The First Day After (© Daniel Lee)
Page 1 I woke up in
warmth and sunlight underneath a wool blanket in a soft, single bed in a small room
with blue wall paper. Tiny dust moats swam in lazy arcs towards the ground in
the stream of golden light that kissed my face and welcomed me again into the
world. My right hand slid instinctively from under the covers and up to the
headboard. It groped the empty air where only yesterday there would have been a
pistol holstered; waiting for the violence I'd expected would follow my waking.
My heart began to race, pounding like a drum in my ears until Slowly the
realization sank in. I lay my hand on my bare chest and stared up at the
swirling blades of a ceiling fan overhead. "It's over," I
muttered weakly. "It really is over." Rolling out of bed I dressed
and found my gun belt lying on top of a dresser at the other end of the room.
My beat up .38 and two speed loaders were present and accounted for. I
hesitated for a moment before wrapping the belt around my waist. I was waking
up from a long nightmare in an alien world. Maybe I didn’t have to worry any
more? Maybe the days of looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next
catastrophe were all behind me? Old habits died hard as I cinched the belt
tight and stepped into the hall. From downstairs I could hear
laughter and the sound of children being frivolous in a way I'd long ago
forgotten was possible. I took my time on the steps being careful to make sure
that each footfall landed softly and drew the minimum attention of those below.
Reflexively my hand moved to the gun on my hip as a silhouette danced across
the hardwood on the landing. The tremble of adrenaline dumping into my veins at
the prospect of a looming fight took control of my muscles. I fought the urge
to draw as two little girls spilled out of the kitchen giggling and chasing
each other into the hallway and out into the yard. I slid my hands into my
pockets. "Good morning,
sweetie," Misses Miller called as I entered the kitchen. "Sleep all
right last night?" She was an older woman, a grandmother figure with soft,
wrinkled features and white hair in a bun atop her head. She wore horn rimmed
glasses that were always down on her nose to let her look over the top at
whoever she was talking to. She was busy over the stove flipping pancakes and
humming an old gospel tune as I slid into a seat at the table. I put my back to
the wall giving me a vantage point on the door and the windows. She turned and
put a steaming plate down on the table between me and the jug of milk I was
sure had come fresh from the barn out back. "I don't think you'll need
that here," she said pointing the spatula at the revolver on my hip. "Old habits," I
muttered. She shrugged and turned back to the stove. After breakfast I wandered
out onto the front porch looking for something to do with my time. My mother
always said that idle hands were the devil's plaything. That son of a bitch had
played enough as far as I was concerned. I wanted something to do that was
meaningful and worthwhile. I’d spent so long tearing apart that I wanted to
build now, create something. I had no idea at all what to do. Mister Miller and
his sons were out tending the business of the farm and his daughter was busy
working in the flower bed in the front yard while her two little girls played.
The family's old hound dog was lying on the porch by the swing, too lazy to
even lift his head and acknowledge my presence as I sat down beside him and lit
a cigarette. Over the years I'd heard a
lot of folks talk about a lot of things they wanted to do when "this is all
over." Now that it was, that civilization was coming back to the South and
the war that so many of us had fought against the things that bumped in the
night was done I had no idea what was coming next. I'd lived for so long not
thinking about tomorrow and now that it was here I had no idea what to do with
it. I barely noticed the little
girl who had sat down beside me on the swing. "You happy to be here,
mister?" Her blue eyes shined as she looked up at me with her question.
She was only five or six and probably wasn't alive when the whole mess began.
She'd never known the world before it had changed but looking at the farm and
the family around her, I doubt her world had ever been a bleak or frightening
place to her. [ Continue to page 2 ] |