A Small Gray Dot

I strained my brain and came up with the only solution that managed to work its way through the wool that filled my head. The bedsheets in which I’d wrapped Zoni were what she’d called our “every day” sheets. Her blood had infused the plain white linens and dried. It wasn’t pretty. She wouldn’t like that. I hunted around in the plastic storage bin she’d called our linen closet until I found the red silk sheets she’d gotten us last Valentine’s Day, the ones on which I’d laid flowers and a big box of chocolates for her.

I spread them out and gently rolled her sheet-wrapped body into them, and snugged them around her tightly, like a shroud. Then I used her sewing scissors to cut up the pillowcases, and used the strips as ties to ensure it wouldn’t come loose. Better. She’d loved those sheets.

I had no trouble lifting her. She was a tiny woman weighing only ninety pounds so picking her up was easy. I held her to my chest carefully and it took a moment before I could control my trembling and force my legs toward the door and to the elevator. As I went through the quiet lobby, I avoided looking at what still lay there. I got to the parking lot and as gently as I could, I laid her in the back seat of my car.

When I got behind the wheel I discovered I would have to use the backup key to start the ignition because voice control wasn’t working for the car, either. I went back up to the apartment to get the key since it was something I didn’t normally keep on my keyring. I got back down, started the car, and autodrive also wasn’t working, so that meant none of the directions programmed into the car would work. I would have to drive manually and guide myself. I maneuvered around the dead bodies and the benumbed people shuffling aimlessly around.

Turning out onto the street, I drove in the direction of my parents’ home.

Chapter Four

AS I DROVE, I THOUGHT OF ALL THE THINGS MY parents did for my sister and me, all the lessons we learned from them, all the love they gave to us. They sacrificed and devoted themselves to ensuring my sister and I had everything we needed for a good start in life.

*

I came from a family of teachers; my grandparents were teachers, my mother taught high school biology and my father taught math at the local community college. My sister was into art and had her own studio, but she also taught classes in drawing and painting. There were aunts, uncles, and cousins who worked in the profession.

So, it was no surprise to my family when I chose teaching as a career.

Thrilled when I snagged a position within the Mecklenburg County School District in Charlotte, the city in which I was born and raised, I was eager to get started because the school to which I would be going was one in dire need of new teachers.

Okay. I won’t lie; I was also glad to get a job at home because it meant I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a place to live right off. My parents were great. They encouraged me to stay with them until I could afford to get my own place since, as were most recent college graduates, I was broke until my first paycheck.

The school I was going to was the one in which I wanted to teach. It was within a part of the district that was not as well-heeled as some and funds for certain items were not always available, so I knew I could be a positive influence. My parents were excited for me, happy to see me reach that point. It was the culmination of their hopes for me to have a responsible and fruitful life.

My new colleagues welcomed and praised me for choosing a career that so many young men and women eschewed in favor of a more lucrative profession. Wanting my students to be as successful as possible, I jumped in with enthusiasm, executing all the requirements expected of one tasked with helping mold the minds of the young so they could mature into healthy, happy, and productive participants of society. My work wasn’t over at the end of each school day either, as I often went beyond regular duties. It was no more than I’d seen other teachers do, including my parents.

I managed and participated in fundraisers, including one that achieved success in supplying the newest computers for all the students. To my kids who couldn’t afford them, I distributed the simple items for school such as paper, pencils, backpacks, etc. I recalled from my youth my parents encouraging my sister and me to participate in food and clothing drives for the less fortunate, so, knowing those were ever with us, there were kids on whom I regularly checked to ensure they had enough to eat, a warm coat, a pair of shoes, and a decent set of clothing to wear.

My parents were proud of me.

*

I tried to calm my roiling mind as I turned into their neighborhood and onto the quiet street on which their house stood, and pulled into the driveway.