Joe heard the woman in the next apartment. She had a nasally voice and knack for browbeating her husband. Tonight she was crying. Joe turned up the television then went to the kitchenette.
Joe lived on the second floor of an apartment building (a flop house really) with a view of the parking lot and a liquor store. It was growing dark, growing closer to sleep, and in the morning back to work. Back to a thankless job and monotony.
The woman next door was screaming at her husband and he was screaming back. The exchange was fierce and quick and resulted in children’s wails. Joe had been to the store before he came home. He placed a Hot Pocket in the microwave and wondered if the guy next door ever tuned out his wife. It was an effective method to keep ones sanity that Joe often employed at work.
Joe slumped onto his bed and looked at the news anchor’s face. Was this ABC or FOX? They were so photogenic and very smiley. But not tonight. His face was grim and Joe knew the ubiquitous inane crap that passes for most news stories would be lacking from tonight’s report. The man in the electric box started in a monotone then stuttered seconds into his schpeal. Joe heard him say something about the Emergency Alert System then the microwave dinged.
Supper was one of his few respites in an otherwise bleak existence. He pulled a semi-clean plate from the bottom of the sink, rubbed out a food stain, then laid the Hot Pocket on it. With a squirt of mustard and can of Coke his meal was complete. As Joe headed back to the bed he heard the guy from down the hall. He stopped and listened.
“Some of us are heading out of town. We don’t want to be in a populated area when it happens. If you want to go let me know soon. We’re leaving in thirty minutes,” heard Joe. The guy was excited, almost frantic. Maybe he was talking to the little old lady across the hall. She lives off her social security check and he’s borrowed money off of her before.
Joe went back to the bed and sitting on the edge he began to eat. The news anchor was talking to a reporter. They were waiting for the White House press secretary to make an announcement. It was the usual bla-bla-bla. To Joe the concept of The End was something out of the realm of fiction. It was something doomsayers spoke about with passion, yet as a rule should be thoroughly disregarded.
The press secretary was somber. No questions tonight, just an announcement. Joe grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. He couldn’t afford cable. Actually he could, but why pay for 100 channels of feces when you could get four and a half for free. FOX nothing. Religious channel nothing. Other religious channel nothing. ABC nothing. Fifth channel fuzzy. Joe thought he could make out cartoon faces perpetrating cartoon violence. He stood and adjusted the rabbit ears. It was hopeless. The static was an indomitable opponent that would not yield.
Joe looked out the window and sighed. He wished the darkness would linger for a while longer than it usually does. He didn’t want to go back to work, even if they did pay $9.25 an hour and dole out free coffee every morning.
He clicked back to FOX and the press secretary (same as ABC). Reporters were yelling questions and the press secretary looked worried. He wasn’t flustered, he was worried, almost scared. Joe turned off the TV and finished his Hot Pocket.
Joe toyed with the idea that this actually could be The Big One, The End, The Final Days, and so many other euphemisms. “Hmmp,” he exclaimed quietly.
As he sipped his Coke he wondered if he had clean socks for work tomorrow. He’d been putting off doing laundry. The couple next door was at it again. Joe heard her say she wanted to drive to her mother’s place then she cried some more. Why do women cry so much?
Joe stood, took off his pants then fell back onto the bed. It felt good to lie in his boxers staring at the ceiling, but tonight something was off. Voices persisted on both sides of his apartment, the hallway, and even in the room below. Why were they so jittery? They were like animals. No. They were animals, thought Joe. He lied in bed listening to police sirens howl into the night.
Joe opened his eyes. He had dozed for nearly an hour and the world was waiting when he woke. It was always waiting. Until one day you don’t have to get up anymore. Then you get to sleep forever.
He heard the couple next door. It sounded like they were moving something into the hallway. Joe jumped from bed and went to the door. He pushed his ear against the door and listened.
“We’ve got too much stuff,” said the man.
“But . . . oh god,” said the woman.
“Honey, you have to calm down. Listen, just two suitcases, ok? If everything is OK we’ll come back when it’s all over,” said the man.
“OK,” she said. Her breathing was elevated to the point of near hyperventilation.
“Kids, go with your mother. I’ll be at the car in a minute,” said the man.
Joe heard feet moving down the hall toward the stairs. He grew bored with their situation and went back to the bed. Maybe some TV to sedate himself until it was time for sleep. He pushed the button. It was the news anchor again. Joe was irked by this. It wasn’t time for news, it was time for funny sitcom reruns. He wanted to see the King of Queens or maybe Seinfeld not meaningless news. All news was meaningless to Joe unless it directly affected him.
More bla-bla-bla from the news guy. They liked to repeat things. That’s how a continuous news culture works. If you don’t have anything new just report old stuff. It doesn’t matter if it’s actually news. The news guy was so dour tonight.
Joe heard a knock on his door and switched off the TV. This was new and completely unwanted. No one ever knocked on his door because he didn’t have friends. Hadn’t had any for years. He heard the knock again. It was three weak raps that echoed softly off the painted cinder block walls.
He hesitated before gathering the courage to sneak to the door. He listened and heard the old woman’s door close. That was strange, thought Joe. He went to stand next to the bed and removed his shirt. He didn’t have a clean shirt for work tomorrow so he found a clothes hanger and hung the shirt in the closet.
He lied in bed letting the cool air move over his body. He switched on the TV. It was the president.
The president sat at a desk, his hands folded together and his lips moving to produce a series of staccato sounds that moved painfully from his mouth. Joe listened for a while, not uninterested but not completely attentive either. The message was clear.
Joe moved to the window and looked across the parking lot to the liquor store. They were closing early and this fact made Joe want one of those big 24 oz. cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. The neon lights went off one by one until the whole store went dark. You always want something good when you can’t have it. The president kept on with his schpeal. Joe heard something about Martial Law and evacuation sites before he switched off the Television.
Joe turned off the lights and went to bed. He lied still and listened for activity in the hallway. It was quiet now. Maybe it was quiet everywhere. The calm before the storm as it were. Joe tried to think about his life and nothing came to him.
He turned to his side then closed his eyes hastening sleep. He wondered if he would be alive next week when a thought came to him. He smiled. It was a genuine smile that froze on his lips for several seconds. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go to work tomorrow. Maybe he wouldn’t ever have to work again.