by Tara Ellis
I close out the search engine and pull up some news sites. The ‘Spring Flu Epidemic’ is still the leading story and is now rapidly marching across the nation in record time. I don’t want to read about it.
Looking at my favorite conspiracy message board, I see that several posters already have theories on government planned viral genocide, secret lab experiments gone wrong and numerous other similar headlines. I don’t have the heart to open any of the threads.
Sighing, I decide I need to check in with some of my school friends. I find that a few of them that posted yesterday that they were sick haven’t said anything new today. I send some messages to them, asking how they are and then look up my Aunt Tammy, Mom’s sister.
They live in Nebraska too and we haven’t seen them since Dad’s funeral. There isn’t anything current on her page, so I send her a message also, updating her on us in case Grandma didn’t tell her. It’s too bad none of my Grandparent’s have taken advantage of social networking.
Just as I post a silly comment on Missy’s page, my phone alerts me to a new text. It’s from her: My whole family very sick, sis in hospital!!!! GTG, ttyl!!!
My heart sinks as I read it. Missy might complain a lot about her sister, but I know how much she loves her. Wishing I could be there for her, I simply text her back that I love her.
Deciding that kicking some alien butt does indeed seem like a good idea, I turn off the computer. As I pass by my bed, I stop and stare at the large comforter in a heap on top of it. Longing for the time that I took my mom’s concern for granted, I gather it up in my arms and go find my little brother.
SEVEN
I’m in the forest again. Alone on the trail and running through the twilight as branches claw at my face. I can hear the whispering. It’s all around me and I can’t get away from it. Tripping over a root, I fall onto a bed of pine needles, but the ground gives way beneath me and I drop down into darkness. Opening my mouth to scream, no sound comes out and all I can hear is the air whistling past me as I fall, the smell of damp rotting earth engulfing me.
Right when I think I must be close to the bottom, there is a rustling of feathers and a vulture flies by. As it turns back to look at me, I realize we are both now moving forwards in a shadowy, grey world. It goes ahead of me and I somehow follow, soaring through a dim, twisting tunnel.
As a source of light begins to glow far ahead, I become aware of stone walls rushing past on either side. Reaching out, I touch the cold rock and as I do, dark text begins to seep to the surface, moving beyond me before I’m able to read what it says. While I’m straining to see it, a word written in lighter paint floats away from the wall. It evaporates as I fly through it, like it’s made of smoke. Confused, more images leap out at me as the passage brightens.
Looking ahead towards the opening, the vulture is silhouetted in the light, hovering. Opening its beak, it says my name: “Alexandria…”
“Daddy!” I’m sitting in bed, a pillow clutched to my chest. Sweat clings to my forehead and causes my nightshirt to stick to my back.
The vulture had spoken in my dad’s voice. He was trying to get my attention, to show me something. I know this with a conviction that doesn’t make sense, but nothing has made much sense lately.
My heart hammering, I close my eyes and take several slow, deep breaths. I don’t usually remember my dreams so I go over what I saw, trying to hang on to those tendrils of imagery before they fade away. The forest, whispers, falling into the tunnel. Words on the walls, a vulture with Dads voice leading me to the entrance. Dark words were on the wall, and lighter ones were floating at me. The vulture. Opening my eyes, I jump from the bed. I understand!
Turning to the nightstand, the glowing numbers on my clock tell me it’s almost six and the alarm is about to go off. Pushing down the button to silence it before it can start; I pick up the book next to it and hurry over to my desk. I turn on the lamp and wipe the sleep from my eyes; I don’t have much time before I have to get ready for school.
Opening the delicate pages, I confirm what I already knew; on the first page of text about half way down is the vulture hieroglyph. I’ve seen this one a lot in the books Dad has. He’s circled it in pen and wrote off in the margin beside it. Everything else he wrote on that page was in dark ink, except for the word Alexandria, which is written in pencil.
Startled, I read everything in the notation that includes my name. It was a description of a location in Alexandria, Egypt. It’s one of the largest cities in Egypt now; my namesake.
Grabbing a pad of paper and pen, I write out my name. With confidence growing, I flip through several more pages, looking for anything written in pencil. I find it ten pages in, on the bottom margin. The only word in pencil is follow. I write it down. Half way through the book, I almost miss the crammed in between several sentences about pyramids.
There are less than a hundred and fifty pages to the whole book, so it isn’t long before I find the next one. Only, it isn’t a word. It’s the vulture hieroglyph, clearly drawn in pencil on the inner margin, near the spine.
As I carefully draw the picture, the correlation between this cryptic message and my dream becomes obvious. Alexandria follow the vulture.
I drop the pen and lean back from the desk, rubbing at my temples. How is this even possible? Did my subconscious pick up on it and cause the dream? Impossible. I hadn’t even looked at half those pages, so I couldn’t have possibly known what it was saying.
Not expecting to find any more text, I go back to the book and thumb quickly through the remaining pages. To my surprise, there is one more on the very last page. {Hollow}. Well, that didn’t help any. What in the world was that supposed to mean?
Alexandria follow the vulture { hollow }
My breath catches in my throat and a sob escapes me. My father is trying to speak to me from the grave and I can’t even understand what he’s saying!
There’s a loud pounding on my door and I jump, startled. “Alex!” Jacob yells, knocking again. “Are you up?”
Looking at the clock, I see that it’s already past 6:30. How long was I sitting here, staring at those simple words? “Yes Jacob, I’ll be out in a minute.” His footsteps retreat down the hallway and I push back from the desk.
No shower for me today. Ripping the paper I wrote on from my notebook, I carefully fold it. I pull on my favorite jeans and then stuff the paper in my back pocket. Taking the book back into the closet, I grab a shirt off a hanger before setting it under the watchful bear.
I finish dressing and run a brush through my thick wavy hair that falls a few inches past my shoulders. Looking in the mirror, I scrutinize my face. Missy has forever claimed to be envious of my dark lashes, saying that it looks like I always have mascara and eyeliner on. Applying some shaded lip gloss, I decide its good enough and pick my phone up off the floor where it was charging.
Although it’s early and I know Missy is sick, I can’t wait. I have to message her; Missy U have to call me as soon as U can. Must talk!!!!
Slowing as I pass Moms room, I peek in and see that she appears to still be sleeping. Rushing into the kitchen, I quickly heat up a couple of waffles and pour a glass of juice. Taking it back to her bedroom, I try to carefully place it on her nightstand without waking her. However, as I’m backing away, she rolls over and looks at me.
Expecting her usual smile or some other form of acknowledgement, I’m thrown off by her silence. She’s just staring at me, like a scientist studying a bug.
“I…um, got you some breakfast.” Nothing. I awkwardly shift from foot to foot. “Jake and I have to leave for school.” Reaching out, she picks up the orange juice and takes a long swallow. “Mom, are you okay?”
Pausing with the glass still up to her mouth, I can tell that she realizes how odd she’s behaving. Slowly lowering it, she blinks rapidly several times and finally smiles at me, cocking her head slightly to the side. “I’m actually feeling much better Alex, thank you.”
I wish she’d
stop smiling at me. It’s making me very uncomfortable for some reason. Looking for something to focus on other than her, I see the crossword puzzles I left by the TV yesterday. Grabbing them, I hold them up so she can see them. “I got these for you; maybe you’ll feel up to it today?”
Nodding, she takes them from me and finds a pen among the cold medicine and Kleenex. Opening one, she begins studying the clues. It’s like I’m no longer in the room.
“Well, I have to go. I’ve got my phone if you need anything.” Without looking up, she waves me off.
Turning around to leave, I see that Jacob is standing behind me. He has a cross look on his face as he stares at Mom. When she continues to work the puzzle, he walks away and I follow.
We both pick up our backpacks that are hanging on hooks in the kitchen, by the garage door. I take an old looking banana off the counter before leaving, thinking I might get hungry before lunch.
“Did you feed Baxter?” I ask Jacob as we get into the truck.
“Yeah, I put him in the backyard. What’s wrong with Mom?”
I’ve always appreciated his ability to get to the point. You know just where you stand with him. “I don’t know Jacob. I think it’s because she’s still sick. Sometimes that can make you act weird.”
“It’s kinda how she was after Dad died.” I meet his gaze and wonder at how he can be so smart.
“You’re right. It is sort of similar, but I don’t think it’s the same thing. Before, she was depressed.” Turning my attention back to the road, I navigate a turn. “Right now, her body is getting over something really nasty so it’s going to take awhile before she’s back to her old self again. It’ll be okay.” Hoping I sound sure of myself, I try to hide my real emotions from my face. It dawns on me that I didn’t even consider telling her about what I found in the book; or share my dream. I don’t know why.
I briefly think about sharing it with Jacob, but decide that since it’s confusing and upsetting for me, it would be even worse for him. Right now he has enough to deal with. It wouldn’t be fair for me to dump that on him too.
Hopefully Missy will call me back soon and I can run it past her. She’s pretty silly, but very smart. While I work to maintain my 3.4 GPA, Missy has always had a 4.0 even with advanced classes. Perhaps she’ll be able to point out something obvious that I can’t see. Sometimes it takes someone outside a situation to see it for what it really is.
As we approach the Elementary school, Jake turns to me, arms folded across his chest. “I don’t understand why we have to go to school if this whole flu thing is so bad. Won’t it make it worse to have us all together?”
Once again, his common sense can’t be argued with. “I don’t know Jacob. You and I obviously aren’t going to get it, or else we’d already be sick. Maybe it isn’t as bad as the media is making it out to be. They always hype things up for ratings.”
Picking at some loose trim on the glove box, I can tell he’s thinking. “I think its worse.”
Looking at him, I know he’s right. I’ve been trying to avoid that truth, but he’s not. I start to say something to try and make him feel better, but stop myself. Instead, I decide to give in. “I know.”
We pull up to the school and sit there for a moment, looking at each other in silence. There’s nothing more to say. We’re in a situation beyond our control and all we can do is hope things get back to normal before it gets worse.
Unbuckling, I slide across the seat and hug him. I don’t try and tell him it’ll be okay; he wouldn’t believe me. Instead, I promise to be right here when school gets out. He hugs me back and bravely jumps down from the truck.
Watching him walk away, my chest gets heavy and I realize how much I love my brother. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him. Shaking my head to clear it, I pull away from the curb.
EIGHT
I slide into my first period English seat just as the final bell rings. At the head of the class our Principle, Mr. Sailor, isn’t looking good at all. He’s written on the board that our regular teacher is out sick.
“Okay everyone, quiet down!” Glaring sternly at those of us in class, he coughs into the crook of his arm. “I’ll be teaching class today. I know things are a bit…chaotic, but let’s try and stick with the schedule as best we can. There are several substitutes here so I expect you to be on your best…” coughing again, this time more violently, he halfway stumbles over to the desk in the corner and sits down.
A chiming over the PA system signals the morning announcements. We sit through the regular chatter, say the pledge of allegiance and then fill Mr. Sailor in on where we left off Friday.
While reading the next chapter in the currently assigned, typical classic novel, I take the opportunity to look around the room. Close to half of the normally full seats are empty, and of the kids that are here, it looks like a lot of them are in various stages of this flu. I wish once more that I had a mask.
The rest of my morning classes are much the same. Two out of the four teachers are gone, and one of the remaining ones is obviously sick. There are lots of questions as to why we’re even bothering with school, but no one has the answers.
At lunch time, I get my food and then try to sneak out to the courtyard and as far away from everyone else as possible. Nearly to my goal, I spot Chris walking up quickly to me.
“Alex!” he calls out, even though we’ve already made eye contact. “Why don’t you come sit with me?” Unsure for a moment, I decide there’s really no point to evasion anymore. I am surrounded by this virus, probably literally covered in it. If I’m going to get it, there isn’t anything I can do about it now. I follow him back to a nearby table and take a seat.
There are only two other kids eating with us, neither of them friends of mine. Chris tells me their names, but I quickly forget them. I just want to talk with him about my Dads book, having come to the conclusion that he may be the only person here I can confide in.
Eating slowly, I try to pay attention to the small talk around the table, smiling and nodding at what I think may be the right times. I don’t really hear any of if though. The constant noise that’s always in this room fills my head, and the smell I have come to lovingly think of as the ‘cafeteria funk’ assaults me. I can’t take it anymore. I have to get outside.
Chris has stopped talking and is staring at me. I must not look well, because he seems concerned. Dropping what remains of my sandwich, I stand up and nearly fall backwards over the seat. “I have to get outside,” I tell him, walking blindly towards where I think the exit is.
I’m aware of his hand on my elbow, and I’m grateful for his help in finding the door. I haven’t had an attack of claustrophobia in years, but I suffered through it long enough to recognize the symptoms.
Trying to slow down my breathing, I sit on the bench outside in the sunshine that Chris leads me to. Once out in the open, I immediately begin to feel better and embarrassment takes it place. “I’m sorry,” I say to him sheepishly. “I haven’t had that happen in a long time.”
“Sorry for what?” Looking at him, it’s clear that he’s serious. When I don’t answer, he moves his hand from my elbow to my shoulder. “Are you okay now? Your color is much better.”
“I’m fine. I just needed to get out of there.” I look at the trees, the sidewalk and the other kids…anything but him.
“Alex,” he insists, not giving up.
Finally, I meet his gaze and then find that I can’t look away. I’m surprised by what I see there. “I used to get claustrophobic,” I explain. “But I thought I was over it. Really, I’m okay now. Thank you.”
Satisfied, he leans back, crossing his arms. “How is your mom today? Any better?”
Forcing myself to look away, I star down at my hands in my lap. “I…guess she’s doing better.”
“You guess?”
“Well, it’s hard to explain. Her flu symptoms are starting to go away, but…she doesn’t seem like herself. I…”
“What?” He seems gen
uinely concerned, so I tell him what’s on my mind.
“After Dad died, she suffered from depression for awhile and had to take some medicine for it. She’s been off that for over a year. The way she was back then…sorta like not caring about anything? That’s how she seems now, but not exactly.” Frustrated at my lack of ability to explain my feelings, I jump right into what I really want to discuss; “What do you think about dreams?”
Blinking at me, trying to keep up with my train of thought, he raises his eyebrows questioningly. “Dreams? What about them?”
“Do you think that, I mean… that it’s possible to get a message in your dream?” I’m not sure if he understands me, because he sits there staring at me for what seems like forever.
“There are many, many Native American stories and beliefs that surround dreams. You’ve seen dream catchers?” I nod in response. “That’s one example. But it is part of our culture to interpret and listen to what our dreams tell us. As a Christian, I believe that God may use our dreams as one way to speak to us.”
This surprises me. That wasn’t what I expected to hear. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, it’s very scriptural. I did some research on that due to my cultural background and found that among several other ways God may choose, dreams are a very common one. I think its Job 33….um, maybe verse 13 or 14 that says: ‘For God does speak – now one way or another – though no one perceives it. In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falls on people as they slumber in their beds.’ I’ve always liked that verse.”
“Wow. That’s pretty cool,” I admit. “I never knew that kind of stuff was in the Bible.”
