Eighteen

Out of sheer boredom one day I asked mom what the curly font over our front door said. She smiled, and seemed excited! She asked me to grab my journal and slowly, meticulously swirled a single line down the page diagonally. Some of the loops looked like letters. An A, an O, B and D. Others I did not recognize at all. She deciphered each letter in the font I had learned just below and told me this was called Cursive writing. She went on to tell me a story about how God’s who lived near Italy wrote with it and then a guy named palm-something made a version for people who wanted to write at god-like speeds which is helped by not having to lift the pen. I filled at least 3 pages in this font just practicing and enjoying the feeling of it. I nearly forgot my initial question.  

When I had practiced until my wrist was sore and my pen was running dry I stood, put the journal away, and stepped out the door to decipher what was written above it “SuperPlus Groceries”  

Then I went back inside to ask mom what SuperPlus Groceries was.  

Something had seen me while I was out there. I had just sat down to write my journal entry for my 18th birthday when there was a knock at the door. I was on my feet in a flash and pounced toward the door. “who is it?” I called. No one responded. I latched the lock down tightly on the door and called again. “answer.” No voice came through. I took a step back and looked to my mom. She shrugged and sat back down. “maybe the wind threw something at the door. Maybe we are both going crazy.” I smiled and giggled “you, maybe.” I sat back with her for a game of marbles and relaxed.  

Then the front door flew over my head. Shattered glass and fragmented metal raining down over the two of us. Mom covered me defensively so tightly that I couldn’t move. Once the door landed with a sickeningly loud thump we were on our feet running. We ran toward the open doorway and gagged and coughed as a dense grey fog filled the space. The fog was awful. It burned terribly. Like that one time I caught an ember on my tongue except this wasn’t burning out.  

Mom shoved past several bodies and tugged me along. I was blind and deaf at this stage. All I felt was moms hand on my wrist, my feet on the floor, and the flesh of an armadillo twisting around to grab me. I ducked and ran as fast as I could without leaving mom behind. Mom seemed to know exactly what to do as if she had planned it for years. She slid into a culvert and yanked me down with her. We crawled down the length of the pipe through slick moss and sewage. I gagged and wretched. Eventually we came to a larger opening with a metal box inside. “There! Get them!” We heard the hoarse voice of an old man call. Mom shoved me into the box and climbed in after me. It was large enough for 4 to sit inside. Just as dad planned. She shut and locked the door.  

“They won’t be able to break through. Your dad told me that protocol is to retreat and collect tools from headquarters or a nearby drop site. Either way, once it gets very quiet out there we will run again. I need you to be ready. They may leave one or two behind but I’m sure we can take them.”  

And that is exactly what we did. We waited, and waited. Playing silent little games to keep calm while the Armadillos banged and pried at the box. Its hinges heaved and screamed but did not budge. And eventually it went silent. And we ran.  

 

We were met by two Armadillos and a very grumpy elite on our way out. I sliced one armadillo open and stole his gun. Mom barbarically ripped into the chest of another with her bare hands. I’d never seen mom fight before. I never want to again. The grumpy old elite stood there frowning. “do you realize how much money you’ve cost me son?”  

I shoved him to the side, grabbed mom’s hand, and ran. But on our way out mom yelped and stopped. She paused just long enough to slap the old man so hard that he spun. Then we were off.