The first night

It felt like walking through a dream. I had walked around the station in my dreams before and in waking life during school drills, as nearly everyone else did.

I did not think it would ever be more than a quirky exercise the adults had us perform. Throughout history, many cultures have had a ritualistic dance or play or song passed down for generations. Ours, we had evacuation drills to the shelter.

Granted, there was utility in the drills seeing as nearly everyone would wind up spending a night or two at the shelter if part of the country had bad weather or some failure in our infrastructure. Some people who struggled in the crowded malls or parks could find a much less populated retreat in the shelter’s various shops.

It was our sanctuary. If we had nowhere else to go, there would be a place in the shelter. it was a comforting thought. But, to see the shelter filling up with people and the echoes of their shuffling feet, I felt queasy about the uncertainty of the future.

Once inside, we each knew what to do – anyone who had been injured would make their way to the clinic. Medical workers joined those in the clinic to provide aid. Separated children were brought to the library to be reunited with family members. Teachers joined to tend to the frightened children.

Food workers raced to join the various cafes and stores to prepare for the rush of hungry survivors. Engineers met by control rooms to survey maintenance needs. Law enforcement spread out to tend to the shelter doors, direct the flow of foot traffic, and to break up minor scuffles as they started.

Anyone who did not have a profession was expected to seek out whatever help they needed. Injured people were dragged or shuffled independently to the clinic. Those who had young family members shuffled toward the library to check for them. And the rest of us found a place to sit or stand to wait for whatever would happen next.

Eventually, people wearing light blue suits, very official-looking attire, began to go from person to person, asking questions, jotting notes on their tablets, and giving instructions before moving onto the next person.

The woman who approached me was cool and professional. She asked for my ID, checked me in, and gave me a bunker assignment.

I knew that couldn’t be a good thing but I also knew better than to ask any questions. She had to keep doing her job and I would have to wait for the official announcement that would have to be taking place relatively soon.

I reflexively stood up and walked over to one of the standing maps to glance at where my bunker was, though I already had an inkling. Others did the same and milled about, waiting for an announcement before going to their assigned bunker.

Some time later, the loudspeakers popped on and everyone fell silent to hear what was to be said.

It is here that my memory becomes fuzzy. The harder I try to recall the memory, the further away it seems to be. I don’t think the announcement lasted very long and afterward, the crowd remained calm.

The dreamlike state filled me up and rendered my senses numb. Perhaps, it was the trauma of the day’s events catching up to me. I moved about as though I were controlling my body from afar. I felt as though I was far away from what was happening.

I didn’t feel anything. No fear nor sorrow. I wanted to be comfortable somewhere quiet. I thought of the last time I washed and the last time I ate.

I hadn’t actually eaten lunch. I often skipped though I knew I shouldn’t. That day, I hadn’t eaten a proper lunch, but I did pick up a kernel loaf from a street vendor on my way to work. Extra butter. Thinking of it made my stomach grumble.

I took myself to the nearest food stall, where a line began to form. I didn’t care what the food was. I knew that I should eat something so that I wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night. Some tiny, irrational part of me hoped that the sooner I could go to bed, the sooner I would wake up and realize this had all been a dream.

I don’t know if I said anything to the person at the food stall, but they handed me one of those trendy new dishes that had become popular that I’d never bothered to try. Layered dishes had become all the rage. Each ingredient was individually ground up and molded into a flat disc, which was wrapped around a sausage to look like a flower bud. An edible vine was wrapped around the outside to further complete the floral illusion.

I really hated how stupid food had to be nowadays. What’s wrong with leafy greens looking like leafy greens? I resisted being drawn into that internal tirade and away from my dreamlike trance. I closed my eyes and took a bite. For just a brief moment, I was pulled into the realness of the moment.

The tears came so fast, I had to move my meal away from my face. I forced myself to chew and swallow. The flower wrap tasted awful. This was all really happening.

I was never going to see my apartment again. My reading chair. That beautiful floor lamp I won at the carnival I didn’t want to go to. My cat. I choked and couldn’t stop coughing. My cat was alone. She had no idea where I had gone. She had heard the explosions too. She was probably hiding under my reading chair like she did during storms. She was all alone. I left her all alone.

My body wouldn’t move. My entire world had ended and I was eating hipster food I had sworn off. I was wearing my work uniform and I was never going to see my cat again. My arms and legs began to tremble as if they’d turned to rubber.

Someone behind me helped me down to the ground so I wouldn’t fall. And they even saved my wrap before the weakness in my arms sent it to the ground.

How considerate of them.

I eventually regained some semblance of composure with the reassurance of total strangers who must have felt similarly. But many of them had someone they were with. A family member or a neighbor who had survived whatever that has was.

As I looked more carefully, I realized that I was the only one who was alone. I didn’t have any family nor did I have many friends to speak of. I was an orphan. Not particularly skilled in anything. I’ve often felt like an outsider trying so hard to fit in. I don’t know why it was so hard for me to fit in and I was baked in regret realizing it all over again. I only had my cat. And she wasn’t here.