The week or so before Edward's "transformation". Gives a peek at his human life, who his friends were, his ambitions, hobbies. The usual =] R&R please!
The bell rang and I gathered my things. I passed Mary Dow in the hall, and kept my head down; though I could feel the daggers she was shooting at me. Honestly, what had she expected? I'd told her a month ago, as gently as I could, that I was not interested in a relationship. Did she think that the junior prom being a week away would change that?
In any case, I could not be bothered with Mary Dow today (or any day to be honest). I pulled my cap out of my back and hopped down the front steps of the school, amongst a throng of my class mates. I spotted John by the bike rack and walked over as I waved. He looked up and nodded to me.
"So, Masen, are we catching the Sox game on my radio or did your dad manage to get the tickets for your birthday?" John inquired with a grin on his face. I almost rolled my eyes, but laughed.
"Dad got them, do you want to bike over to your apartment first and then we can ask my dad to drop us off early? I heard they were raffling off Charles Comiskey's glove." I smiled at him, anticipating his reaction, which was sure to be exasperated.
He didn't disappoint; John looked baffled, with his mouth agape and his shoulders slumped like he'd just seen five million dollars right in front of him. "If we don't win this, Cullen, I'll kill myself. Let's go." I laughed again, pulled my bike from the rack, and straddled it. It didn't take long for us to get to John's house. We were in peak shape at sixteen, both of us star players on our school's baseball team. We hadn't lost a single game in two seasons.
"So," John called over his shoulder to me.
"So?" I asked, only mildly curious, because I had a fair idea of what this would be about.
With John, it was always about a girl. Oddly enough, he never wanted relationships with him. One date and he was through. Of course, with John being my best friend, I accompanied him on several of these dates, alone, of course. I kept my hands folded across my chest and did not so much as turn my head from the screen an inch throughout the entire movie. One could only see Goodbye Broadway, Hello Paris so many times before he cracked.
John lagged back so that he could see me when he spoke, "Ruth Broadbent looked nice today. Did you see the bow her hair? Neon pink. I'm thinking of asking her to the park next weekend, what do you think?"
I shook my head at my fickle friend. It bothered me some, how he never seemed satisfied with just one girl. He never seemed to want the love and devotion that I held so high on a pedestal. I might seem young, having just turned seventeen not three days ago, but all I truly wanted was someone to love for the rest of my life. I wanted it more than I wanted to be a professional player for the Chicago White Sox, or to go defend my country in the Great War. When I found her, I would know, and I would make her my wife, to love and to hold for the rest of our lives.
"Honestly, John, you know how I am about all these girls."
"I know, I know, 'not a single one with a mind of her own'. You can't know what they're thinking though, Edward. You haven't been inside their minds."
"Close enough," I muttered. Last week Annie Clyde had written a two page love letter to me and shoved it inside my locker door. Not that I needed a letter to tell me exactly what she was thinking, it was clear on her face every time she stared at me all through American History.
"But tell me what you think about Ruth, should I ask her?" John prodded.
I shrugged and kept my eyes on the side walk. "Do what you want, she seems pleasant enough."
We rode in silence; I took the lead now and left John to ponder how to ask Ruth Broadbent to the park. I knew the way to John's house by heart, it was permanently etched into my brain and I wondered if there would ever come a day that I would forget it.
I skidded to a stop just in front of the not-too-shabby apartment building that John lived in. He quickly jumped off his bike and ran in to tell Mr. and Mrs. Cheney that he would be out tonight. He was back within two minutes, a night bag over his shoulder, replaced by his school bag. I laughed when I saw a white mask over his mouth, and an irritated look on his face.
"What's that? I didn't know you'd decided to become a surgeon, John!"
"Shove it up your arse, Cullen. Mum's worried about the stupid flu – they took our neighbor, Ms. Finch – nice old lady, used to give me cookies whenever I asked – was evacuated from the building today, turns out she'd had it for a week and died this morning without anyone knowing. Mum smelled it. I wish they'd come up with a medicine. This is getting out of hand… Ruth will never say yes to me if I've got a mug on my face!"
"Oh, right. I'd forgotten," I said.
The flu had been a huge part of the news, recently. Teachers carried soap around in their pockets and urged every student to wash their hands before leaving the class rooms, and I'd seen the principal wearing a mask like John's earlier today. It had seemed like an easy going flu just last month, but my father had told me that it was getting much more serious. Soldiers dying in Europe, hospitals over packed and under staffed at home, and now neighbors turning up dead… It all seemed to be distant to me while I was at school. Like a scary story to keep kids washing their hands.
"Oh well, let's get going. We don't want to be late for the game." We kicked off on our bikes once again and rode across town to my apartment building. Along the way we passed Ruth Broadbent, and John nearly ran into a lamp post while trying to bike single handed because he was trying to wave. We'd left in a hurry as we both heard Ruth laughing behind us.
When we turned the corner to my street though, was a bigger problem than Ruth seeing John make a fool out of himself. There were at least five ambulances outside my building, with three more police cars surrounding them, and as far as I could tell, almost every one of my neighbors were being walked out, or dragged out on stretchers. I threw my bike to the ground and ran up to one of the police officers and grabbed his attention.
"Sir, sir, what's going on here?"
"Do you live here, son?"
I nodded frantically.
"Last name and first." He demanded as he pulled out a clipboard with a bunch of names on it.
"Masen, Edward. My parents are Edward and Elizabeth Masen. Where are they? Where's my mother?" The officer shook his head.
"You need to go see a doc, kid. This building was filled with it, everyone's been infected. Go see him," he pointed to a dark haired, weary looking doctor. I ran over and left John to talk to the officer.
"You must be Edward Masen, your mother was just calling for you." The doctor said without a second glance.
"That's me, where is she? Is she all right?"
He shook his head somberly. "She and your father have got it bad, they might have been the first to infect the building. You'll have it, without a doubt. We need to take you to the hospital, see what we can do. Have you felt nauseous, light headed, has your throat hurt at all?"
I shook my head, "I've felt find all day! Where is she? Where's my dad?"
"Ambulance six, you'll need to travel in a different one. If you haven't caught it – which would be a miracle to say the least – you'll need be isolated, away from the virus. Go hop in ambulance 32. One of your neighbors is in it, she was the only one that doesn't seem to have any symptoms."
"But they were all fine this morning…"
"Listen, kid. This virus is quick, it learns faster than we do. It's spreading throughout the world as we speak. While I've been saying this, about ten hundred men just died over seas because of this flu. Get yourself in the ambulance. Never mind your friend, officer Bender will take care of him."
I walked stiffly over to the ambulance he had pointed out, and climbed in. Mrs. Timmerman – the pregnant newlywed that lived down the hall – was sitting in the back of the car, looking fearful.
"Edward! Thank goodness you're here. Your mother was so worried that something had happened to you before you'd gotten home. Over here, quick, no need to get you sick too, you've got too many years ahead of you."
"You saw her? Did she look okay? What about my dad? How did this all happen?"
Mrs. Timmerman explained that it had already started yesterday, everyone was infected with it. Lucky her, she'd been staying at her sister's house, and had come home to find her husband collapsed in the kitchen, unable to breath. Previously a nurse, she'd called nine one one, and the entire building had been examined. My mother had been dragged out on a stretcher, but not before begging Mrs. Timmerman to tell me that she was alright. They shut the ambulance doors, and had us whisked off to the hospital.
I felt oddly insubstantial as I was pulled into an exam room, poked and prodded, had a dozen different needles plunged into my skin… nothing moved me. The hospital was buzzing, there was not an inch of space between persons. Men and women were screaming, most unable to breath. The wing that lead to the morgue was constantly flooded by doctors carrying deceases men and women to be buried.
I was shocked at how little the outside world seemed aware of this tragic scene. Or had it just been myself? Had I really not observed that disaster that had broken out in this country? It was a dozen times worse when the nurses surrounding me declared that I too, had the virus. They gave me a total of four to five days to live. I didn't cry, I was too proud for that. I was in a state of shock, everything had frozen. It was hard to wrap my seventeen year old head around the concept of dying, at my parent's side, in five days. Earlier, I'd been a lucky high school boy; pitcher on his baseball team, and tickets to see the Sox in their home stadium. The world was full of options for me, and now… well it was all gone.
I was taken to the stretchers by my mother and father. I took advantage of the fact that I hadn't been overcome with coughing and clogged airways to pray by my father's side.
"Don't you worry, Edward," he told me in a wheezy voice. "There is a special place in heaven for those like us, who have lived our lives for god. You have nothing to fear of death." He patted my head lightly and held my hand. I fell asleep next to him that night, and awoke choking on my own saliva in the morning. My father was gone, and I watched as the nurses pulled his blue and rotted body from the hospital. I turned my attentions my mother then. While still able to speak, we told each other our favorite parts of life; hers being evening walks in the park with my father, and Christmas morning with me – watching my face as I held up my first ever conductor's whistle.
We had a kind doctor, his name was Dr. Cullen. He had perfect features, pale and very handsome. He sometimes read versus from the bible to the patients in our ward. He had a calming voice, something about it made it easier to sleep, even when every inch of my body felt like it was ice cold, but somehow still having heat flashes, when it felt like you were laying on a bed of needles, sticking into you at every point, when you had to prop yourself up every five minutes to get sick, or to cough up some more of your own fluids. It was absolute hell. My brain was fuzzy the entire time, nothing was seen clearly.