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You’re Welcome

P. Keith Boran

    Mac was at the super market when the bomb dropped. There was no warning. No emergency broadcast system, no television interruption, no loud speaker announcement in the store – just the loudest boom, followed by a jarring, and most inconvenient, earthquake. The flash of the blast lit up the aisles, making everyone inside manifest their panic through a loud roar of screams. Mac would have died in the resulting calamity had he not been browsing the different brands of toothpaste (there are so many types and flavors) positioned just in front of a large window. The initial blast pushed the shelves over, knocking him to the floor, rendering him unable to move during the ensuing chaos.
    He could hear the shuffling footsteps, people trying to flee their congregated grocery carts. Their voices were wrought with anxiety, worried that their wireless devices no longer seemed to have any bars to communicate at present. They were trying to stay connected it seemed, trying to tell someone what was happening all around them. Mac heard one man stop, wasting a quick moment to snap a photo with his phone, proof of what he’d seen, and where he’d been, hoping it might impress a pretty girl someday. But all too soon, the lights flickered on, off, on, and then off again, much like a theatre troupes’ final bow for the evening.
    Mac tried to push the shelving up, but it was no use, for it seemed that the toothpaste was too much for him. He tried to crawl out as well, but one of his feet was pinned by a shelf that had dislodged during the fall; he was literally trapped beneath tiny mountains of Colgate and Crest. Mac called for help, hoping someone might stop to pull him out. But it was to no avail, Mac was invisible, forgotten; no one came to his rescue. People were concerned with their own survival, unable to deviate from their own hurried evacuations; they were rude, Mac noticed, no longer keeping up with society’s treasured pleasantries and manners as they pushed their way out of the supermarket; they were terrified, for they had come to purchase hamburger helper, oreos, and a case or two of warm beer; they hadn’t arrived prepared to die, and that’s not just something you spring on people all willy-nilly; they’ll revert to fight or flight. And right now, Mac noticed the flight all around him.
    After a few minutes, the noise subsided. Mac could still make out a few soft movements, a few moans made in pain and fear. “They must have been hurt in the blast,” Mac thought, as he kept trying to fight his way out from beneath the shelves of toothpaste. Since the lights had shut off, the the air conditioner had stopped as well, leaving the store silent and muggy. Mac waited, hoping the emergency lights would help him find a way out. They never did. In the approaching dark of twilight, Mac pushed, pulled, and heaved, trying to free himself from the mounds of toothpaste.
    Finally, Mac freed himself, cutting his trapped foot in the process. “Hello,” he yelled, “Is anyone still here?” He heard a faint reply emanate from the frozen food aisle. Limping slowly, Mac dragged himself to the freezers, and began to make his way towards the weakened voice. When he found her, she was sitting with her back to the freezer, her knees pulled up to her chest; she was crying. “It’s okay,” Mac whispered, “everything’s going to be fine.” But when the lady looked up, Mac saw that they were anything but okay. Her skin was covered in blotches, leaking what appeared to be pus. Her nose, eyes, mouth, and ears were all leaking blood. Dressed in jeans and a causal top (one Mac remembered from a recent Gap commercial on TV) the lady just shook her head as she continued to cry. “No we’re not,” she replied, “I’ve seen enough movies to know this was no ordinary bomb; it was one of those atomic ones.”
    “Oh,” Mac replied, “I see.” Sitting down across from her, Mac took a moment to process what the lady had just told him. “Then why did everyone run away,” Mac asked, “and run right out into the debris?” The lady began to wipe her eyes. “How should I know,” she replied, “but when I saw that flash, I knew it was the all-over, and that I was never leaving this store alive; and to think, I really thought I needed toilet paper and salad dressing a few hours ago; now, I couldn’t care less; I’m going to die for toilet paper and a bottle of blue cheese dressing.”
    Mac sat silently. After a moment, he slowly stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, as he began to limp his way down the aisle. At the store’s front, Mac tried to look out into the parking lot, but found it too dark and cloudy to see much. But by what little Mac could see, he guessed the lady’s theory had been correct, for the parking lot was riddled with scorched out cars, mini-vans, and over-sized trucks and SUVs. Three aisles over, Mac finally found what he was looking for, grabbed the boxes, and began to make his way back when he felt a warm sensation in his nose. With his free hand, Mac reached up and touched it. When he pulled his fingers back, Mac noticed they were covered in blood. It wasn’t light, but dark red, almost black. On his way back to the freezers, Mac began to feel the same sensation in his eyes and ears too.
    When Mac found the woman again, she was no longer sitting, but lying down; her breathing had become more shallow, and her skin was badly damaged. Sitting next her, Mac put down two boxes of donuts: one chocolate, one powder. “I figured if we’re going to die anyway,” he said as he shrugged, “we might as well; I mean, I love these things.” Without pause, Mac opened the box of powdered donuts and began to eat. The lady, although weak, sat up and began to pry open the box of chocolate ones.
    As they sat and ate, they both smiled to one another. “What,” Mac finally asked, “what’s so funny?” The woman shook her head as she swallowed another donut. “I was on a diet,” she replied, “hoping to impress this guy I kind of liked and all; I guess that’s a bit ridiculous now, huh?” Mac smiled. “Yeah,” he said, “I was thinking that I preferred this to a heart attack, you know?” The girl nodded excitedly. “Or cancer,” she replied, “or a stroke even.” Mac nodded. “Yeah,” he replied, “or Alzheimer’s; man, would that suck.” The girl nodded as she ate another donut. “I’m glad I’m not alone,” the lady said solemnly after a moment spent eating in silence, “you know, I think that would have been much worse; so, thanks, I guess, thanks for staying.” She leaned on his shoulder. Her skin had become so damaged that you could no longer tell what color it had once been, and her face was covered in blood. She began to cough violently. Putting his arm around her, Mac noticed blotches budding on his skin as well. He sat beside her, clutching her close, waiting for the violent coughing to subside before he replied softly, “You’re welcome.”



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