Mortal Reflection

Sirens wailed outside the two-story brick townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia. Dusk was setting, the final warmth of the sun slowly fading beyond the Potomac River. The family’s leather sofa, scuffed and stained, was pressed up against the front door. Dad’s favorite Remington Model 870 stood ready next to the door. The wooden venetian blinds were pulled shut to guard against the unknown. 

The family of three - dad, mom, and son - huddled around the dining table for one last meal together. A dusty black radio sat in the middle of the table.

The college-aged son sat in his usual spot at the dining table. He pulled his phone out and checked the news one more time. Still no internet. Sadly, today, he was learning the consequences of adulthood. He contemplated life and wondered about the possibilities. How much time was left? What happens next? For mom and dad, it was part resignation, part liberation. 

The dining set was passed down from mom’s side. It was solid wood, but no one had ever truly appreciated its beauty until today. 

The same chair son sat in today was once occupied by his booster seat. If he could go back in time, he would have seen his mom cleaning up the bits and pieces of Cheerios, some crushed to smithereens, others just barely identifiable, wedged in every nook and cranny of the chair. He made the biggest messes.

Years later, at this same table, he poured Diet Coke all over his vegan burger to avoid eating it. Mom was irate. She only lasted three months on the diet, but she never forgot that day. It was his first act of defiance. The first of many more to follow.

More recently, it was also at this exact table that he told his parents of his master plan. It was the plan of a young, dumb seventeen-year-old who lacked life experience, but it was still a plan. An escape.

“Dad, I’m sorry… I just wish I could go back in time and make everything right. I don’t know why I left in the first place…”

“Bud, stop. There’s no reason to apologize. Your mother and I love you dearly. You’ve been a wonderful son to us. 

“Dad, I just wish there was more time to make things right. More time to…”

“We’re here now. We’re making things right. That’s what matters. But there’s no sense talking about it anymore. Let’s hold hands. Your mother would like to say a prayer.”

The electricity flickered off, and then on, and back off again. A small, vanilla-scented pillar candle brought the dining room back to life. The family of three bowed their heads and held hands.

“Father God, thank you for all the blessings you’ve bestowed upon us. We have cherished every moment together that you have given us. Thank you for this life. Thank you for this meal. Thank you for…”

A volley of unsuppressed gunfire exploded outside, followed by a cacophony of noises that embodied panic and pain. Dad’s eyes briefly opened, darting to the shotgun. He exhaled deeply, as if he was cleansing his mind and soul of its last reserves of pent-up stress. Then he shut his eyes again. Mom whimpered and a small tear swelled and ran down her cheek. The townhouse rattled, causing the crystal chandelier above the dining table to sway gently back and forth.

“It’s fine, dear. We’re fine. Continue,” dad said. 

“Thank you for this life together and for bringing us together again. Thank you for this beautiful meal we are about to share. Thank you… I just, I don’t… I’m not sure what else to say, Father God. Thank you. Amen.”

The three unclasped hands. Dad smiled and shredded the rotisserie chicken with oversized forks. Mom scooped a hearty portion of her famous green bean casserole onto son’s plate. Son pulled apart the bread rolls. 

A low guttural growl rumbled through the neighborhood. A pack of wild hogs on the loose. 

Dad poked at the food on his plate and spoke softly. “Sounds just like my ninety-four Fat Boy. God, she was beautiful. Teal and silver. The Old Lady. She had about eight-kay on her when she went missing. That night, I could have killed a man with my bare hands. Dad stared at his calloused hands, the work product of forty years turning wrenches. You could see it in his face, a moment of violent thoughts taking hold.

“I know she’s still out there somewhere. Not for long, I suppose,” he continued.

Mom put down her fork and knife to look up. Her eyes were still watery, but she was smiling for the first time all day. “Oh, The Old Lady. It was your dad’s first love. Maybe his only true love in this life. He was talking last week about buying a new one and fixing it up.”

“Dad, what a great project that would be. Me and you, just tinkering around. I would love that. I just wish we had spent more time bonding, you know?”

Dad smiled and nodded in approval. 

“Hey dad…”

“Yea, bud?”

“Do you remember that game we played at Charles Wright? I think I was in seventh or eighth grade? Best game of life. Three touchdowns. Remember the punt return? That crackback block on that monster, put him out cold.”

Dad was mindlessly picking at his food now.

“Dad…”

“Yes, sorry. What were you saying bud?”

“The football game at Charles Wright…”

“Oh yes… Hell of a game, bud. Your mother and I sat in the bleachers freezing our asses off that day. I always knew you’d grow up to be an amazing athlete. I’ll never forget the first day we met. I watched you under the incubator as you squirmed and stretched your tiny limbs. I screamed at the doctors when you rolled over, not even an hour into this world. They were shocked.”

Mom interjected, “Honey, do you want another serving of the casserole?” 

“Yes, please.”

Son extended his plate across the table toward mom.

“Mom, I hope you know how much I love you. How much I am thankful for you. I should have never left the way I did.”

Mom was trying her damndest to keep it together, but the effort was futile. 

“Eat up, honey. I love you too. There’s no place I’d rather be than sitting at this table with you and your father.” 

The family smiled and their appetites slowly came back. Periods of silence and peacefulness returned. 

“Dad, what do you think it’s like on the other side?”

Mom cut in. “Honey, let’s not go there.”

“I was just thinking. Thinking about how much time I wasted up here just doing bullshit stuff. I’m just wondering if we’ll be reunited on the other side. I wouldn’t feel so guilty about skipping family dinners with you guys, not calling, running off like an idiot... you know, if I knew we’d be together again.” 

Dad sucked in a big-bellied breath and sighed. Dad nodded, which said enough.

A thunder brewing in the distance grew louder. And louder. It roared and transformed into a high-pitch shrill, followed by a bone-shaking whoosh as it ripped past. The townhouse shook violently.

Mom buried her head into dad’s chest. Son grasped at dad’s forearm. The family embraced, squeezing each other tightly.

The jet wash left behind a moment of tranquility and silence, the world quiet and empty. The family held each other for several moments before releasing. 

Dad reached for the middle of the table and turned the dial on the radio.

“My fellow citizens. In these dire times, unity and resilience must guide us. Let us remember our shared humanity. Together, we shall navigate these darkest waters, supporting one another and working towards the survival and rebuilding of our communities. Stay informed, stay connected, and above all, remain steadfast. We are a nation that can overcome even the gravest threats, and together, we will emerge from this trial stronger than ever. May hope be our beacon in these trying moments. God be with you.”

“That’s enough, turn that off,” mom said.

Dad grunted. "I'd rather go out quick. Radiation poisoning sounds like a terrible way to go..."

“Dad, how much time do we have left?”

“I don’t know, bud. But let’s finish this food and keep talking about all the good times. What else do you want to talk about?"

Son smiled and pondered the possibilities.