Chew
I remembered sitting in my world history class, the year before, flipping through pictures of WWII. At the time, I didn't really feel anything about it. The images of the decomposing soldiers lying across the battled field, their weapon gripped tightly in their hand. The sight of the emaciated camp refugees, as they stood next to one another, staring into the camera with their hollow eyes. Even the sight of the dozens of beds lined up next to one another, as nurses and doctors hovered over their patients. I felt nothing because that's all they were to me, pictures. Things that I could not understand because I was not a part of it. At that time I, a small town high school student, had nothing to reference it to. No emotional family problems, no teen drama, nothing. All my life I have been kept in a small bubble, protected from heart ache and pain, and I liked it. I liked my bubble. But the thought that my perfect bubble would only last exactly eighteen months after that memory, still brings tears to my eyes and a large knot in my throat.
I don't remember what day, the small town in my small town life, began to fall apart. At the time, I was staying with my aunt, while my parents were away on their second honeymoon. I think it was around the time my aunts four cats ran off, something that devastated her. At the time I couldn't have been happier that those furry monsters were gone. But the image of my aunts crazy red hair standing on end as she screamed for her precious babies to come home left a guilty feeling in my gut, that and a large helping of embarrassment. The only thing that kept me from wearing the traditional paper bag over my head was the fact that she was only one of the many people roaming the streets, looking for their missing pets.
A few days after my aunt's tragedy and my humiliation, I noticed a large number of absences in my classes. Several of the teachers had called in sick also, forcing five different classes to combine together. School was canceled the next day.
It was only when I took my aunt to the doctor, after a rancid smelling, dark brown rash began to form along her shoulders and neck, that I realized that something horrible was happening. When we got to the hospital the emergence room was overflowing with people, all with the horrid smelling rash in different degrees of severity. We ended up next to the sliding glass doors, outside the hospital, as we waited for our turn. My aunt was soon placed in the server care ward after she began to experience problems breathing. As the days went by and her condition continued to get worse I tried to get in contact with my parents, but cell phone reception had sudden become impossible. Any call, in fact, out of town seemed to be unreachable. My aunt died in her sleep, two days later.
When the fences began to be put up around the town, everyone began to panic. Large crowds of infected and non-infected people crowded around the fences demanded to be let out. That was the first time I saw the man, at least it sounded like a man, in a large has-mat suite. Apparently the CDC was informed of the outbreak and had placed everyone under quarantine.
Shortly after the fences were up, camps began to be set up next to the fences, as the large number of dead made the town almost unbearable to live in. That along with the fact that all food and medicals supplies had all but stopped. All except for the small amount we were given by the men in the has-mat suites; in exchange they asked for updates from doctors and a daily count of the survivors.
The smell of the infected and dead seemed to constantly hang in the air. I both hated it and needed it. I hated it because it was a constant reminder of the pain, the sick, horror of the situation surrounding me, but I needed it. I needed that horrid smell, for it seemed to be the only proof I had that I was awake, that it was real. That and the constant mind numbing itch that laid hidden underneath the white bandages on my arms.
After the camps where set up I spent a lot of time sitting at one of the eight tables that made up the cafeteria, watching everyone. I watched and thought of those old war pictures. Everyone was covered in white bandages. To the left of me was a little girl who was having her hands held by her mother, as she tried to get her daughter to stop itching the her bandage on her face. Several dark patches of the ooze had begun to soak through. I noticed a few kids from my math class sitting together handing a joint between themselves, no one paid them any mind. It was a little shocking when I first saw them, even more so when Chief of Police, Mr. Thomson, took a hit with them. It was like everyone seemed to be living their heads, trying to escape the horrors around them. It sounded like a good idea at first too, but the pain of my aunt's death and the life I will never have again was too much for me to handle. No, I had to focus on my surroundings. So I focused on the recently added, armed guards that walked the perimeter of the fence. I focused on Mr. Carter, the school cook, as he served the people in line Philly sandwiches. Something that I bet smelled great, if you could get passed the smell of the rotting flesh and marijuana smoke. I focused on the man that just sat down at the table in front of me.
I watched as he moved the bandages way from his mouth, revealing the monstrous brown rash and dripping black ooze which he seemed not to take notice of. I watched as he opened his mouth, his black tongue peeking out slightly, as he took his first bite. But as he pulled back the sandwich I felt my eyes widen, as I began to feel sick. I watched as the man continued to chew his food and his top lip began to hang in front of his mouth, wiggling left and right. How could he not know? How can he not feel it? Should I tell him? I felt my voice get caught in my throat, as I stared at the decaying flesh that danced in front of me. But as he moved to take another bite, I moved my hand in front of my mouth, trying not to gag. I watched as the Philly pushed his top lip into his mouth and he began to chew. I throw up in my mouth.
Could he not tell the difference between . . . didn't it taste different? Dear god, how can he not know? As he removed the sandwich from his mouth the top row of his teeth were placed on display. Stop, stop, stop, I began to chant in my mind as I watched him continued to eat himself, his left cheek, now, somehow getting caught between his teeth. Dose no one else see this? My eyes danced quickly at the people sitting around us. No one was paying attention. I watched as this man, this poor . . . sick man continued to literally eat his face off. I could no longer hold it in; I throw up at my feet.
As I pulled my face away from the ground, my eyes made contact with the Philly man. I watched as his nose turned up at the mess at my feet, his eyes squinting in disgusted. How can he not know? It was then that I noticed a bandaged doctor moving towards up. As our eyes made contact he gave a slight shake of his head, his eyes moving to the Philly man. I watched as the doctor approached him and made some motions towards his face. The Philly man gave a slight nod of his head as he put his sandwich down and moved to stand. As the doctor lead the man away, he turned towards me once again and gave me a slight nod of his head.
I sat there for a long moment, my feet covered in my sick, as images of the grotesqueness flashed in my head. My hand began to shake slightly, as I moved to itch the side of my face.
. . . Maybe it would be better not to watch. . . .