Evac

“Your attention please. May we have your attention, please. We are currently under mandatory evacuation. Please gather all your belongings and make sure that your children are with you. The last bus to the mainland will be leaving in five minutes. If you are not on the bus at that time, there will be no further transportation out. Anybody still on the island will be required to leave on foot. It is highly recommended that you leave now. The approaching storm will not be survivable.”

“Wow. Those winds are really picking up. That storm isn’t too far away. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, conditions being what they are.”

“My name is Jack, by the way.”

“Russ.”

“You live over there on Clark Street, don’t you?”

“Yep. Or at least I used to. I heard that once this storm hits, there won’t be anything left. None of us will have anything to call home. Like you said, you can feel it coming.”

“Do you own or rent?”

“I rent. I used to own a house. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.”

“What happened?”

“The storm of 2017. Completely destroyed everything. I had insurance, but it didn’t even cover what I still owed on the mortgage.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m renting also. I never did own a home. Ever since I was a little child, my family has rented. I wanted to stay and weather the storm, but my landlord ordered me out while he boarded up the house. Yet if this storm is as bad as they claim it will be, the house will be submerged underwater. Like you, I may not have anything else to come back to.”

“So where will you go while we wait for government approval to return?”

“I have a brother in Chicago who promised to take me in for a while. I’m shocked he agreed to it. His wife and I don’t get along well.”

“Why? What did you do?”

“I got drunk at their wedding. I may or may not have barfed on the preacher after walking up to the stage with pee-soaked pants. That’s what they tell me. I really don’t remember that day at all. Anyway, she hates my guts. She promised to give me one day to find other accommodations. My brother talked her into giving me a week. She agreed, but she’s staying with her mother for that week. What about you? Do you have somebody waiting for you?”

“No. I’m all alone in the world. I’ll be staying at whatever meager, hole-in-the-wall, fleabag shelter the government decides to throw me in. I had a wife and children, but they abandoned me. They up and left in the middle of the night. They were nice enough to leave a note. It said something like, ‘Dear Russ, we never want to see you again. Do not look for us. Bad bye.’ It actually said ‘Bad bye.’ The opposite of goodbye. Talk about hating guts. I’m shocked she didn’t try to kill me in the middle of the night.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I thought I was a good father and husband. Yes, I used to have a few drinks on the weekends, but I was never a violent drunk. I may have lost a few jobs and wasted the family’s funds on booze. We may have lost a home or two and even had to spend a week on the street because I had no money. But that was ten years ago. I’ve gotten help since then. I haven’t touched the stuff in six years. I reached out to my ex. She said it was a good thing that I got help. But my sons and daughter believe that I am dead, and she wants to keep it that way.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. I’m an only child.”

“No cousins?”

“Nope. I’m the only child of two only children.”

“Wow. No friends?”

“Yes. All three of them will be receiving the same government accommodations that I’m getting.”

“You really do have nothing. My life doesn’t seem that bad now.”

“Oh, my life isn’t bad. I’m happy to get away from here alive.”

“But you have nothing.”

“I have my life. That’s enough.”

“I like your attitude. Well, if we ever return here, you have another friend. Here’s the address to where I’ll be. Maybe we can keep in contact with each other until then.”

“Attention. May we have your attention, please. We will be departing to the mainland in a few moments. Please make sure that your children are with you. If you are not on the bus at this time, there will be no further transportation out. Anybody still on the island will be required to leave on foot. It is highly recommended that you leave now. The approaching storm will not be survivable. The bridge will be closed even to foot traffic before the end of the day. Your last chance to get off the island is now.”

“Here we go. Wow, the rain is really coming down now.”

“I hope you can prove to your brother that you’ve changed.”

“I hope you can do the same with your ex.”

“Here we go. The bus is moving now. The rain is pounding. It feels like we may be washed off this bridge.”

“Hello. I couldn’t help hearing your conversation. My name is Sally. I’ve been sober for five years now. I own a nonprofit organization designed to help former alcoholics get back on their feet. If you’d like to stay close to your new friend, we have a place in Chicago. We would be happy to take you in. Question: how old are your children?”

“Rod and Todd, the twins, they’re about fifteen now. Molly is seventeen. Why?”

“Your wife lied to them. She told them that you were dead. You can get at least partial custody.”

“I don’t want to take them away from their mother. I just want them to know that I’m alive and that I’ve been trying to reach out to them from the beginning.”

“Well, if nothing else, you’ve proven that you have a good heart.”

“I try.”

“Most people would be happy to knock their ex into a hole. You don’t even want to hurt her.”

“No. I admit that what happened was my fault. I can’t be too mad at her, even if she did tell them that I was dead. At least they don’t think that I was a deadbeat.”

“Did you want to get back together with her?”

“No. Last I heard, she was dating a guy named Matthew. He’s a businessman with a seven-digit bank account. I’m not going to break that up. She’s also made it very clear that she never wants to see me again. Truthfully, I don’t have that same attraction for her anymore. She’s not the same person I married. She’s bitter. She’s hateful. I can’t deal with that. Always watching and waiting for me to mess up. I think she’d push me into drinking again.”

“You’re probably better without her. Here’s my card. Maybe you can call me sometime.”

“That would be great. Chicago doesn’t sound bad.”

“Your attention please. May we have your attention, please. We will reach the mainland soon. The bus will arrive at the shelter by five p.m. When leaving, make sure that you take all of your belongings with you. We wish everyone the best and a safe return home.”