“Yeah, tonight’s the night,” Michael affirmed quietly, finding a place on the couch.
“We’re all going to miss y’all, you know. Your house has been like a second home to everyone in this hood. Just won’t be the same with you guys gone.” The boy frowned. Michael wasn’t sure how to respond, caught off guard by Ronny’s sentiment. He never realized that people really cared, that others were saddened by their move. It surprised him that even Ronny found it upsetting.
“Ah, you’re too kind. We’ll be forgotten soon!” Michael shook his head as he laughed, “Father James called you yet?”
“Yeah, I spoke to him last night. Says he’ll do a Mass next week. Seems like a nice priest.”
“You’ve never met him?”
“No, afraid not.”
“Ah, well I think you’ll like him. When are you moving in?”
“I’ll probably start tomorrow. I’m pretty pumped. But, of course, whenever you guys return, I'll have it ready for you.”
“Not entirely sure we’ll return, really. The way things are looking these days.” Michael hung his head, looking at the floor momentarily. The thought of Stone’s actions and then of raising a child in a world that wanted to see it mutilated sickened him. As hard as he tried to think of things pure and just, the nightmarish visions always found their way back to him by a dream or in conversation.
“How long will yo-”
“Ronny, do we have company?” Anita shouted from the kitchen.
“Yeah, Mikey came by with the keys!”
Anita wiped her hands dry on a nearby towel and quickly made her way into the living room. “Michael! Please forgive this wreck of a house. I’m sure Amelia doesn’t have to tell you twice to pick up your things.” She tucked her wildly curly blonde hair behind her ears as she gestured for her son to put away the mess that covered the coffee table.
“Ah, never have a chance, she’s a fanatic. Sure, she’d try to sweep the dirt from the yard if I didn’t forcefully take the broom from her.” Anita laughed as she wrapped her partially wet hands around him for a hug.
“I wanna thank you so much for letting Ronny house-sit for y’all. I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t destroy the place!” She watched Ronny come by with a trash can to clear away the garbage.
"No problem! I'm sure he'll be fine, he's a great kid." Once Ronny left the room to return the trashcan to the kitchen, Michael leaned closer to Anita and whispered, "And between the two of us, the boss might start trying him out on my job, since he's got two openings."
“How wonderful! That’s a pay increase, right?”
Michael looked towards the kitchen, just around the corner he could see Ronny fetching a drink from the fridge, “Yeah, it’s a pretty substantial one too. I mean, he won’t be vacationing in the Hamptons, but he’ll be able to support himself.”
“Oh! That’s great!”
“What did I miss?” Ronny asked as he returned.
“I was just telling your mother about Father James taking over in Burns’ absence.” He winked at her. “But, I’m afraid I must get going. There’s still some work to do and we’ll be leaving in a few hours.” Michael stood from the couch.
“Take care of yourself, Mikey…wherever you’re going. Keep my precious ‘Milia and Maria safe!” She rose to hug him and followed him and her son to the front door to see him out.
"Don't lose those keys, Ronny!" Michael smiled and shook his hand, before bringing him in for a partial hug. "If you need anything at all, get the priest to contact Father Burns. Pretty certain we’ll be offline, where we’re going.”
"Yes, sir will do! Travel safely!" Ronny closed the door and Michael could hear the lock turn as he made his way home.
…
The temperature had dropped dramatically as evening approached. There was bitterly cold moisture in the air, since the haziness from the humidity lingered beneath the panels. The halogen lights were on, as always, and sparkled with orange orbs and halos along the street to his home. He had an idea, to climb to the top once more, given it could possibly be the last he ever saw of the solar panels. He badged into an elevator on the corner of the street and was elevated to the surface.
When he stepped out, he couldn’t help but feel bittersweet over the sight of the dark blue sea of silicone surrounding him in every direction as it glistened in the light of the lowering sun. Above the paneling, it was a clear day, only a few clouds draped from the sky. Birds flew in the open air and workers slaved beneath them, cleaning and installing new panels. It was the life he had lived, that he had always kept, and it was now in his past. Michael beheld it all, recounting the times he sweated and bled over the blue.
Soon, God willing, he would be far from it, in a sea of green and brown instead. Once supplying the city with energy, instead, he would soon supply the people with food. After a few minutes of thinking and silently talking to God, he descended into the neighborhood, his last ride down. The doors to the elevator opened and the odor hit him at once.
He resumed his walk home, or what had been home, and passed by the many houses along Second Avenue, the street on which he lived. The lights to the other homes were off, many of them resting within shadows. They were like sunken ships in the depths of the sea -- a sea of solar panels. It didn’t sit well with him, to see his street in such hard times, with the unrepaired siding, the molded roofs, and the busted windows. No children to make use of the yards as they played. There were no cars in the empty driveways, many of which had been converted to patios or add-ons and came right up against the street. It was a neighborhood that had once been an image of the thriving nation, but when the world abandoned traditions and values, the places they called home were forgotten.
It bothered him that he never saw it in all its glory; that not once in his life did he feel his neighbors lived the way they deserved. The house in which he had spent his entire life towered among the others, the tallest on the street. It was his castle, and soon it would pass on to Ronny, and Ronny would get his job, and Ronny would open his home to the Masses. Ronny would do just fine, he knew, the young man would likely find himself a woman, marry, and, hopefully, not make plans for an exodus as they welcomed their firstborn.
Something has to be done, he agonized internally, something needs to change the world. It isn’t going to change by the passing of time alone. The change needed requires human intervention -- more likely, Divine intervention. This broken world needs the doctoring of saints, the blood of martyrs. In disrepair and hopelessness, the town he was leaving wasn’t the way he’d like to leave it and immense guilt befell him as he stepped onto the stairs that led up to his front door. He was abandoning them, he felt, not having done enough to solve the community’s struggles. They weren’t even going to say goodbye to them. The community would understand, he hoped. They’d surely know why. They simply couldn’t raise any alarms, so Michael figured they wouldn’t mind. Anita’s son and his family were told as little as possible, and they didn’t seem to mind.
…
He turned the knob and entered the house, which made him realize that almost
every action he performed belonged to a figurative list of last times. Mundane things like ascending those stairs, crossing the threshold of his bedroom door, searching through the kitchen cabinets for a certain spice or dish became precious to him. He knew there was a very real chance he’d never do these everyday things in this particular house again.
He noticed that Amelia was no longer in their bedroom. Probably downstairs looking for obscure figurines we don’t need to take along. At that moment, he heard sounds coming from the bathroom. Water splashed and he could clearly hear the dry heaving of a sick pregnant woman.
He stood to check on his sister, knocking upon the bathroom door, “Hey sis, you good in there?” Just as the last word left his lips, Maria began walking up the stairs, towards the room he shared with his wife. “Maria?” His sister noticed his astonished tone and confused face. Once the sounds he heard resonated in her own ears, she knew.
“Melia! You in there, sweetie?”
“I’m sick, the…door’s…unlocked!” she shouted over the moments of intermittent sickness. Michael and Maria both entered to comfort the woman.
Maria told Michael to hold Amelia’s hair back as she bent over the toilet. Just then, Michael realized they were a little too late as he noticed strands of hair already covered in bile and food. For once, he wasn’t squeamish. The heaving and the sound of vomit hitting the water didn’t disturb him and neither did the smell. He simply felt excited by the chance that his wife, too, was pregnant.
“I can’t stay in here,” Maria panicked, “smells awful. You got it, Mikey?”
“I’m good,” he answered as his sister rushed out of the room covering her face. She closed the door immediately and ran down the stairs to escape the sounds and smells.
“Michael,” Amelia attempted to speak, “this…”
“Just focus, babe.” He smiled, thanking God silently and hoping it was confirmation that she was with child. He rubbed and patted her back vigorously.
“Don’t pat, just rub,” she begged, her voice sounding miserable and echoing into the toilet bowl.
Sowing Season Page 27
