by Alan, TS
We did not sleep much. We were too busy exploring one another’s bodies, giving each other pleasure, and getting to know one another, which was something we previously hadn’t done. As we lay in bed cuddling and talking about our lives before the end of humanity, she asked about my scars.
Everyone has emotional luggage. Most people learn to cope with it while others suffer their whole lives with it, a few to a tragic end. I came to terms with my stupidity and acknowledged my poor judgment and arrogance, but that still didn’t mean I liked talking about it. When I came up with an evasive answer, Marisol could see it was a sensitive topic. She gently kissed my scar and changed the subject.
“Why do you have those big tattoos on your arms, mi amor? You look like one of those Japanese Mafia guys.”
“Yakuza,” I said. “No, it’s not anything bad.”
“The dragon is cool. But why the fish and water? Isn’t that kind of… girly?”
“Koi no takinobori,” I said. “Koi’s waterfall climbing. It means to succeed vigorously in life. Japanese and Chinese mythology believes a carp that can swim upstream and jump the waterfalls will be transformed into a dragon. It’s symbolic for life’s struggle and achieving your goal.”
I had two tattoos. On my left upper arm there was a koi and a waterfall. On the other was a dragon flying into the clouds. Both ran from above my elbow to my humerus bone and were mainly inked on the deltoid region. They were traditional in design, though not traditional in application.
I learned things about Marisol. Her last name was De La Garza and she was born in New York City. Her parents were of mixed nationality. Her father was Columbian and her mother was Mexican. Once a year she returned to her maternal homeland for what her mother and father called vacation month, which was anything but a holiday. Her parents enrolled her in parochial school to learn true Spanish, how to pray properly, and to be taught how to socialize in a manner befitting a young lady. The coming summer would have been her last “vacation” before entering into M.I.T. on a full mathematics scholarship. Her family did not tolerate Spanglish, or any form of urban slang. She used it when she talked to her friends, but never around family members because she knew she would get slapped. I preferred to hear her speak proper Spanish. Vulgarities from her mouth made her crude and less ladylike. It was bad enough I was rude and crude; it didn’t sound right coming from her.
We fell asleep around dawn, but our sleep was light and restless. We held one another close until the waning morning stirred us from bed. Our shower turned to passionate lovemaking; the sensation of water flowing over our flesh fueled our desire. As we softly patted one another dry, paying more attention to our kissing than our drying, Marisol removed her silver cross pendant with its clear center stone and tried to place it around my neck.
I first saw the cross around her neck when I found her in my room, but had not paid much attention to it, not even while I was caressing her breasts. She wanted me to have it as a token of her love, so she would always be with me. It was not in my nature to be over sentimental and romantic, and I thought the gesture, though sweet, was a bit too sappy for me. But when she explained that it had been given to her by her grandmother for her Quinceañera (a celebration of a girl’s 15th birthday), and that her grandmother had saved for a whole year to buy it, the cross actually being platinum with a diamond accent, I knew it was of great sentimental meaning to her, and that to refuse her gift of love would be insulting and hurtful. I accepted her token and was sworn to wear it around my neck from that moment on.
Marisol and I were arm in arm as we walked into the cafeteria with Max trotting behind us. Sitting at one of the tables was David and Julie. They were in a passionate, all-out tongue kiss.
“Hey you two—Get a room!”
David looked up. He was clean-shaven and appeared to be an entirely different person. Julie seemed slightly embarrassed.
“Wow! You really are McLovin,” I told him. “Nice to see the caveman scruff is gone.”
David’s eyes went to my crotch.
“Jesus, J.D., is that a pistol in your pants or you just glad to see me?”
“It’s a pineapple; my dick is bigger.”
With a devilish grin Marisol shook her head in affirmation.
“Oh, God,” Julie commented.
“Actually,” I said, as I reached into my pant pocket, “it’s a pineapple hand grenade. Or more accurately, a cigarette lighter. Here. Catch!”
“You give this to me after I quit smoking?” he asked, catching the gift with both hands like an outfielder catching a pop fly.
“Did you actually quit ’cause you wanted to, or did you just run out of smokes?” I asked, as Marisol and I joined them.
“There was no smoking allowed down here. I couldn’t find any.”
“I guess commanders don’t count, ’cause there’s a humidor of cigars in his office. I’m away for five weeks and you two hooked up?”
“Why?” Julie inquired. “Does that bother you?”
“No, not at all. Except, I’ve seen the groupies David used to have and you’re nothing like them.”
David was getting anxious and uncomfortable.
Julie grew suspicious. “And what does that mean?”
“Julie, don’t read things into it that aren’t there. I’m just saying that you are a step up. It’s nice you two hooked up.”
“Thanks, I think.” Julie wiggled her index finger back and forth between Marisol and I, as she asked, “You two…”
“Having sex?” I flippantly asked.
“God, J.D. You are really being a ga tsan today.”
“What does that mean? Marisol asked.
“A less vulgar Cantonese word for asshole,” I said.
“That’s because you’re being nasty,” Marisol agreed with Julie.
“You’re right. You’re both right” I acknowledged. “I shouldn’t have been crass… And to answer your question, Julie. Yes, Marisol and I have… have…”
As I searched for a non-offense way of telling David and Julie, Marisol and I were now in a sexual relationship, Julie blurted out, “Having sex?”
“Really, Julie? And I’m the asshole?”
Julie returned with, “It’s not always what you say, but the way you say it,” and then asked, “So what took you so long?”
In the short time I had known Julie, we had never had much social interaction let alone an in-depth conversation of a personal nature. I was about to get educated on Julie’s views on younger women with older men and morality in a post-apocalypse world.
“This is kind of a weird,” I said suspiciously. “I didn’t know you had any interest in me except to kick my ass.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I just want to know why you and Marisol didn’t get involved from the get go. Everyone could see you two had chemistry.”
“Because I thought she was fifteen at the time, when she wasn’t.”
“Should it have mattered?” she asked.
I was shocked by Julie’s question. I wasn’t sure if she was serious or testing my morality.
Before I could respond, she continued, “The world as we know it and those moral constraints humanity were bound to are gone. It’ll be the new Dark Ages, except with guns. Kill or be killed to survive. Maybe we’ll end up dead. The only certainty we have is right now, all of us together.
I’m substantially younger than David, but what matters is that we found one another. What if Marisol had been fifteen? Would you have ignored your feelings for her and hers for you, and hoped you’d find some age appropriate survivor, not even sure if that person would be attracted to you?”
Julie had made a strong point. None of us knew for sure if we would find a mate if that’s what each of us wanted, or if that person would have a mutual interest. Nevertheless, morality was the basis of laws and ethics that bound society together. I debated her situational perspective on morality.
“I respect your view,” I told her, “but where do you draw the line? Fifteen
, twelve? Don’t we still need to maintain a moral compass to be decent human beings? Without it there would be no way to resolve disputes between people, no defense of a particular moral stand being possible in the nonexistence of some absolute point of reference.”
“The idea of every law having a lawmaker, every rule having an enforcer, every institution having someone in authority, or there will be chaos is obsolete,” Julie argued. “Sex is entirely natural and should be celebrated in the context of loving relationships, not criminalized and put under the prying eye of an authoritarian state. If you haven’t noticed civilization is gone. Therefore, undoubtedly, morality will be adjusted according to those who survive. Isn’t that part of why we formed our survivor committee?”
“Be that as it may, you never answered my question about age.”
“You never answered mine either,” Julie reminded me, and then responded with, “I believe Mohandas Gandhi once said, ‘Morality is rooted in the purity of our hearts.’ So if both of your hearts are pure and you both are consenting, love should have no boundaries. So now what’s your answer to my question?”
“Yes, mi amor,” Marisol spoke. “I would like to know, too. What if I really was fifteen?”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t have an answer. I was emotionally invested in my relationship with Marisol, and with the way I felt about her it was no longer a black or white question—even though I knew it should have been. I was the chairperson of our survivor committee. I, above all others, should be that moral compass of the group. I started to feel anxious and uncomfortable.
“With all due respect to both of you, I’m under doctor’s orders to eat properly at regular intervals, and I feel a bit run down because I haven’t. So the remainder of this debate on sexual morality and the crisis of law in our post-apocalypse will have to wait until another time. I’m really hungry right now. “So where’s Chef? I could go for some Salisbury steak with buttered noodles and vegetable medley.”
“I heard that,” Kermit said, as he came from out of the kitchen. “What did I tell you?”
“Well, suck my salty chocolate balls. Marisol gets to call you Chef and I can’t?”
“You think that whole South Park thing is funny, don’t you? Marisol doesn’t call me Chef, because she thinks it’s funny. She calls me Chef out of love and respect.”
“Hey. Mine’s out of love and respect! South Park is my favorite cartoon, and Chef is my favorite character. Well, him and Big Gay Al. So yeah, it’s funny that you remind me of Chef. But I’m not making fun of you. I love Isaac Hayes. So how about it?”
The answer was still no.
I entered into light conversation with everyone as we ate, getting caught up on the weeks I had missed. The remaining facility repairs had been accomplished, as was supply inventory, which had been completed before I left. Zombies were still running rampant and there had been no broadcasts received through satellite communications. It was, as they all agreed, boring and routine, with nothing new to report.
“Okay,” I said, asking David, “how about a round of Jeopardy to break up the monotony?”
“You never give up, do you?” he responded.
“No. Your categories are pop music, rock and roll roots, and film.”
“I’ll take rock and roll roots for two hundred, Alex,” David said.
“For two hundred dollars, who is generally credited with coining the term rock ‘n’ roll?”
“Who is Alan Freed?” he responded.
“The correct answer is… Alan Freed!”
“I’ll take pop music for four hundred.”
“Spinal Tap said you know where you stand when you are where?”
“What is in a hell hole?”
“The correct answer is… in a hell hole.”
He was good, but I was only getting started.
“I’ll take film for a thousand, Alex,” he requested.
“Oh, gonna make me think of something tough. Think you can outwit me?” I laughed, “Ha ha, you fool!” And then bastardized one of the most famous lines from the film the Princess Bride. “You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous of which is ‘Never go in against a Sicilian when DEATH is on the line!’ but only slightly less well-known is this: ‘Never go in against J.D. Nichols when a challenge is on the line!’ ”
“Okay, Princess Buttercup, just get on with it.”
“That was Vizzini, not Buttercup,” I replied.
“Duh! But you’re still Princess Buttercup to me.”
“Yeah, so what do you call Julie?”
Julie was quick to answer. “None of your business,” she scolded.
I said to David, “We’ll talk later,” and gave him a wink so Julie would see.
“You will not,” she said, and then punched David in the deltoid.
“Damn!” he cried out. “Why you hitting me?”
“Cause I can’t reach him.”
I laughed.
“Thanks, J.D., I’ll smack you later. Next question, Buttercup.”
I paused for a moment, thinking. “Okay. This 2001 film, South of Heaven, West of Hell was directed by, and starred, what country singer?”
“I hate country.”
“What?!” I asked, astonished at his statement.
“I think country music sucks,” he adamantly added, fervently condemning the genre.
“Now hold on there, David,” Kermit interjected, having returned from the kitchen with Max’s food bowl. “Don’t be disrespecting country music. We don’t disrespect whatever music you were doing.” He set the bowl on the floor, calling Max to eat.
I confronted him on his disdain. “Hold it, hold it. That’s just ludicrous, and I don’t mean the rapper. You hate country music, but you wrote a big country hit several years ago?”
“He did?” Julie asked.
“Oh, yeah he did. It was called, “Take Your Socks Off”. And was recorded by… Miranda Lambert,” I announced, calling him out on his words.
“No, it wasn’t,” David said.
“Yes, it was,” I retorted.
“No, he’s right,” Kermit informed us. “It was Miranda Wilson. She’s a fine lookin’ woman for a skinny white girl. So that was you?”
“No,” he stubbornly replied, not willing to admit the truth.
“Anyway, it went double gold,” I continued.
“Platinum,” David corrected.
“A-ha! See, Mister Country Music Sucks. You hated it so much that you went to the CMA Awards and sat next to Miranda Wilson, but I’m sure you hated it so much that you didn’t keep any of the royalties,” I said with sarcasm.
“All right, I admit it. I wrote the song, I went to the awards, personally wasn’t nominated, but went anyway. And yeah, I made a lot of money off it. Satisfied?”
“See,” I said.
David felt the need to explain, to justify his actions—his betrayal to the world of rock ‘n’ roll. “But let me tell you, it wasn’t meant to be a country song. It was originally called, ‘Take Your Box Off’, and it was my tribute to Aerosmith’s ‘Get Your Rocks Off’. Except I could never get the lyrics the way I wanted.
It was my manager’s idea. He told me Miranda was a huge fan, which I thought was really weird. She wanted me to write a song for her. So as a joke I rewrote the song and changed box to socks. I was hoping that would have been the last of it.”
“Guess that backfired,” I snickered.
“I miss music,” Marisol said.
“Me too,” Kermit nodded in agreement. “I loved my jazz and country.”
“I miss lychees,” Julie added. “Fresh lychees.”
“My guitars. I really miss not having my guitars. What about you, J.D.?” David asked.
No one had mentioned family, and for good reason. Though everyone knew it, no one wanted to accept the fact that their families and friends were gone, including me. So instead of saying my job—the thing I truly missed the most—I said my martial arts gear. If I had mentioned my job,
I would also have included my EMT partner, and best friend Siyab. I thought it best for the morale of the group to steer away from the memories of those we lost.
“You know what I miss?” Sam said as he came into the cafeteria, wearing full uniform and cap. “I miss not having to cover for you,” he directed at me. “You’re late. You were supposed to have relieved me at twelve hundred hours.”
“Since when?” I asked.
His answer was quick in reply. “Since six weeks ago. When you approved the duty roster, before you went on vacation.”
He was right. I approved the duty roster and it was my responsibility to man the command center from noon until 6:00 p.m. that week. I apologized and started to leave when I realized David never answered the question.
“By the way, David,” I said, as I began my departure, “The correct answer was Dwight Yoakam.”
I called to Max, but my furry friend wasn’t interested in leaving with me. He looked at me, whined, and then pawed at his food dish. He wanted to finish his breakfast. I left him in Marisol’s care.
IX
Cause and Effect
There had been other consequences to my refuge, more than just shirking my responsibilities. I had also placed the burden of responsibility for Joe’s behavior and conduct onto everyone. Joe’s willfulness and flagrant disregard of the rules and what was required from him brought numerous complaints. I was forced to call him into the office like an insolent schoolchild being called to the principal’s office for a reprimand.
My requests regarding being on time for his assignments, completing the tasks given, and showing respect and courtesy to others, fell on deaf ears. Warnings regarding consequences were shrugged off. Within two days he was three hours late for his post at the command center. When Julie informed me, it was time for a committee meeting.
I called for a hearing with all personnel, which meant the command center was unattended. I felt confident that the security interruption was tolerable because nothing remarkable had happened during the previous few weeks. It was important that everyone concerned could voice an opinion and discuss all options.
