St. Ends

Hey, babe. It’s me. The EMP from the blast fried all of my electronics, so my phone’s dead and I can’t use it. I’m going to pretend it works anyway, just so I can feel like you’re here with me as I shelter in place beneath my stairs.

It’s only been an hour since the bomb went off and my body’s still shaking. The air’s so hot that I feel like I’m trapped in a self-cleaning oven and my lungs are burning from the inside out. I’m also worried about the mess I’ll have to clean once it’s finally safe to come out. My windows shattered during the blast and now there’s glass everywhere. I really hope it doesn’t rain, but you know what Tampa’s like this time of year. Before you moved overseas for work, you lived here too.

It will rain. And when it does, it’s going to be a radioactive shit show.

I know it’s 2 or 3 AM in Hong Kong, so you’re probably still asleep and won’t know anything’s wrong until you wake up. When you do, I bet your local news will only give you a watered-down version of what exactly happened. I don’t know how much they’ll tell you or if your government will try to point the finger back at us, but I’ll fill you in once I’m safe and have access to social media again.

I miss you already, June. These next two weeks are gonna be awfully lonely without you.

…

Hey. It’s me again. I know it’s been a couple of days, but my head feels like someone took a jackhammer to it and it isn’t easing up. Ibuprofen hasn’t so much as made a dent in it, either. I even thought about leaving my shelter just long enough to grab the acetaminophen out of my medicine cabinet, but then I remembered that there’s fallout everywhere and the dust is every bit as deadly as the blast.

I’m scared, June. It’s like there’s an invisible predator in my house and if I so much as touch it, I’m a goner. Each time I cough, I can’t tell whether it’s from the fallout or just my allergies acting up. Either way, it’s already killed the family in the condo next door. I can smell them all the way from my house. So can the rats…and the bugs…and whatever else is crawling around out there.

…

I think I’m on day six or seven now. My “shelter” smells like piss and puke and I ran out of bottled water yesterday. By the time I finish chatting with you, I’ll also be out of food. My last meal will be a half-eaten can of pinto beans, some crumbled up Goldfish crackers, and a couple of dashes of Texas Pete. If my phone still worked, I’d probably post this to r/QuarantineActivities or r/ShittyFoodPorn and forward it to you for a good laugh.

But I can’t laugh about this anymore. I can tell my body’s shutting down. My lips are cracked and bleeding, there are sores all over my body, and my cough and headache are only getting worse. Now I can add dehydration and starvation to the “Apocalypse Bingo” card I started in 2020. Who’d have thought each year after that would be even worse?

If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t an idiot about this. I did try to prepare. I still had supplies left over from the COVID lockdown and stocked up before inflation spiraled out of control. Ransomware attacks, homegrown terrorism, political tensions overseas…without even realizing it, our country had turned into a pressure cooker and we were the goddamn meat.

When the civil danger warning went off on my phone, I prayed to God that this would be a repeat of what happened in Hawaii and some idiot in the station just pushed the wrong button. Remember that? It was about two or three years ago. Everyone freaked out over a whole lot of nothing because they all thought a nuke was coming and they’d all be dead in a matter of minutes.

That was a false alarm. A joke. A prank no one found funny until after it was over. This was no prank, though. And it pisses me off that I briefly wondered if it was. I’m glad I trusted my gut, June. If I hadn’t, then I’d probably be dead by now.

I’ll talk to you again in a bit. I want to eat my “struggle chili” before the crackers get too soggy.

…

It’s another day, June. Rather, it’s another night. The neighborhood’s quiet. Even the dog across the street stopped barking. There’s nothing but silence now. That and a burning smell. It’s been over a week. I thought that smell would be gone by now, but it’s not.

I don’t know what we did to deserve this. I don’t know who our government pissed off enough to warrant someone thinking this was an a-okay thing to do to people who’d never hurt them, but they did it anyway. I’m so glad you don’t live in Florida anymore. I’m glad you’re safe. The worst that’s gonna happen to you is that you’ll lose some of your loved ones, but I like to think you’ll heal in time.

You will, won’t you? I held on this long because of you. Can you hold on longer for me? Please?

…

I’m fading in and out. I wake up and it’s morning. Then I blink my eyes and it’s night again. When I’m awake long enough to think at all, you’re the only thought that occupies my mind.

I’m sorry that I didn’t move to Hong Kong with you. I’m sorry that I got mad when you told your parents we were “just friends” and I’m even sorrier that I snapped at you about it. I know you tried to turn it into a joke. You even bought one of those cheesy “Best Friends” locket sets that are half a heart apiece and look like nonsense until they’re put together, but it still hurt.

We were adults, June. For heaven’s sake, we’re in our forties and own our own condos. It wasn’t like your folks could kick you out of the house if they saw a problem with us being together. When you didn’t tell them the truth, I felt like you were ashamed of me. I felt like you didn’t love me.

But that wasn’t true, was it? You did love me. You just weren’t ready to tell them about us. I guess it’s kind of ironic, in a way. I fell in love with somebody who’s been in the closet her whole life and I’m about to die in one.

Sorry. I know I’m acting like a passive aggressive shit. I’ll stop.

…

I don’t know what day it is anymore. The only reason I know I’m awake is because you aren’t here and everything hurts. I’m surrounded by nothing but itchy heat and dust and there’s no sign of anyone coming to help me. I want things to go back to normal. I want to hold your hand, laugh at crappy movies together, and show you that I held onto your dumb locket throughout this whole ordeal.

It has your dumb face in it too. Since my phone’s dead and I can’t browse through my albums anymore, that picture’s all I have left of you. I wear it all the time, even when it’s too hot to sleep with my clothes on…and speaking of sleep, I think I need to lie down again. I know I just got up, but this headache ain’t easing up and I’m already exhausted. All I want to do is sleep because I can hang out with you in my dreams. It’s less lonely there and each time I wake up again, I’m angry that I did.

I miss you. I want to be wherever you are, not this miserable hell I’m stuck in.

If I wake up later, I’ll call you back. If I don’t, then please don’t be sad or mad or disappointed in me. No matter what happens, no matter how far apart we are, you’ll always have half of my heart. And if the half stuck in Tampa ends up dying, then that’s alright. As long as that other half stays with you, I feel like it’ll keep beating and carry on forever.

Goodnight, June. I love you.