Changes

The ground pulled at me then. Gravity clutched my chest and gut center mass, as my feet rooted to the Earth. New knowledge was a massive weight, crushing my frame like a suit of sandbags. It buried my foundation, lifelong rules obliterated instantly. Muscle and bone were transmuted to lead by this unexpected perspective change, and I vacillated between fight or flight. I could see no way to do either in this new version of the world. Forcing action in my stiff neck, I turned my head; keeping the motion slow, nearly undetectable, as I again scanned my surroundings. My perception of time returned to normal and I took a quick, shallow breath.

*

I checked my phone for service again, as I stepped up to the single open checkout station at the local mini-mart. This market prided themselves on keeping their staff employed, and refused to convert to automated self-checkout. Generally, I like that; it is the reason I shop here; but they seemed to be understaffed today.

The cashier’s eyes looked wide and fearful as she scanned the barcode on the bottle of vegan creamer that I had found on aisle four. The displaced creamer was a little warm, but it should be fine. She missed my reusable bag as she went to put the creamer in, and it dropped to the floor.

“It will be fine Clair,” I said. “Yeah,” said Clair, not quite hopefully. She shakily retrieved and bagged my last item. The creamer for the office clunked as it was added to my panic purchases: a bag of Reese's Pieces, a prayer book, and a miniature American flag. Clair paused. It looked as though Clair debated saying have a nice day, but thought better of it, and chose to say nothing. She nodded and turned her attention to the next customer.

I exited the shop and took the steps down to the subway. Light flashed brilliantly, above and behind me, as I passed through the underground entrance. The light was followed by a sonic boom that I could feel in my body. Jets had been flying over all day.

*

The subway was packed with frightened people, taking public transport to diverse destinations. What was the government thinking? For the last six weeks, they’d sent out notification after notification, using every conceivable media outlet, telling us of an upcoming critical announcement. It would be life-changing they said. Over-and-over we received reminders. The tension and uncertainty in the crowd was visceral. So, announce it already! Last I heard, they were going to announce today. And then the internet went down, along with all the broadcasting stations. Thankfully, I got to catch the final installment of Ken Burns’ new PBS documentary series on space alien lore, before news and communications went down. Whatever, it helps me sleep.

I broke free of my thoughts, and stepped onto the crowded express train. The rickety doors made sounds like Predator voice-clicks, as they slowly slid closed. People around me nervously checked their useless phones. No way to hide in a podcast today. People didn’t hide. Instead, everyone on the train had an opinion, and shared it, all at once.

“How can the announcement drop today? Communications are out!”

“I shouldn’t have worn my red shirt today.”

“I hear that more religious leaders are visiting the white house these days than heads of state. They are practically orbiting the place.”

“I hear there have been signs in the heavens.”

“God is coming. God is coming.”

“Do you think I can still be raised up if I am in the Subway?”

A man took his wedding ring out of his pocket and put it on.

“Maybe they’re going to announce that the US will become a province of Canada now, eh.”

“Maybe they’ll finally admit that the world is flat.”

“Have you noticed that there hasn’t been any world news lately? All we hear are puff pieces.”

“If it is nuclear war, then the subway is the best place to be in the city.”

“Have you noticed the low gas prices? My friend in distribution said that company warehouses filled with essentials before the notifications began. Someone is working to head off a panic.”

Someone sniffled.

“My chest hurts.”

“Maybe they are going to announce a sale somewhere.”

“A BOGO on Labubu!” someone else said.

“You mean Leebeebee.”

“Free shoes!” A woman with almost too many shopping bags to carry, smiled at that.

I caught a flash of something mechanical in my peripheral vision. A man in a wheelchair pushed his way closer to the exit, as people made room.

Something brushed past my leg.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

It was getting stuffy in here.

“Do you think they are going to outlaw cell phones?” There was a collective gasp as this was repeated up and down the train car, followed by silence for almost 60 seconds.

Conversation continued after that, but it was more subdued.

Midway through our expected travel time, a red light came on overhead and speakers crackled to life. The one guy silently rocking out to an apparently awesome mix, using a tape player, pulled off his headphones. A loud cheer went up, mixed with equally loud shushing. Music came on over the train speakers. Not just music, The music. The Cantina bar Band from Star Wars A New Hope played. I laughed out loud. This was followed by David Bowie’s Changes “(ch-ch-ch-ch-changes) turn and face the strange (ch-ch-changes)”. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Someone was playing with us. Then more strangely, this music was followed by the voice of the president of the United States.

The president’s message took all of ten minutes. In the train car, jaws dropped, but no sounds came out. Heads tilted, lips twisted, eyebrows raised or lowered. People looked around for other’s reactions. No. Uh Uh. Noooo. No way this is true. A lady next to me gave the over-head red light a side-eye.

Someone, “Do you think Musk will still go to Mars?”

No one else spoke.

*

The train slowed, stopped, and restarted. Multiple times. At one point we were moving in reverse, back down the tracks. No new messages sounded over the speakers. Our community of passengers demonstrated an atypical forbearance, each of us silently preparing for… something. At last. Our train emerged from the underground portion of the railway, and traveled into the light. I struggled unsuccessfully to see what was out there. A man near the window put on his sunglasses, looked out the window, and did a double take. Glasses off. On. Off. On. Off. Brakes screeched as we entered the train station.

The train pulled to a stop and doors slid open. Cool air drifted into the passenger car, freshening the rank, sour smelling space. En masse, we emerged; seeking safety in the group like a confused and frightened herd; silent save for the clacks of our shoes. Squeezing my way through the throng, I bolted; past dripping, red graffiti on station walls, to the exit. Freed from the subway at last, I stepped over a keep off sign, onto the grass, and looked up. Despite the long-awaited announcement, what I was seeing took time to register. When it did, I froze. Sensing that it wasn’t just the sky that had changed while we traveled underground, I cautiously and deliberately looked around. I allowed myself to see.

*

I processed what I saw, and framed my new reality. With a new clarity, I took a second shallow breath, clutching my phone. “Oh. God.” I whispered, and I pulled out my Reese’s Pieces.