First Days After

by Jay Vielle

  “Okay, Mr. Reyes,” said Vinny.

  “Tommy?” I asked.

  “Okay.”

  “And I need you to do me a favor. I mentioned this before to you Tommy, but now I’m flat out asking you. You need to ease off your dad a little. He needs support, not criticism right now. He is our leader, like it or not. He’s not being a dick and forcing us to do anything, he’s asking our opinions, then he’s making decisions and acting on them. That’s what a leader does. And right now, we’re all counting on him. I know that to you, he’s just “Dad,” full of flaws and full of shit. And I know what it’s like to be the coach’s kid, so to speak. My parents were professors, and their students all thought they were a lot smarter than I ever did. I get that. But right now, we’re entering life and death stuff, and you can’t pick at him. You are his Achilles tendon. He risked life and limb to get to you. He’s going to do the same for your mom, but you’ve got to let him work.”

  The boys looked at me and nodded.

  “Deal?” I asked.

  “Deal,” they both responded in unison.

  “So, Vinny,” I said, changing the subject. “Tell me about Morgan. She seems like a nice girl.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing like that, Mr. Reyes. She’s, uh, not my girlfriend or anything.”

  “She’s a cutie-pie,” I said back.

  “I don’t think I’m her type,” he answered.

  “Really nice, too,” I added, lifting my eyebrows suggestively.

  “Mr. Reyes, she’s gay,” he whispered nervously. I laughed out loud.

  “I know,” I chuckled. “I was chatting with her in the back the past few minutes. I just wanted to hear you say it out loud. And so am I, remember? So, there’s no need to whisper.”

  He grinned back. “Alright, you got me,” he said.

  “She seems to be doing alright so far here as well. She’s chatting with Estela right now, who is also gay.”

  “Really?” Vinny beamed. “That’s cool.” Then he thought about it a minute. “You know, that’s a lotta gay folks for one bus. Higher than the national average,” he smiled.

  “Definitely higher,” I said. “How did you meet her?” I asked him.

  “She was in one of my classes, then when we got together to study for a quiz I found out she lived in my dorm, too. We got to talking some. She had been bullied in school a little and was kind of having a hard time here. Then she found a gay students’ group here and felt a lot better about things. We’ve hung out ever since.”

  “That’s the great thing about college. All the people you meet from all walks of life,” I said.

  “Yeah, that is cool,” he said. “Doofus here, on the other hand,” he said, punching his brother. “Not quite as much variety at VMI, huh?”

  “Well, historically it was all male for like 200 years, and with so much controversy about sexual and gender preference in the military…let’s just say it’s probably not the best spot to encourage openness from a cultural standpoint,” Tommy said. “And considering they were a staple for the South in the War Between the States, maybe not the ideal place historically to, um, blend the races,” he said. “Still, there are some there that don’t fit the mold. We all tend to find each other.”

  “So, you haven’t drunk the Kool-Aid, Tommy?” I asked.

  “Well, they don’t really discuss it. There’s no real Kool-Aid like that per se. Privately people voice their opinions, but the Institute doesn’t really touch it. Not sure they could, to be honest. I don’t have a problem with it. You know what Dad always says, ‘I don’t care who you kiss or where you piss’,” Tommy said. We all said the last part in unison aloud and chuckled afterward.

  “I know he’s glad to have gotten you on board,” I said. “You could see the weight flying off his shoulders.” Just then Jake’s booming voice came from the driver’s seat.

  “Eddie, stop trying to convert my kids to your twisted religion,” he shouted.

  “It’s not a religion, you Neanderthal,” I shouted back.

  “Well what is it, then, if not a cult?” he asked.

  “The natural order,” I answered back, grinning. He laughed as did the boys.

  I glanced over at the Colonel, who looked fairly uncomfortable. Whenever I was chatting, or the topic of homosexuality came up, the Colonel seemed to stiffen, look away, and get a blank look on his face. I didn’t want to fall victim to stereotyping or prejudice, but I had seen many, many military types have issues with my very existence. Like those folks who drove us out of Hunter’s Run, most of them quoted the Bible as their reasoning. There were many people in the military who sounded the same. I imagine having to face the possibility of death on a daily basis makes one a lot closer to one’s creator—whoever that creator might be. In the United States, more often than not, that was Judeo-Christian form of God—and my experience was that people who ironically called themselves ‘Christian’ these days were pretty inflexible on the matter. I was an abomination.

  That was one of the things that made Jake so special. He had been there—faced death on the daily—even caused it. He’d been through some heavy stuff in his life, and it would be understandable if his view on it was just as inflexible as I imagined the Colonel’s might be. But it wasn’t. Jake gave plenty of homophobic sound bites, but he didn’t have a bigoted bone in his body, really. When Jake and I got to jawing back and forth, folks who were uncomfortable with me and my perspective only got more uncomfortable. Anyone else usually enjoyed the banter and had fun with it. The Colonel very much seemed to be of the former disposition. I was only guessing, but my guess was that he didn’t approve of me. I hoped that wasn’t so.

  Wendy, on the other hand, had a sly smile on her face watching us all, and she leaned in to talk to me.

  “You and Jake are good friends, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’d have to say yes, despite our differences,” I answered.

  “Differences? Was that exchange you just had for real?” she asked.

  “Oh Hell, no,” I said. “Not in the least. We joke like that all the time. No, our differences are age, life experience, background, that sort of thing. I mean, I’m a single gay Hispanic in my twenties. He’s a married veteran and father of two and nearly fifty. We shouldn’t have much in common to talk about on the surface,” I said. I saw Jake’s eyes in the bus mirror.

  “I heard that. Stop spewing lies, Eddie,” he shouted. “I’m nowhere near fifty.”

  “You’re probably closer to seventy, you old geezer. Now get your nose out of my private conversations,” I shouted. As we went tit for tat, I glanced sideways at Wendy. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Jake, and she had a faraway smile the entire time. She asked me lots of questions about him. Lots of questions. And she laughed nervously whenever we talked about him or if he was shouting one of his smart-ass comments to me. There was no doubt about it.

  She was smitten.

  And that was going to be a big problem.

  CHAPTER 14

  “So, Emery, what did you find?” asked Pablo Fuentes.

  Pablo seemed over-dressed for a regular day. That fact coupled with his Castilian accent made Mark wonder for a second if Pablo was a vampire.

  “Not much, amigo,” Emery said, patting Pablo on the shoulder. “Some businesses are either shut down or they’ve been looted and are boarded up. It’s a little depressing out there.”

  “Tch, Tch, what a shame,” said Pablo. “People in a crisis have the capacity for great good, or great evil.”

  “We did see some people scurrying around, but most of them seemed scared. I think the entire town is hiding. Kind of in lockdown, if you get my meaning. I think we need to reach out to them,” Emery said.

  “What do you suggest?” asked Father Joe.

  “I think,” Billy James interjected, “that we should offer food. Like have a cookout or something. People will smell it, maybe pass by and see it, and we can hand it out. It will bring people to our door, and we can get more intel
from talking to them.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” said Father Joe, entering the main lobby of the church, where the group had gathered.

  “What about an old-fashioned barbecue?” asked Emery. “We can even do it roadside.”

  “I like it,” said Father Joe. “In fact, it’s brilliant. The smoke, the smell, it will attract people who might be hiding in their homes. And there’s no doubt that they’ll need food. Tell you what, gentlemen: I’ll put you two on it. Mark—would you like to help with that?”

  “Sure, I guess so,” said Mark. “Why not? Sounds like fun. I mean, who doesn’t like a cookout? But where are we getting the food?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Father Joe said. “We’ve got plenty.”

  “What Father Joe means is we have some food stores that we can use in these kind of special circumstances. We can pull them out for emergencies,” Billy said.

  “Great. That’s great,” said Pablo. “Mark, I don’t believe we know each other. Pablo Fuentes. I am from Spain.”

  “Nice to meet you, Pablo,” said Mark, shaking his hand firmly. “What do you do?”

  “I teach Latin and Greek at the University in town,” he said. “In the Classics Department.”

  “Wow, that’s cool,” said Mark. “How is the college doing?”

  “It is currently closed, but maintains good communication with staff and students. Most of the students have gone home. A small percentage remain, and the staff take turns looking in on them. I myself have been there recently for my turn.”

  “It must be really tough for them. Who would possibly be staying during this crisis?” asked Mark. “If I were a college student I’d have gone home long ago.

  “Not everyone lives close by,” said Pablo. “Some of our students are from the American West, and a surprising amount are international students. Flights have been grounded and communication is not fully up and running. Those students need us right now. I invited many of them to come join our church,” he added.

  “That, that’s great,” said Mark. “I’m sure they appreciate it.”

  “What is a church’s purpose if not to help out those in need?” asked Pablo. “It is quite wonderful.”

  “How long have you been here?” asked Mark.

  “Here, in Emmitsburg? In the United States? Or do you mean in the church?”

  “Well, all of them, I guess. I don’t mean to pry, I’m just making conversation,” said Mark nervously.

  “Happy to answer them all,” said Pablo. “I have been in the U.S. for seven years, at the college for five years, and in the church almost as long—four years.”

  “Your accent,” Mark said. “I can’t get used to it. It’s not like many of our Hispanic students. It sounds different somehow.”

  “Understandable—a common mistake you Americans make. We Spanish are not really Hispanic. We are actually more Caucasian than most of you, coming from much closer to that European mountain chain. We speak the purest form of the language. It would be like listening to someone from England, for example, and comparing it to someone from say, Texas. The language is the same, but the vocabulary and the accent can be very different. Hispanics are a blend of Spaniard and indigenous native American Indians,” Pablo explained.

  “Ah. That explains it,” Mark answered back uncomfortably.

  “Let me guess. You think I sound like Dracula,” said Pablo.

  “What? No, no. That’s ludicrous. No, it’s…okay, yes. I admit it,” Mark said, breaking into a laugh. “I do think you sound like Dracula.”

  Pablo laughed as well. “That, too, is understandable if you know your Romance languages.”

  “Transylvanian isn’t a Romance language,” said Mark.

  “No, because there is no Transylvanian. Transylvania is the ancient name for that region. Do you know what it is called today?” asked Pablo.

  “Sure, Romania,” answered Mark.

  “And you never considered where they got the name?” Pablo asked, smiling.

  “Oh my God, I never did,” said Mark. “Holy cow, it’s right in the name. Roman!”

  “Hence the name. Our accents are similar because the Romans left more than troops in Transylvania. They left their language and much of their culture,” said Pablo.

  “It sounds like you’ve had this conversation before,” said Mark.

  “Many times. Especially with my students. Today, you were my student,” he said, smiling.

  “I guess I was,” said Mark.

  The large van driver came into the lobby pushing a large cart with very large, quiet wheels. On the cart was a giant slab of meat. He pushed it down the hallway towards the kitchen.

  “Wow, that’s a big hunk of meat,” said Mark.

  “It is indeed,” said Billy. “We’ll be able to feed a lot of folks with that.”

  “El Señor nos provee,” said Pablo. “The Lord doth provide, no? Truly, America is the home of beef. In Spain, we have the greatest ham in the entire world. But beef is truly American.”

  “Billy, Emery, Mark—why don’t you guys go get started packing up items for the barbecue. I’ll have Oleg drive around the portable pit to the front of the church, and I’ll put up the message on the marquee to welcome everyone. Pablo, why don’t you come with me and help out,” Father Joe directed.

  “Who’s Oleg?” asked Mark.

  “Oleg was your driver this morning and is currently handling the beef. Fine young man, from the Ukraine, I think, who came to us last year,” said Emery.

  “Billy,” Father Joe jumped in, “Once we get things started cooking on the pit, why don’t you and Oleg drive around town with the microphone and portable speakers and announce our cookout to everyone. Better to get the word out to everyone. I’ll have Pablo join you to do it in Spanish as well.”

  “Fine idea, Padre,” said Billy.

  After an hour or so, the giant slab of beef was roasting in a giant barbecue grill on wheels. It was about the size of a small boat and had large wheels with every conceivable accoutrement hooked to it. The marinated beef smell was wafting all over town, and the scent alone would bring people from a mile or two away. Mark and Emery oversaw it, but after a while there wasn’t much to do other than let it cook. Pablo, Oleg, and Billy were driving around town announcing the event to any who could hear it. Mark looked up and began to see people walking on the streets towards the church.

  “Wow, people,” Mark said.

  “Of course,” added Emery. “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mark. “This is all very different from those first couple of days after the bombings. We actually had people come to the school and attack us. There were deaths. It was all pretty crazy. This, this is totally different. I guess I didn’t know what to expect after all that.”

  “From what I understand, from what Wes told me, much of that violence was due to one of your staff members. The man who left several days ago. What was his name? Fisher?”

  “Yes. Jake Fisher. But I don’t know that I’d go that far. Jake defended the family that got attacked. He did go to extremes. Actually killed two of the three attackers, but they were trying to kill him too.”

  “Sounds like you’re defending him. I thought you were on the other team.”

  “Team? No, there’s no teams. We were all one team. At least that’s how we started. I can’t say that the violence didn’t scare me a little. I mean, I’m no big Jake Fisher fan, but I don’t know that we took sides. I don’t know that any of us could have done any better.”

  “Really? Could you kill a man?” asked Emery.

  Mark stared at him a moment. His forehead wrinkled in thought.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I suppose if my life depended on it,” said Mark.

  “But what if it didn’t? Could you kill someone then?” asked Emery.

  “I’m not really enjoying this conversation, Emery,” said Mark.

  “Because if Wes is right, that’s what yo
ur Mr. Fisher did. He killed people who didn’t need to be killed. Not just those thugs going after the Heffners, but those kids in the Wal-Mart as well. That makes him a murderer, Mark. You were right to send him away. To think you actually worked in the same building with that man. And him, ready to snap the whole time,” said Emery.

  “Yeah,” said Mark. “I guess so.”

  “You’re right, let’s change the subject. Here come some guests anyway, and we can check the beef and see how it’s coming along.”

  Emery needed both hands to lift the giant lid of the enormous grill. Smoke billowed out from underneath, blowing an enticing smell into Mark’s nostrils.

  “God, that smells amazing. We’ve been living on cafeteria food. This is going to be heavenly,” he said.

  “Good choice of words,” said Emery. “And welcome to all of you! Come on up and take a whiff. It shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

  Five people had ambled up timidly to the cooker. A young lady seemingly in her twenties came forward.

  “Who’s all this for?” she asked.

  “Why, you, my dear. And everyone! This is kind of a survivor’s celebration courtesy of the Church of the Many Blessings.”

  “How much?” she asked.

  “Why, it’s free, young lady. We’re giving food away to whomever we can. Times have been hard, and we want to reach out to anyone who needs it. That’s what we do,” said Emery.

  “It smells awesome,” she said. “Do you have anything to drink?”

  “We certainly do. Look in that cooler over there for anything you like,” said Emery. With that, Mark opened up the cooler and invited everyone to pick something. He grabbed a Coke himself, opened it with relish, and downed about a third of it in one gulp. His eyes teared up a bit from the carbonation, and he pulled away and started to chuckle.

  “Amazing what you miss until you don’t have it,” said Mark.

  “Have a seat,” said Emery, pointing to a number of folding tables and chairs that he and Mark had set up previously.

  “Thank you,” said the girl. “I haven’t had real food now for a couple of days.”