row.
I wondered if they had given Megs the antiviral. They must have. At least I wanted to believe they’d tried everything. But then that begged the question: Why didn’t it help her? And what if it didn’t help me?
Wednesday morning it was official. School was closed indefinitely.
Instant Alert from Portico High School
On the advice of the mayor, the Portico Police, and the Department of Health, ALL SCHOOLS AND OFFICES in the Portico School District will be closed until further notice. All athletic and extracurricular activities are also cancelled. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
Teachers will be asked to update their school websites with assignments to be completed by healthy students. When this crisis has passed, we look forward to getting back into the swing of things. Thank you for your support and cooperation.
When the phone rang, I was half expecting it to be Jay again, pointing out the clichés in the alert.
“Hello, Miss Lil.”
“Oh, hi, Reggie.”
“How are you holding up on your own?”
It was nice to know that someone was looking out for me. “I’ve been fine. Symptom-free. Did my dad tell you to call?”
“He said I should check that you’re not hosting any parties.”
“Ha. I think the whole town is completely partyfree. How’ve you been?”
“All’s well here. I’m heading to work soon. Not that there’s any food, but they want a few employees in there to dissuade potential looters.”
I envisioned aisle after aisle of empty shelves. “There’s nothing to eat? In the whole store?”
“Some leftover items, here and there, but it’s slim pickings. We were supposed to receive shipments soon, but the flu has impacted the delivery people, too. I guess they can’t find enough old people who are still capable drivers.”
“That’s not good.”
I wanted to ask if he had enough to eat. What if Reggie were starving? But the selfish, survivalist part of my brain insisted I shouldn’t share. Depending on how long the crisis lasted, every bit of food could become critical.
Squeezing the phone, I tried to decide. “Do they know when the next trucks will arrive?”
“No one can tell. But I have extra food if you need some,” he said, as if sharing were as easy as breathing. “I’ll eat supper at the Senior Center. A bunch of us have been meeting for meals, combining supplies. No one seems desperate yet. Do you want me to bring you some dinner?”
I choked back tears. What was happening to me? How could I have become so self-centered? “I’m OK. Thanks for checking on me.”
“If you need anything, give a holler.”
Feeling despicable, I paced around the house. I’d been reluctant to split my food with an old man who only wanted to look after me. What kind of human being was I to hesitate like that? I dialed Megs to tell her what an awful person I was, then remembered she wasn’t there. The grief crashed into me all over again.
When the sobs faded to a whimper, I found my sneakers. Walking through the neighborhood wouldn’t be a magical cure for my grief, but maybe Mom was right. Maybe it would help. I would try anything to make the aching stop.
I tried to focus on the practical, like the fact that today was garbage day. When I wheeled our trash to the curb, the clatter seemed so loud that I lifted the can and carried it the rest of the way.
As I walked down the street, all the normal spring noises were missing. No lawn mowers buzzed. No cars passed me. No neighbors walked their dogs. Nature still prevailed: sparrows twittered, squirrels chattered, and breezes fluttered through the trees. But without the usual human sounds, Portico transformed into a ghost town.
A few other people had put their trash out, too, but not many. As I passed each home near mine, I couldn’t help wondering which families were healthy, which were ill, and which had fled town in hopes of avoiding the flu. Would Megs still be alive if the Salernos had left? What if I had convinced Megs
I wondered if they had given Megs the antiviral. They must have. At least I wanted to believe they’d tried everything. But then that begged the question: Why didn’t it help her? And what if it didn’t help me?
Wednesday morning it was official. School was closed indefinitely.
Instant Alert from Portico High School
On the advice of the mayor, the Portico Police, and the Department of Health, ALL SCHOOLS AND OFFICES in the Portico School District will be closed until further notice. All athletic and extracurricular activities are also cancelled. It’s better to be safe than sorry.
Teachers will be asked to update their school websites with assignments to be completed by healthy students. When this crisis has passed, we look forward to getting back into the swing of things. Thank you for your support and cooperation.
When the phone rang, I was half expecting it to be Jay again, pointing out the clichés in the alert.
“Hello, Miss Lil.”
“Oh, hi, Reggie.”
“How are you holding up on your own?”
It was nice to know that someone was looking out for me. “I’ve been fine. Symptom-free. Did my dad tell you to call?”
“He said I should check that you’re not hosting any parties.”
“Ha. I think the whole town is completely partyfree. How’ve you been?”
“All’s well here. I’m heading to work soon. Not that there’s any food, but they want a few employees in there to dissuade potential looters.”
I envisioned aisle after aisle of empty shelves. “There’s nothing to eat? In the whole store?”
“Some leftover items, here and there, but it’s slim pickings. We were supposed to receive shipments soon, but the flu has impacted the delivery people, too. I guess they can’t find enough old people who are still capable drivers.”
“That’s not good.”
I wanted to ask if he had enough to eat. What if Reggie were starving? But the selfish, survivalist part of my brain insisted I shouldn’t share. Depending on how long the crisis lasted, every bit of food could become critical.
Squeezing the phone, I tried to decide. “Do they know when the next trucks will arrive?”
“No one can tell. But I have extra food if you need some,” he said, as if sharing were as easy as breathing. “I’ll eat supper at the Senior Center. A bunch of us have been meeting for meals, combining supplies. No one seems desperate yet. Do you want me to bring you some dinner?”
I choked back tears. What was happening to me? How could I have become so self-centered? “I’m OK. Thanks for checking on me.”
“If you need anything, give a holler.”
Feeling despicable, I paced around the house. I’d been reluctant to split my food with an old man who only wanted to look after me. What kind of human being was I to hesitate like that? I dialed Megs to tell her what an awful person I was, then remembered she wasn’t there. The grief crashed into me all over again.
When the sobs faded to a whimper, I found my sneakers. Walking through the neighborhood wouldn’t be a magical cure for my grief, but maybe Mom was right. Maybe it would help. I would try anything to make the aching stop.
I tried to focus on the practical, like the fact that today was garbage day. When I wheeled our trash to the curb, the clatter seemed so loud that I lifted the can and carried it the rest of the way.
As I walked down the street, all the normal spring noises were missing. No lawn mowers buzzed. No cars passed me. No neighbors walked their dogs. Nature still prevailed: sparrows twittered, squirrels chattered, and breezes fluttered through the trees. But without the usual human sounds, Portico transformed into a ghost town.
A few other people had put their trash out, too, but not many. As I passed each home near mine, I couldn’t help wondering which families were healthy, which were ill, and which had fled town in hopes of avoiding the flu. Would Megs still be alive if the Salernos had left? What if I had convinced Megs
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