Not Just Another Day

She looked over at him and gave a silent look of reproach. He always saw the look. She made sure of that: why else would she give him the “look”.

He didn’t ask her “what”; which is what he usually did. He didn’t ask any questions or come up with one of his often unusual, occasionally outrageous statements or counter questions. He simply lay there with his head in her lap. They were both covered in soot: that’s what happens when you are in a fire. 

She leaned over his face; a face that still excited her after all their years together, and softly said “ask me What! Babe”. “Please ask me what”. He remained silent, with eyes closed and labored breathing. 

She thought about what brought them to this dire situation. It had started because he wanted apple pie. And it brought them to this. Along the way she finally found out why he carried that gun everywhere. She used to like to ask him about it several times a week just to hear his response. Those responses varied from things like zombies, bunnies, gators –in a cheesy southern accent- and aliens –extraterrestrial, not illegal.

As he drove their solar car back to their future house, he kept checking the rear view mirror. By future house she meant that the house had been part of a worlds’ fair, before it all went to poop, not that they were going to live there at some point in the future. The house was totally “green” and had its’ own water supply and power source and was supposedly guaranteed to last for a thousand years. 

Since they were driving away from the almost daily twister that inevitably happened late in the day; she knew that he wasn’t worried about the weather.

“What is it babe”, she had asked. His reply was something nearly mumbled; either “I thought I saw something”, or less likely “I fought fish sticks”.

She didn’t see anything no matter which way she craned her head; but she did notice that he sped up and seemed agitated.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him anxious like this. He was a rock really. He was always so calm; unless he was laughing. One of the things she found endearing about him was how he found humor in; maybe not everything, but certainly most things. She knew that she could always get him to laugh simply by saying the name of that lawn game where you throw bean bags onto a target board with holes in it. “Cornhole”; no matter what was happening, or what mood he was in, he would always giggle like a little boy when she mentioned that game.

She said it out loud “Cornhole”, on the off chance that he would respond. He did not. At least he was still breathing. She had been so worried when she pulled him out of their burning shed. His pant legs were scorched and the bottom of his shoes were melted. 

She remembered their first date; so many years before. They had met online; back when it was becoming more and more common; and less and less “desperate”. She was actually the one to reach out to him because his profile picture showed him standing at the entrance to the “Happiest Place on Earth”. They were both big fans of the Empire of the Mouse, and she had asked him if he went there a lot. Fast forward two years and he surprised her with a karaoke proposal. 

His breath faltered momentarily and it made her breath catch in her chest as well. She hadn’t seen the crazy who showed up in their back yard while he was in their large shed. He had been putting away boxes of toilet paper that they had scavenged and that’s when the crazy literally popped out of bushes near the shed and he had a sword – swear to god- a samurai sword, in one hand and a flaming bottle in the other. She called out to him; “John! Look out!”

She had no doubt that he was surprised that he heard his name: she routinely called him babe, and she didn’t think he had called her anything other than “My Love” for years.

She had looked on in horror as the crazy threw the flaming bottle through the doorway where the love of her life was standing with a confused look on his face.

She stroked his smoky hair and ran her hands over the parts of his body that she could reach. Her hands came away sooty but not bloody; so that was good. The left side of his face was fiercely red; but not blistered. Her basic first aid knowledge told her that he had first degree burns on his face. Some of the hair on the left side of his face was singed but his scalp seemed okay.

She remembered shortly after he proposed; telling him” I know you’ve been married before – you would probably be ok getting married at the courthouse”. His response with a smile had been, “I would be. But I know that you want more than that; so that means I want more than that”.

She remembered thinking “Dam, I love this man”, after he said that. She remembered that next year going by seemingly so fast, with all the planning and going to venues and tasting tasty cake. She remembered being somewhat surprised that this man loved her so much; not that she was an awful woman, but she had been a solo act for so long that she had gotten used to it. She had told him early on that she had been so focused on her education and career that she had somewhat limited experience romantically. She had never regretted her choices until the world started dying from that bat virus from across the globe. Her multiple advanced degrees were not particularly helpful as the world went down the tubes.

She remembered him jokingly telling her that since he was older, he was probably going to die first; and then him honest to god laughing and saying in a sing song fashion, “Ha Ha! You have to live alone”.

She had dragged him into their future house after his breathing became more smooth. He was heavy; not fat, even though he was short. He had always been pretty strong; in fact one of the strongest men she had actually known. So she had to drag him. Through the front door and to their bedroom on the first floor in the rear of the house. They usually liked to stay in their basement because several times a week there were tornadoes in the afternoon or evening and nothing says storm safety like a deep sturdy basement.

After he was put to bed; which was after she had stripped and cleaned him up, she went back outside to take care of the situation.

She made sure that the shed was “out”. Their shed was a “future” shed like the house and should not have caught fire like it did; even with the pyromanical bottle. 

It wasn’t till after she had driven their solar car partly through the side of the shed so she could have a non flaming entry and pull her husband who was actively on fire, to safety that the anti fire system had activated quite vigorously.

She remembered the crazy turning towards her after the shed started to blaze; and she remembered him taking 3 steps towards her with his sword held high. Then there were three loud booms; or maybe technically they were bangs. They were loud is what they were. She knew afterwards that her man had used his fathers’ gun to put three large holes in the crazy guys’ back. She also knew instinctively that he had always carried that gun with him for an occasion like this. 

She fell asleep sitting next to his bedside. She wasn’t ready to live alone. She awoke because a large bush had been uprooted by what had more and more become a routine tornado.

His bedcovers were damp with her tears. She was a crier; always had been, but she had only seen him cry three times.

The first time had been at their wedding. Maybe you could call it cliché; but she had always thought that things became cliché because they were so true, or right.

The second time had been on their first anniversary. She had found a craftsman who had made a canvas art piece that had each of their wedding vows; his on the left side and hers on the right.

The third and maybe last time had been several months after the virus started on its’ path to killing humanity. He had gotten news that his only daughter had succumbed to the damn thing.

The dawn came as she mused over tears.

She didn’t know how much longer she sat there till he took a deep breath and coughed several times.

She looked at him in the dim light and she could see his eyes flutter open.

She looked over at him and gave a silent look of reproach. He saw the look; he always saw the look. 

In a low and raspy voice he asked her “What?”