Ricky and Angie Walk Down West 57th

Ricky and Angie walk down the West 57th Street. Together, but not really. 

Friends still living can’t remember a time before they were a couple. Ricky and Angie were high school sweethearts. Ricky, the star quarterback, and Angie, the head cheerleader. He was the guy all the girls had a crush on, she was the girl all the guys dreamed of.  Ricky and Angie. 

Angie followed Ricky to college, where Ricky played football on scholarship. When Ricky blew his knee out, Angie nursed him back to health. Everyone was blown away by Ricky and Angie.

Ricky and Angie graduated from college on the same day, each earning their degree with honors in record time. Ricky went to work on Wall Street and Angie in the fashion district. Had anyone ever done it better than Ricky and Angie?

Ricky and Angie volunteered with countless charities. They spent their Saturdays at the local animal shelter, caring for stray dogs. Two nights a week you could find Ricky and Angie serving dinner at homeless shelters. Friends wondered how they did it all.

The society page loved Ricky and Angie. Everyone in town was desperate for news on what Ricky and Angie were doing. Were they at the gallery opening? Did they attend the show last night? No one could get enough of Ricky and Angie.

They were so in love. The model couple, really. Holding hands as they walked down the sidewalk. Cuddled up and smooching at get-togethers. Everyone would yell, “Get a room, Ricky and Angie!” 

Friends marveled at how they could tell a story together, finishing each other’s sentences and picking up right where the other left off. They were the life of any party they were attending. Folks would ask, “When are Ricky and Angie getting here?” 

Everyone kept waiting for an engagement, maybe a wedding announcement. It never came. Ricky and Angie always said they didn’t need a piece of paper to tell them they were forever. Their love would speak for itself. 

Ricky and Angie enjoyed quiet Sundays at home. The New York Times spread out across the bed, crossword puzzles, cups of coffee, and quiet time. Brunch at mid-morning, and a stroll through Central Park in the afternoon. New York was their oyster, and pearls were everywhere. Life seemed almost perfect for Ricky and Angie

But flames falter, embers cool. Being comfortable in the silent company of the one you love can slowly ease into having nothing to say to each other. Everyone wondered what happened to Ricky and Angie.

When the virus wiped out 3/4 of the world, Ricky and Angie found themselves thrown back together emotionally. So much loss made them remember how much they once had. When the zombies started eating the remaining 1/4, they knew they only had each other. And maybe that was enough.

Ricky and Angie were an apocalyptic super duo. Avid CrossFit members since college, Ricky and Angie slaughtered zombies with a fervor formerly reserved for large tractor tires. Ricky and Angie were back!

Central Park became a hunting ground for Ricky and Angie. Angie loved her machete kills. Ricky preferred the stealth of a bow and arrow. Angie called Ricky a wuss for not wanting to get his hands dirty. Ricky called Angie a bad word.

Ricky and Angie soon discovered that fear and adrenaline were no basis for sustaining a relationship, and the cracks began to show. Ricky losing his patience with how slowly Angie could pack a go bag. Angie belittling Ricky for his inability to hotwire a getaway car as a zombie horde approached. It wasn’t long before the silence returned between Ricky and Angie.

Ricky and Angie. Together, but not really. 

They continued to hunt together, to loot together, but neither activity held the romantic spark it once did for Ricky and Angie. They would go through the motions, each doing their job, but it was obvious to everyone: something was missing between Ricky and Angie.

Winters can be brutal in Manhattan. Ricky and Angie were looting the TJ Maxx on West 57th, hoping to find a good selection of winter jackets and ski bibs. Pickings were slim, however, and soon Ricky and Angie were bickering over whether Ricky could pull off a purple coat. Angie said it made him look like he was trying too hard. Ricky had no idea what that meant.

Ricky was proclaiming loudly that he was keeping the purple coat when the sound of breaking glass interrupted his personal fashion victory. A substantial zombie horde came pouring in through the shattered window. Angie sighed deeply. “Grab your purple coat and your bow, Katniss. We’ve got work to do.” Ricky quickly ripped the tags off the coat and shrugged on his quiver of arrows. “Stop calling me Katniss.”

Ricky and Angie leave the TJ Maxx. Ricky in his purple coat, Angie in the blue ski bibs she found before the horde interrupted. They don’t talk, they don’t even acknowledge each other. They just keep walking. They pass Carnegie Hall, where they once saw Yo Yo Ma. They don’t even give it a glance. So much water under the bridge for Ricky and Angie.

Preparing to turn onto 6th Avenue, Ricky and Angie bump into a young couple running the opposite way. They look to be in their early twenties. Fresh out of college and an Abercrombie ad, it would seem. Holding hands as they ran. Ricky and Angie used to run from zombies holding hands. Those were the days for Ricky and Angie.

The two couples run into each other with such force that the young man’s pork pie hat flies off his head. He stumbles in the collision, Ricky catching him before he falls. As the young man lifts his head to thank Ricky, Ricky takes a sizable bite out of his neck. Angie is on top of the girl before her essential oils can ward her off. It’s over quickly.

Ricky and Angie walk down the West 57th Street. Together, but not really.