Jules's Children

Julie. Smiling wide as rainbows, pretty teeth. Why is it always the memory of her in that dankly lit coffee shop? I couldn’t see anyone in that place; I could barely even read in that light. But I could see Julie. Rosy complexion beauty who made words that I believed would change the world.

I thought we were just friends; she made everyone feel that way. I don’t remember what I said, but her cheeks pulled back, her finger tucked her hair, and she took an almost unnoticeable inhale before letting loose a giggle that I have been listening to on repeat ever since. She was embarrassed. I was hooked.

* * *

Creak. It had to be the splintered couple of stairs one must take to get onto my porch. Wouldn’t have chosen this place looking back. Everything here is wooden. Not wood paneling. Real wood. 1920s wood. Cleft and harvested before we even understood what trees were worth. But this old stuff is so hard to keep in shape. And expensive too. Not that it matters anymore.

Why is it that my mind still dwells on things that have no bearing on the future? You’d think with the position I’m in, I wouldn’t be day dreaming about a bygone existence.

Creak. Another one. This time followed by cautious yet heavy footsteps. Each boot fall on one of my porch timbers was a pulse, a shockwave reminding me that I’m alive and my house is standing. I am on the other side of the house, but I can feel every heartbeat. Each one pops my ears and gives me a pumping sensation in the back of my head.

It’s just me now. At least it’s quieter in the house. Makes it easy to hide. Course it’s also lonely. Just me and the Big Man. And whoever’s on my porch.

* * *

Three years after I stored her laugh in my memory banks, I learned who Julie was. We were dating at the time. Dating was a thing people did back then; it was trying someone out before you made a long-term commitment.

“What are you about?” Julie sprung questions like this all of the time. Sometimes jokingly, but I could tell that this time was for real.

“Well I really enjoy the artwork I do. You know, just trying to make people feel something when they see my work.” I kick myself to this day for that answer. So self-centered. So disconnected from everything that Julie stood for. “And church! Of course church.” That part was for her.

“Is that really you, though, J?” I had gone from James to Jamie to J.T. to just J in the few years she had known me. I wondered in that moment if this conversation was going to lead to the next abbreviation from sweet, attentive Julie.

“I mean I guess. I’m not sure I get the question.” I paused and realized that I didn’t need to blindly ask her the same question back. Julie lived in a way where you knew what she was about without having to ask her at all. She was a lover. Any person. She gave her time and her attention and her vote to helping the many. The less fortunate. The outcasts. She was a part of like two churches, three inner-city food outreaches (in our great town of 24,000), and an organization that wanted to see healthcare and other basic needs met for people with no income. Then there was the way she talked to people. She treated people with dignity, like each one was more important than the last. She convinced countless people that their problems were her problems too, and she was going to do everything she could to fix them. And normally she did.

I had been silent too long, so it slipped out. “What are you about, Jules?”

Her eyes bubbled with life. The silver chain and locket on her neckline glinted a bit. She smiled slowly and looked me in the eye. Then Julie blew me a kiss. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

* * *

BANG BANG BANG comes the conclusion to the creak and footstep saga. My door, also wooden, budges on its hinges and threatens to give up its duty.

“’Morning! How you folks doin’ in there?” I gasp a bit at the knock, but quickly regain my composure. I know that this gentleman isn’t near as friendly as he sounds. “James, son, we know you’re here. Ain’t another place for you to go. We just wanna talk now, ya hear me?”

BANG! Another knock. Then a second voice to go with it. “Yeah, Jamie, ain’t that what she called you?” I clutch my mouth with one hand. I put my other palm flat on the floor and begin breathing slowly. Then the voice continues. “We don’t mean you no harm. We ain’t gonna treat you like we did your old lady now - we don’t swing that way ‘round here Jamie boy.” He cackles at his own joke; what a sicko. My breathing ramps up its speed. If I don’t cool down, I won’t make it.

“Shut up..!” The first man’s voice trails off. I almost laugh, from stress probably. “James!” First voice again, sounding more forceful now. “Open the door and we won’t have to do it ourselves. This can be a peaceful talk.”

The second voice refuses to be restrained. “We don’t want to make a gross scene here Jamie. Open up. We have more than enough rounds for you and anyone else you might be hiding with ten times over.” There is silence for a second, then “OPEN UP!” BANG BANG. A growl girds this last outburst and knock.

I glance over to the gun safe in the corner of the closet I am hiding in. It came with the house. It stands ajar as I look at it. Jules and I had never owned a gun, but she kept it and made it my art safe. Pen, ink, paint, and print have won more battles than gunpowder and flint! She would say to me. I think I can make out a green and a purple bottle of acrylic paint still sitting near the back of one of the shelves. Maybe I should arm myself.

“James, if you don’t open up, I can’t guarantee you what’ll happen. You know men like us, James. Liable to shoot ya and any others your housin’.”

Shows how much he knows. There’s no one here but me. A feather of courage flitters down onto my being. Maybe I am still one step ahead of them.

* * *

“Everyone’s afraid J!”

“You don’t think I know that, babe? I’m afraid. We’ve only just gotten our family started and now this?!” I was not angry at Jules. Never angry at her. But I was panicked. No one could have foreseen this.

“There is no better moment. People need encouragement. They need hope. If someone like us doesn’t step up, then I’m afraid of what could become of our little town. Of the people we love…come on James.”

I sighed, exasperated from the constant racing of my mind and heart that was going on 12 hours now. My eyes glanced over to the big screen across the room. Buildings that I had planned on one-day visiting, landmarks of the eastern seaboard disappearing in fire, smoke, and quakes. I had seen these clips a dozen times in the last hour, but they still had a grip on me. “It’s all gone. Our government. Some friends and family. Snuffed out.”

“Exactly. And who stands to benefit in our town at this moment? People with guns and power and food and influence. And if we don’t…”

“Jules!! Listen to yourself!” I caught myself. It’s not her I was angry with. “Just soak it in for a minute. The world is exploding. We may even be next. Do you see that? For once, there may be nothing to do.”

She started to outburst, then she stopped. She gently sat on the edge of our coffee table. This was her spot when she was too deep in thought to sink into our plush, olive-colored couch. “Someone is going to do something. Why not us?”

I grunted a noise that I’m sure came across wrong. I pondered her idea. What if we did go to the city square? We could spread a message of love, unity, working together through this. Then my mind fluttered toward panic; what if the Copelin’s showed up? Fierce, gruff, hunter-types who loathed our “snowflakey, robot of a president.” With a few rounds, they could probably sell their ideas pretty well. What if Miah Copelin, who had crushed on Jules for years, shows up with a bone to pick with me and no consequences to pay. Their family was so tight with the men in blue. “Jules…I can’t risk it. I can’t risk losing you.”

“And I can’t risk losing humanity. If I don’t… James. We’ve got to be in together. What is love if not putting yourself on the line to serve another person?”

It was so hard being married to her sometimes.

* * *

“It’s time to go to work James. Enough of this silliness.”

The spirit of Jules filled my next idea. I raise my scratchy voice, “there’s no one here but me good fellows!”

“Musn’t tell lies there Jamie boy,” almost undoubtedly Miah.

“If that’s true, then come on out.” I’m still not sure of who this first voice is. Related to Miah, but not his dad.

“Alright,” I bellow. Give me a minute. Please dear God let this work. I approach the hallway toward the front door; the living area still lay between myself and the front door. The 2-inch wall of board that we had riveted to the hallway door to cut off access to the living area was still intact. I hear a rumbling purr come from behind the wood. My gut twists.

I approach the men from the side of my house after using the back door.

“What the hell?!” Miah, his blonde nest and pudding pouch cheeks raise a rifle toward my face. At his pant pocket hangs a familiar, now-tarnished silver, heart-shaped locket. How dare he.

“Hold it!” Its none other than Ger. Gerald Lambert, uncle of Miah and deputy sheriff before the Quiet. Still in uniform but without any badge or insignia. “He did what we asked Miah.”

“Where are they? Where are you housing them?!” Miah was fidgeting with anger.

“They are gone. Not in the house. They’re beyond your reach now.” I have resolve on my lips.

“Them children have good working backs, and you cannot keep them from us forever.”

Ger butts in, “James, think of their future. What you’re teaching them isn’t courage or love, its laziness.”

Miah reaches for the front door. “I am warning you,” I quickly utter. “Don’t. You will regret it. Jules’s children are not here.”

Miah takes a good look around and the bursts out in laughter. “Jules children?! That’s rich. You’re an ornery one that’s for sure, Jamie.” He reaches out again to the knob. “She’s gone Jamie boy.” He chuckles again and lets go of the knob before putting all of his two-hundred and thirty pounds into a kick that caves in my green door. “WHAT THE---?”

Ajan, that’s what the kids named him. He has two muscular hindquarters, a mountain lion maw and mane that are deformed and sickly looking. Two oozing 4-inch scabs cover where front limbs should have been, but there is a human looking forearm and hand extending from its chest. It pops its front end off the ground with an effortless push from its hand, then its hind legs explode off the ground sending this five-foot cat monster hurdling toward Miah.

My hindquarters explode with a similar ferocity but away from my house, through the dust ridden rubble of my neighbor’s yard, and toward the ashy hill at the end of what was our cul-de-sac. The one thought on my mind isn’t my safety nor the guilty pleasure of seeing Miah in pain; it’s Jules.

* * *

BUZZZZ, ZAP! FUUUUUMMMMMMMMM! A transformer the size of a star blew in the middle of the sky. I jumped and began to tremble. Children’s screams rang out all across the abandoned locker room that was our camp. I checked my phone, nothing. Fried. My heart began to race.

Smiling wide like rainbows, Julie shouted, “Who wants to play some soccer?!” Utter silence. She was undefeatable. Finally, she gets a taker. I breathe in, and fix myself in her eyes. She is warm even though 20 feet away. In the dank candlelight of that locker room, I couldn’t see a future. I couldn’t see hope. I couldn’t see a damn soccer ball.

But I could see Julie.