In the Unlikely Event

by Judy Blume

  “Oh my god—Jack!” Christina cried. “Jack…Jack…” She ran from the classroom with Mr. Durkee calling after her, “Christina—stay inside. Christina!”

  She flew down the two flights of stairs, then used the white marble steps from the first floor to the street, steps the students were not allowed to use. Outside, she rounded the corner of South and Williamson streets and raced toward the flames, toward Mrs. O’Malley’s house, where Jack rented a room on the second floor.

  Miri

  Kate Smith hadn’t even sung “God Bless America” when the program was interrupted by an announcement, an announcement so horrible it left her and Natalie immobile. A second plane had crashed in Elizabeth, this time near Battin High School. Before they had time to digest what they’d just heard, the sound of a long, low wail came from the kitchen. Without a word the two girls were on their feet, racing down the stairs. They found Mrs. Barnes doubled over, holding on to the kitchen counter. “No…please, God, no!”

  Natalie pulled open the door to the finished basement, closed it behind her and disappeared. Miri grabbed a plastic glass from the counter, filled it with water and tried to give it to Mrs. Barnes, but Mrs. Barnes, who had always seemed so in control, so calm, no matter what, knocked it away.

  The deep voice on the radio continued. “An American Airlines Convair, en route to Newark Airport from Buffalo, with stops in Rochester and Syracuse, has crashed and exploded…” Now Mrs. Barnes screamed, fell to the floor, banging her fists, pulling at her own hair. Fern squatted beside her. “Barnesy…stop, please stop.” Miri had never heard Fern or anyone else call her Barnesy.

  Mrs. Barnes didn’t let up. She wailed, “Tim…Timmy!”

  “Barnesy!” Fern cried. “Barnesy, you’re scaring me.”

  Miri didn’t know what to do so she picked up the phone and dialed Dr. O’s office. When Daisy answered, Miri cried it was Mrs. Barnes’s son flying that plane and Mrs. Barnes was on the floor and wouldn’t get up.

  Daisy told her to stay with Mrs. Barnes, not to leave her for a second, and she and Dr. O were on their way. Miri knew from health class when someone was in shock you should keep them warm, so she sent Fern upstairs to get a blanket, then, as an afterthought, a pillow, too.

  Fern came back with a pillow and quilt from Natalie’s room and Miri draped it over Mrs. Barnes, who had gone quiet and white as a ghost, lying on her back on the floor. Miri slid the pillow under Mrs. Barnes’s head. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. Miri wondered if she was in shock or if it was something worse. Fern sat close to Mrs. Barnes, stroking her hand. “Barnesy, I need you to take care of me. Roy Rabbit needs you.” She nuzzled Mrs. Barnes with her toy rabbit. But Mrs. Barnes didn’t respond.

  Laura

  Laura heard the explosions but it was the general fire alarm that filled her with dread. She knew Tim was due in at about that time. The noise of the alarm woke the toddler, Evie, who started screaming. Laura ran to the girls’ room, lifted Evie out of her crib and patted her back. “There, there, sweetie, everything’s okay.” That started the baby, Heather, crying. When word came over the radio that it was a plane, an American Airlines Convair, Laura knew for sure. She lay down on her bed with the toddler and the baby cradled on either side of her and began to sing, “Hush, little babies, don’t say a word, mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…”

  Steve

  At first he and Phil didn’t get what the commotion at the American Airlines counter was about. It wasn’t until Phil’s aunt screamed—a chilling scream you could hear throughout the terminal, a scream that would haunt him the rest of his life—that they understood something had happened to the plane. Phil rushed to his aunt’s side with Steve right behind him, but she had already collapsed and two airline employees were trying to get her to her feet. Phil tossed the keys to the blue Ford convertible to Steve. “Drive it back to my house, okay?”

  “Sure,” Steve said. “Whatever I can do to help, you know?”

  But Steve didn’t have any idea how to help. He called his father’s office from a phone booth. His father would know what to do. His father would offer to come and get him and Steve would say, Okay. But there was no answer at his father’s office. He wished he’d never come to the airport. He wished he’d stayed at school, then gone to the Y to shoot baskets.

  Nobody asked if he was okay enough to drive, which he wasn’t, but somehow he made it back to Elizabeth, to Phil’s house, where he pulled the blue convertible into the driveway, turned off the ignition, rested his head against the wheel and gave in to the emotion washing over him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, felt his own tears hot and wet running down his face, his throat tight, his nose snotty. He took in a couple of big gulps, willed himself to stop, then got out of the car and started out for home, kicking at stones, leftover chunks of gray snow, whatever was in his way. Fuck fuck fuck!

  Christina

  Hundreds of people were running with Christina, all of them separated from the roaring fire by just a dozen yards. But only she was screaming Jack’s name, until she turned the corner and saw it wasn’t Jack’s house on fire. It was the wooden house down the street and the house next to that, and where there used to be a three-story brick apartment building was rubble and thick black smoke—the whole area a blazing mess, with flames so blindingly bright red and orange she had to turn away. She covered her ears with her hands, against the screaming sirens.

  There was no sign of the plane, or the people on it. She was stuck in a nightmare where something terrible was happening but she was powerless. She willed herself to move but she couldn’t. Her feet were too heavy, as if they were encased in wet cement and she couldn’t lift them. When she looked down she saw her feet were covered in mud up to her ankles—mud from the rain and the fire hoses.

  Jack is safe, she told herself, working for the electric company in Westfield or Cranford or some other nearby city. Jack is safe. Unless, because of the weather, he’s not. No, he is. He has to be.

  Christina, who never showed her emotions in public, didn’t try to restrain herself this time. She cried out as she saw a woman, her own clothes on fire, frantically pushing a small child rolled up in a rug at a neighbor. The woman tried to rush back into the flaming house, screaming, My baby, my baby, but others held her away. People were running from the burning houses. A boy with his jacket on fire was grabbed by a man, who threw off his overcoat and wrapped the boy in it, putting out the flames.

  The girls from the modern dance club in their blue leotards were on the scene, with the gym teacher. Groups of other students who had club meetings after school were hugging each other and crying. A few of them called to her, but she didn’t answer.

  She caught a glimpse of Jack’s landlady, and in an instant she was chasing after her. “Mrs. O’Malley…Mrs. O’Malley…” Christina called, until Mrs. O’Malley stopped. “Mrs. O’Malley, I’m Jack McKittrick’s friend, Christina. Was he home? Is he okay?”

  Mrs. O’Malley gave her a puzzled look. “Jack?”

  “Yes, Jack McKittrick. He rents from you.”

  “Are you his sister?”

  “No, I’m his friend, Christina.”

  “I always thought you were his sister.”

  What was she talking about?

  “He’s not home,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “At work,” Christina said. “He’s at work. Right?”

  “I hope so, dear.”

  —

  THE WORLD MAY HAVE BEEN falling apart but at Dr. O’s office everything was serene. Christina pulled down the hastily scribbled note taped to the office door apologizing for the emergency that had taken both Daisy and Dr. O away. She got out of her muddy shoes before unlocking the door with the key Daisy had given to her at Christmas. She was safe now. She prayed Jack was safe, too. She scrubbed her feet in the toilet, flushing again and again, wiped herself clean with disposable towels and changed into her white lab coat and shoes. She had no clean
socks, no stockings. She’d have to wear her shoes with bare feet. She pinned up her dark hair, washed her face and gargled with Lavoris. Only then did she sit in Daisy’s swivel chair, in front of the Remington typewriter and the leather appointment book, calmly calling patients, asking them to call tomorrow to reschedule.

  She felt grown-up, helpful, even important, until her sister, Athena, phoned and gave her hell. “Why didn’t you call us? We’ve been worried sick. Really, Christina—grow up! Take responsibility. Did you give a second’s thought to Mama, who’s going out of her mind with worry?”

  “I’m sorry,” Christina said. “I tried to call but I couldn’t get through.” This was a lie. She hadn’t been thinking about her mother or Athena.

  “You should have come here.” Athena was using her holier-than-thou voice. “How far is the shop from your job? I’d say, five minutes, if that. And you should have stopped in at the restaurant to see Baba.”

  “You’re right,” Christina said. She’d learned the best way to avoid an argument with her sister was to agree. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “That’s no excuse,” Athena told her.

  “In case you’re interested,” Christina said, “I saw it happen. The plane came right over Battin. I was outside on Williamson Street a minute after it crashed and exploded.” She was getting worked up, her voice rising with her emotions. “I was there, Athena. I was there when people ran out of their houses screaming, on fire. Do you know what that was like? Do you even care?”

  Before she could slam down the receiver her sister said, “Well, that sounds terrible but I don’t see why you’re angry at me.”

  This time Christina did slam down the receiver. The palm of her right hand was bleeding from digging her fingernails so deeply into it. She hated Athena!

  She ran into the small, narrow lab where Daisy kept a row of white plaster-of-Paris figurines lined up on a shelf, each one a foot high, waiting for Dr. O to smash if he felt a temper coming on. Christina had witnessed his fury just once and it had scared her. How could this kind and generous man have such inner rage? What set him off? She only knew it never happened when there were patients in the office. She only knew that smashing one of the plaster-of-Paris figurines made him feel better. After, Daisy would sweep up the remains and Dr. O would carry on as if nothing had happened.

  Now, as the rage boiled up inside of her, Christina grabbed one of those figurines and smashed it. She thought she would feel better, but she didn’t. She slumped to the floor, her eyes closed against the headache coming on. She sat there, surrounded by the remains of Dopey, or whichever one of the Seven Dwarfs she’d smashed, until the phone rang. She went back to Daisy’s desk and picked it up, praying it wasn’t Athena again, or worse, her mother. “Good afternoon, Dr. Osner’s office,” she said, trying to sound professional.

  “Is this Daisy?”

  “No, it’s Christina.”

  “Oh, Christina. This is Mrs. Jones. Someone called earlier to cancel our appointment.”

  Mrs. Jones’s voice went very low and soft as if she were about to share a secret. “I was wondering if you happen to know if the pilot was Mrs. Barnes’s son?”

  Mrs. Barnes’s son? Mrs. Barnes, who she’d met once, when Daisy sent her to the Osners’ house with a package? Mrs. Barnes’s son was in that flaming wreck?

  “Christina? Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m still here.” Her voice sounded small and unsure of itself. She cleared her throat several times.

  “I’m asking because I know Mrs. Barnes from working at the Osners’,” Mrs. Jones said, “and if…well, I’d like to be there.”

  Christina was barely able to hold herself together. She rolled out a piece of Scotch tape and stuck it to her arm as if that would help. “I’ll call if I hear anything.”

  She went back to the lab, picked up the broom, swept up the mess and washed off the floor. She felt overwhelmingly tired, as if she hadn’t slept for days. She felt if she didn’t lie down immediately she would keel over.

  She lay down on the sofa in the waiting room, where she smelled something terrible, something burned or burning. What was it? She sniffed her arms, a handful of her hair. It was coming from her, her hair, her skin, the clothes she wore under the white lab coat. All of her smelled terrible. Maybe she would always smell that way, a reminder of what she’d seen. She could wash and wash and still it would be there. Christina Demetrious, the girl who smelled like fire and smoke, and death. She closed her eyes.

  An hour went by, maybe two, then there was a knock on the office door. Daisy had instructed Christina to keep the door locked when she was alone in the office. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Christina? Christina, are you okay?”

  She opened the door and fell into Jack’s arms.

  Miri

  Miri was relieved when Dr. O and Daisy rushed into the house. Mrs. Barnes was still on the floor covered by the quilt. She still hadn’t said a word. Dr. O bent down to check her pulse. As he did, he glanced toward the basement door, and for the first time Miri was aware of the music coming from downstairs.

  “Is it true?” Mrs. Barnes asked Dr. O.

  He answered, “Yes. I’m so sorry.”

  Mrs. Barnes nodded.

  Dr. O helped Mrs. Barnes to her feet and led her to a chair at the kitchen table. Daisy brought her a glass of water and handed her a pill. But Mrs. Barnes’s hands were shaking so badly Daisy had to put the pill into Mrs. Barnes’s mouth, then hold the water glass to her lips. Mrs. Barnes swallowed without asking what it was.

  “Is there anyone I can call for you?” Daisy asked.

  “My other son, Charles. He’ll call my daughter,” Mrs. Barnes said. “She lives in Pennsylvania.”

  She has another son, Miri thought. A son and a daughter. That’s good, isn’t it? Suppose Tim was her only child? How many times had Rusty reminded Miri, You’re my only child. You’re my life. So when it comes to doing stupid things, don’t. Because I couldn’t stand it if I lost you. Do you understand? Now Miri thought she understood. There was a burden to being the only child.

  “Daisy, will you try to find Corinne?” Dr. O asked, handing her an appointment book with a needlepoint cover. “I’m going to take Mrs. Barnes home.” He draped a coat around Mrs. Barnes’s shoulders and led her to the kitchen door.

  Fern clung to Mrs. Barnes’s leg. “I want to come with you.”

  “You stay here with Daisy until Mommy comes home,” Dr. O said.

  “No, I want to come with Barnesy!”

  Mrs. Barnes looked down at Fern, as if for the first time. “You’ll be fine, Fern Ella.”

  Fern didn’t argue. She let go of Mrs. Barnes’s leg. When Daisy asked if she’d like to hear a story, Fern choose Madeline from her bookshelf. “Madeline is brave,” she told Daisy.

  Daisy asked Miri to do something about the volume of the music coming from the finished basement. Miri opened the door and crept down the stairs, afraid of what she might find. “Nat…Natalie,” she called softly. The only light was coming from the jukebox, the volume pumped way up. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust, for her to see Natalie crouched on the floor in the corner, rocking back and forth, mumbling to herself, like an old man davening on the High Holidays.

  When Miri snapped on the overhead lights, Natalie covered her eyes. “Don’t.” But Miri left the lights on and pulled the plug on the jukebox. Now it was completely quiet. Eerily quiet.

  “Come on, Nat,” Miri said, grabbing her by both arms.

  Natalie resisted. “I’m too tired.”

  “We’re all tired.” Miri hadn’t realized how true that was until that minute. She felt heavy, as if she could sleep for a week.

  Finally, Natalie stood. Miri practically pushed her up the stairs. In the kitchen, Natalie spied her quilt and pillow on the floor. She grabbed them and ran up to her bedroom, where she threw herself onto her bed, and held the pillow over her head.

  Miri followed.

  “They’
re out to get us,” Natalie said, from under the pillow. “It’s only a matter of time. Ruby says there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”

  “What are you talking about? Who’s out to get us?”

  “I’m trying to tell you but you’re not listening.”

  Miri lifted the pillow off Natalie’s head so she could see her face, hear her words more clearly. “I am listening but you’re not making any sense.”

  “You think any of this makes sense? Mrs. Barnes’s son, and Phil’s cousin, the one coming home from Syracuse. She was here New Year’s Eve. Remember? Kathy Stein. She wore a green velvet dress. My brother kissed her.”

  “What about her?”

  “She was on that plane.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Ruby told me.”

  “No she didn’t.”

  “You’ll see.”

  Miri thought about shaking Natalie. Shaking and shaking until Ruby came tumbling out headfirst, her dark hair spilling toward the floor, her blue eyes outlined in black, her lips painted bright red to match her short red dress and at last her shiny black tap shoes. But despite all the color Ruby would still look dead because that’s what she was—dead. She wanted to shake Natalie until she was the old Nat, the one Miri became best friends with in seventh grade.

  When Miri didn’t respond Natalie asked, “You think I’m crazy?”

  “Are you?”

  “Maybe,” Natalie said. “I just want to stop seeing Phil’s cousin dead, and Mrs. Barnes’s son in his captain’s uniform, all broken and burned.”

  “Stop it,” Miri said softly. “Just stop it.”

  “You’ll see,” Natalie said. Then she closed her eyes and hid under the quilt.

  —

  IN THE KITCHEN, Daisy forked whatever was browning in the pan, put it on a plate, covered it with wax paper and slid it into the fridge. She tapped Ajax into the pan and started scrubbing, as Fern sang, “Use Ajax, boom boom, the foaming cleanser, boom boom boom boom boom…”