“It’s not here.” I ground my teeth. Seemed like a school would be a perfect place for a school bus, but maybe not for a school bus with a cattle scoop.
“No. It’s not.”
I shouldn’t have to ask the next obvious question. Gene didn’t get the idea. It was his turn to talk, and reveal the location of his school bus. “Gene,” I said. “Where is it?”
“Home.”
“Home,” I said.
“I was at work when everything started. I called Melissa, like I always did at the end of a day, you know, for a ride home.”
“He doesn’t have a license,” Melissa said.
“I can drive. I drive fine. I know how to drive.” Gene shook his head. “But, I lost it. Couple years back.”
“He drives fine, sober,” she said, and smiled at her husband, as if drunk driving was cute, and their little inside joke.
“And about the time she came to pick me up, hell was breaking lose all over town. Sirens blared. Cops running this way and that. We didn’t know that it was zombies eating people. We had no idea what was really going on. When she got here, there was a ruckus going on over on the main road, fire engines and trucks had the road all blocked.”
“Thought it was an accident, cars smashed all together, someone was trapped,” Melissa said.
“So she came in,” he said.
“And we never left. We followed all kinds of reports and started locking the school down. Knew we had to make this place as safe as one of them underground bomb shelters. Our home is that way, too. End of times, and all that. People used to laugh at me, stocking supplies and weapons. I just always believed in being ready for anything.”
“No one’s laughing now,” Melissa said, and placed an arm around her husband’s waist.
No one is left alive to laugh, I wanted to say. “Gene. How far away do you live?”
“Across town,” he said.
“I’m going with you,” Charlene said.
“Honey, I didn’t say I was going anywhere,” I said.
“I’m going, too,” Allison said.
I looked over at Dave, and he nodded. “You know I’m going. Don’t need to hear me say it.”
Gene nodded. “Well, kids, looks like we’re taking us a field trip.”
I needed to accept that Charlene was no longer a baby. I couldn’t help recalling her days in kindergarten…
# # #
If it had just been the first day of school, I don’t think I would have received a talking to. Instead, because I worked nights, I drove my daughter to school each morning. She had been in kindergarten and I didn’t want her on a bus with kids in first, second and especially not third grade. I knew the innocence wouldn’t last forever, and school was one of the first places to pick away at the sheltered wall her mother and I had built, but I was going to hold on to what I could for as long as possible.
We’d leave the house a little early, hit McDonald’s for a couple of hash brown orders and juice, and get to school just ahead of the buses. We’d park in the visitor’s lot, and wait for kids to get off the buses. She didn’t like to be first and I didn’t want to leave her alone in a classroom waiting for her friends, so hanging out until the buses arrived was fine with me. Then I’d carry her through the front doors.
She would talk my ear off the entire time. Usually the conversation revolved around cartoons, toys, or wanting to get a dog and why she’d be an amazing pet owner. How she’d take care of it, feed it, walk it, and wash it.
We’d smile and wave to staff as we entered the school.
On this particular day, Charlene’s teacher met me at the door to the classroom. “Good morning, Mr. McKinney.”
“Ms. Wingfield,” I’d said.
“Can I have a word with you?”
I set Charlene down, gave her a kiss and a hug, and a little encouragement to go into her class. I waved to her as she finally crossed the threshold. “What’s going on?” I said.
“I think it is time you stop carrying your daughter all over school.”
I’d cocked my head to the side. “I’m sorry?”
“You daughter needs to walk to her class. At this point, I don’t even think you should be walking her to class. You should say your goodbyes at the main door. She needs to begin developing some independence. You carrying her everywhere prohibits that from happening.”
I had to search her face for a smile, certain it had been a joke. When there was no trace of anything humorous in the grim expression she wore, I almost lost it. I wanted to go off on her, ask her who the fuck she thought she was. Charlene wasn’t always going to want me carrying her, so while she did, I sure as shit was going to. Was as easy as that.
“I’ve talked about this with your wife,” she said.
Talking about it with my wife, did little--no, did shit--to influence my thoughts. I may have noticed when I spoke I was a little louder than I intended to get. “She carry her down to class, too?”
“No, Mr. McKinney, she does not.”
“So she agrees with you?” I said. My hands were in my coat pockets. This was a good thing. I think if Ms. Wingfield saw my fingers roll into fists, the confrontation might have gone from bad to handcuffs fast. “Nah, I get it. I see what the two of you want. We’ll see how it goes. Can’t promise anything.”
“She needs to learn, Mr. McKinney. The question is, are you carrying her to class each morning because she wants you to, or because you want to?”
I clucked my tongue. “You know what, Ms. Wingfield? You have a great day,” I said, turned and walked away, back down the hall, toward the front-center of the school. Something needed punching. I just had to keep my cool until I was off school property.
By the time I reached my car, started it, and left the parking lot, I realized something I fought to admit.
Charlene needed to start walking to her classroom on her own. She did not need me carrying her to the door. The other kids in class would catch on, and make fun of her. She’d be remembered as the girl who had her daddy carrying her everywhere. Wasn’t as terrible as the kid who was bound to shit his pants in class, but I didn’t want my kid having to wear any labels.
# # #
“We’ve talked it over,” Andy said. He stood with both his hands in front of his stomach. His fingers twirled around one another, and it seemed to take a large amount of control not to make eye contact with any of us.
“Talked what over?” Gene said, and took a step toward Andy.
Behind Andy were Megan, Michelle, Robert and Kia. Like Andy, not a one made eye contact. “We’re not going.”
“You don’t have to,” Melissa said. “The six of us are going to get the bus. You wait here.”
“You guys can get some of the supplies together. Food in boxes, some of the medical stuff from the nurse’s office. Meet us by the back bay door,” Gene said.
“No.” Andy shook his head from side to side. “You’re not understanding me, us. You’re not understanding us, we’re not going with you on the bus. We don’t want to go to Mexico,” he said.
“No offense, Mr. McKinney,” Robert said.
I held up my hands. “None taken.”
“This is ridiculous,” Gene said. “We’ve been together since the start. We’re a family. I don’t want us to split up. We need to stay together.”
“Then stay with us,” Kia said. “There’s no reason to make a dangerous journey across town to pick up your bus, and then travel in it across the country just to cross a border. We have no proof Mexico is any better off than America. None.”
“It was just something I heard,” I said. I didn’t feel defensive. These people had as valid a point, if not more, than my notion to cross into Mexico. “Only thing I keep thinking is that we need to keep moving. Staying in one place seems more dangerous, but that’s just me. My thoughts. Mexico might be a million times worse off than the U.S. But it is something, you know? It’s forcing us to do something.”