Second Chances

I

After the coronavirus pandemic and the fucking murder hornets, the police protests in the name of equality, the natural disasters, and the world wide blackouts, everyone knew that the end was no longer near, it was here. As expected, people all over the world had began to panic. They rioted and looted. No longer had toilet paper and hand sanitizer been a priority. Clean hands and asses didn’t matter as much when people needed energy and food. The scramble for sustained shelf life sustenance, solar panels and gasoline powered generators—and the gas to power them—began and left many dead, and many marked as murderers. Martial law had come and gone. Earth had been transformed into a wasteland of outlaws and skilled survivalists.

II

Talia sat on the porch of the small primitive cabin that she and her partner Kurt had constructed in the woods when the city had been ablaze. She listened to “Tha Crossroads” by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony through the ear buds of her first generation iPod. She’d been able to pack it when she left. The device mostly contained music she had listened to as a youngster. She’d been able to charge it with the solar panels that Kurt had been able to plunder during the chaos. As Wish Bone sang out Man, I miss my Uncle Charles ya’ll, Talia whispered her own version, “I miss my daughter Laura,” and stretched out her name to make it fit. She removed her headphones and gazed off into the pine trees. 

She could hear Kurt inside the cabin watching that damned game show Second Chances. All of the other programming had been blacked out, if there was any other programming. They didn’t know how Second Chances was being aired or recorded, or how they’d broadcasted it live before a studio audience. The internet had also stopped working quite some time ago and the only thing on the radio—AM or FM—had been a loud screech. Like nails on a chalkboard. 

Second Chances aired everyday on channel 1. It had been the same 30-minute episode on repeat until 8:30 a.m. the next morning. Then a new episode began to repeat. And so on, and so on. Talia sat on the porch knowing that it was 8:30 because that had been the only airing Kurt would ever watch. 

The theme music played. It was some big band jazzy shit you’d expect to hear while partying on Bourbon Street in New Orleans before the city and all of its Drew Brees jerseys had been washed away by that last nasty hurricane. The host appeared on the screen smiling. He began with his usual unusual introduction, “Hello survivors! Welcome back to Second Chances, the last gameshow you’re ever gonna see! I’m Doppler Dan the Weatherman and you’re about to find out if our new contestants get . . .” the studio audience joined in, “. . . One! More! Chance!”

“Man, fuck this,” Talia heard Kurt say before the T.V. clicked off. “I’m not in the fucking mood.” He needed to go fishing. He gathered his gear under the string of Christmas lights that had been plugged into one of the solar panels. He went outside. The humid Louisiana air hit his shirtless upper body. All he wore was a pair of old army pants and some flip flops. His long blonde hair and beard had been a mess.  

Talia peered into the pine trees. To Kurt she looked as gorgeous as she had when they’d met 24 years ago. Her skin, the color you’d expect from a lady with a Mexican mother and a Black father, had looked just as silky and soft as it had when they were 16. She had pulled her jet-black hair into a tight bun that rested on the back of her head. Her crossed legs had been exposed by the pair of Kurt’s boxer briefs she wore and had been the first thing he noticed. “Hello Cutie Pie,” he said softly, moving his gaze from her thighs to her face. She looked at him with a half-smile. Her caramel colored eyes filled with tears. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Is anything ever okay?” she asked and Kurt knew not to answer. “I’m just missing the way things were before.”

“I know, honey,” Kurt said. 

He knew she’d been thinking about her daughter who was 19 and had been away to college in Corpus Christi when the shit hit the fan. Talia had last spoken to her by text message one day before a massive hurricane passed through that part of Texas and wiped away everything. That was right before the blackout when all forms of communication had come to a halt. “You want to go fishing today?” he asked knowing she’d say no but hoping for a surprise.

“No,” she said. “I need to be alone if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Kurt replied sympathetically. “I’m gonna catch us a big ass gar to eat tonight.”

Talia smiled, “Please do. I cannot stand another can of Chef Boyardee.”

“Me either,” he replied while standing there holding a fishing pole in one hand and a tackle box in the other. It was an old olive drab ammunition can he got when he was in the Army. The bullets had been replaced by fishing hooks and bobbers and lures, as well as a bayonet and some watches and other jewelry he’d saved.  

“Where’s my kiss, whiteboy?” she asked and Kurt bent down to give her one. It was a good kiss, as the kisses they shared had always been. The first kiss happened as teenagers. It was at Talia’s parent’s house and “California Love” by 2Pac and Dr. Dre blasted from the stereo. That was only the second time she’d kissed a boy but it was her first of the French variety. It was Kurt’s third, but by far the best. “See you later, Charles Frederick Holder,” she said smiling, knowing Kurt had no idea who she’d been referring to. He remembered a time when google would have helped out. 

Talia watched as Kurt walked to one of his lucky fishing holes. He was a pretty good fisherman for a city boy who’d been forced into a life of wilderness survival. She figured he had probably picked up some things in the Army too, and that they probably could have made out fairly well if they had ever been cast on one of those shows she used to watch like Alone or Naked and Afraid. When Kurt walked into the pines, and out of her sight, Talia went inside the cabin to eat. Maybe she’d watch that stupid fucking show Second Chances. The only fucking show there was. Whatever. She needed to get her mind off of things. 

III

Kurt baited a hook and cast a line into the water. He took a seat on a boulder and took his iPhone XR from the cargo pocket of his old army pants. The phone had become no more than a super fancy iPod with a cracked screen once the blackout had rendered all of its other functions unless. He opened iTunes where he’d stored thousands of songs that he’d downloaded and saved over the years. He went to his playlists. When he found the one called T, which stood for Talia, he hit the shuffle button. The first song to play was “To Be Loved” by Jackie Wilson. Kurt smiled.

The song had taken him back to a time when he and Talia were young. Back to the days of telephone party lines with groups of friends who’d make plans to spend a few hours on a Friday night at Blockbuster Video before binge watching rented VHS tapes on the VCR while sharing microwaved popcorn. It was Talia and Kurt’s song, and not because of the beautiful words Jackie Wilson belted out from deep within his soul, but because of the old comedy film Coming to America. As young lovebirds they’d watch the movie together at least one night of each weekend. Talia’s favorite part of the movie was just after Akeem, prince of the fictional African nation of Zumunda played by Eddie Murphy, had asked the lady he wanted to marry if she’d like to dance with him. She said yes. Talia would laugh until tears poured from her eyes as she watched Eddie Murphy happily walking home under the streetlamps on a cold Queens night. His arms extended victoriously and a huge smile on his face. He screamed out Jackie Wilson’s lyrics in his African accent over the sounds of dogs barking until a New Yorker screamed from a window to PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP! 

Just as the song faded, Kurt felt a tug on the line. He’d caught a fish. It was a six-inch bluegill. Not much but it was food. He took it off the hook, whacked it on the head with a fat stick, and tossed it behind the boulder he’d been sitting on. He baited and cast another line as “Smooth” by Carlos Santana and Rob Thomas played. This song reminded him of cruising around the city with Talia in the old purple DeVille he’d inherited from his grandmother. They’d sometimes go to the mall and eat pizza at the food court. They would go to the swap meet every Sunday morning where Talia’s dad sold used furniture and would give Kurt three, or sometimes, 5 bucks to help him unload and reload his truck. Most nights they’d wait until dark and then drive to the park where they’d explore each other’s bodies in the backseat. They’d fallen in love, taken each other’s virginity, and became the best of friends. 

Kurt joined the Army at age 20 and was shipped to Korea, and then to Iraq shortly after he returned to the states. He came back again only to be shipped to Iraq once more, after only an eight-month break. The high-school-sweetheart relationship faded after years of not seeing each other but the friendship remained intact, at least for little while. They spoke quiet often via email and Kurt was delighted to find out that Talia had gotten married to a man who worked for the Border Patrol. A short time later they’d have their only child. That was just about the time Kurt and Talia lost touch. 

He thought about her often and always regretted not asking her to marry him before he went to basic training. When he finally retired and came home for good, he enrolled in the local community college where he could begin to put his G.I. Bill to work toward a law degree. He was surprised when he walked into his first criminal justice class only to find out that his instructor was Talia. She’d been a sheriff’s deputy before taking a job as a probation officer. She hated that job and was happy to leave it behind for the one as a teacher. Kurt asked her out to lunch after class and she agreed. He was as happy as Prince Akeem singing “To Be Loved”. 

During lunch he’d find out that she had been divorced for the better part of a year. She’d married a cheater and Kurt felt bad for her, but he’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t happy that she’d been available. The lunch date turned into a dinner date that turned into going out dancing at a 25 and over spot, because Talia couldn’t stand the younger crowd. That led to dinner at Kurt’s apartment and that led to sex and breakfast in bed the next morning. Then the coronavirus pandemic happened. They’d quarantined together and ignited some old flames. 2020 passed. 2021 passed and now it was 2022 and, apparently, the end of the world.

Kurt continued fishing until he heard the trees rustle behind him. He reached into his ammo can and took out his bayonet. He wouldn’t be caught off guard by a black bear or an alligator. He’d turn whatever it was into fresh meat for later that night. When he looked back, he could see Talia making her way through the brush. Something was wrong. She looked as though she’d seen a ghost. Kurt jumped up, “what’s wrong, love?”

“It’s Laura,” Talia said trying to catch her breath. The air was thick and humid and she had a layer of sweat on her face. 

“Laura? Where?”

“On the T.V.,” she said. “She’s on the T.V. on that stupid show.”

“Second Chances?” he asked and then thought to himself no dumbass, the other show.

“Let me show you,” Talia said and extending her hand. Kurt left his pole and bluegill by the boulder but he brought his bayonet and ammo can. They quickly ran through the brush and arrived at the cabin sweating and breathing heavily. The show was rolling its credits so they had to wait for it to begin again. “Watch,” she said.

The jazzy big band played before Doppler Dan the Weatherman appeared on the screen. “It’s in black and white,” Kurt said. “It wasn’t like that this morning.”

“It wasn’t in black and white when I watched it either,” Talia replied. “Maybe the T.V. is broken.”

“And now we meet today’s lucky, or unlucky, contestants!” Doppler Dan said and the audience cheered. “First, from Baltimore, Maryland, Mrs. Rhonda Atkins.” The camera zoomed in on a young woman who had Down’s syndrome, she smiled cheerfully, and had been far too young to have been anybody’s misses. She pumped her fists and jumped up and down. 

“This isn’t the same,” Talia said. “That girl wasn’t there before. Contestant number one was someone else.”

“Really?” asked Kurt. “It can’t be. They show the . . .”

“. . . same show on repeat until tomorrow,” she finished for Kurt. “But this isn’t the same episode that was on when you left. It’s different.”

“And our second contestant,” Doppler Dan said as the camera panned a little to the right. “Liliana Martinez from El Paso, Texas.” The crowd cheered for the middle-aged overweight woman who had worn an oversized rosary. 

“She wasn’t there either,” said Talia. 

“And the final contestant,” Doppler Dan said cheerfully. “Meagan Pierce from Dayton, Ohio!” 

“What the fuck!” Talia blurted out. “What the fuck is happening?”

“No idea,” said Kurt. “I have . . .”

“She was right there!” Talia said pointing at the T.V. “She was right fucking there. She won.”

“No one ever wins,” Kurt replied. 

“Until today!” Talia said. “Laura was there. Right on that screen and she won the prize!”

“What did she win?” asked Kurt.

“It was…,” just as she began to answer she was interrupted by the same screeching sound that could be heard on radio airwaves. They looked at the T.V. and saw Doppler Dan and the three contestants covering their ears to shield the noise. “What the fuck is happening?” 

The screeching sound stopped and turned into a long beeeeeeeep. The contestants and Doppler Dan took their hands from their ears. He smiled uncomfortably as the contestants looked around wondering what happened. Then, Doppler Dan put his right hand to his ear as if he were listening to someone speak through an earbud. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said. “We’ve got some Earth-shattering news. The show has been canceled. We’re going off air in three minutes.” The studio audience broke into laughter. “This is no joke. Not only our show, but the world as we know it will be over in 3 minutes.” Talia and Kurt looked at each other and then back at the television. “Take this time to love one another. It will be the last time. And as a special surprise for you at home, and for our studio audience, I’d like to introduced Mr. Jackie Wilson!” 

The studio audience applauded as the camera panned to a curtained area behind an antique microphone. A man resembling Jackie Wilson, so much so that he had to be him, walked out from behind the curtain and held his arms outstretched to embrace the crowd. “What the fuck,” said Kurt. “Jackie Wilson died before we were even born.” The curtains opened and exposed a band of instrument players. They broke into song and Kurt immediately recognized it. “To Be Loved”.

Kurt watched in confusion before he looked at Talia. She was crying. He kissed her cheek and took a knee. He searched through his ammo can and found his mother’s old wedding ring. He remembered that she had told him to give it to the right person. He looked up at Talia who was still watching Jackie Wilson. “The right person,” he said softly. She looked down at him as he took her hand. “I love you,” he said as he slipped the ring on her finger.

“I love you too,” she replied.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

Talia began to weep harder. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you, whiteboy. In this life or the next.” 

Jackie Wilson and the band wrapped up the song and the world turned black.