In the Wilderness - Kim Barnes [91]
The car stopped, nestled against the trailer so tight the poppies bent their broken necks into my open window. I didn’t wait to see who might appear to survey the damage done to the manicured yard. Tires spitting sod, I swerved back onto the road, suddenly aware of the silence coming from the backseat.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Jesus Christ!” Les blurted. I could tell by her voice she was pleased. Here was the old Kim back, heedless and even more valuable with her new driver’s license.
But I’d had a scare, and the thump of my heart reminded me of the precarious state of my soul. What had I been thinking? God had let me have this close call, had let me know who was really in charge. I drove straight back to Les’s, dropped her and the others off without a word of explanation and marked the speed limit—a solid twenty-five—all the way back home.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, the guilt and fear had set in. I wasn’t surprised by the absence of my mother, still at work, my brother still bobbing over numbers at the elementary school. I was relieved. I could take a shower, wash the smoke from my hair, pray the sin from my soul. But where was my father’s pickup? He should be in bed, sleeping his daytime sleep.
The silent house had a heartbeat of its own, pulsing with space. I called my mother at work to let her know I was home. I waited fifteen rings before hanging up. I called my best friend from church, Bonnie. No answer.
The panic crept up from the base of my skull, making my scalp tingle and tighten. Had I seen anyone since I’d left Les’s? Was I too dazed to notice who else existed in the world besides me? Where was everyone?
The Second Coming. Blood to the horse’s bridle. Antichrist. 666. The Beast. I’d seen it all only a week before, in a film the church had shown: Christ had returned, taking the faithful to their heavenly reward, leaving those inconstant Christians (like me!) to suffer unspeakable torture at the hands of Satan and His legions. Revelations—the Rapture, and then the Tribulation. The faithful would receive their rewards and be removed from this time of terror, while those of us left faced a world given to unprecedented war and demons set loose upon the face of the earth.
I ran outside, searching the streets. The air, heavy with the drone of bees and the smell of cherry blossoms they clung to did nothing to alleviate my fear. Of course Christ would come on a day steeped in perfection, a day when everything seemed new and sweet and full of earthly promise. In the quiet of mid-afternoon, no cars passed, no mothers stood in their yards pinning shirtsleeves and pants legs to clotheslines. I got back into my car, closed the door. I knew where I must go—to my grandmothers house. Nan couldn’t drive, never went anywhere but where we took her. She was certainly born again and free from sin. If she did not come to the door, then I was lost. Christ had returned for His true bride, and I had been left behind.
I scanned the houses along the street, peering into the windows of strangers. No one. I glanced into my rearview every few seconds, but no one followed me. My heart raced and it was all I could do to hold off the wave of panic I felt swelling beneath my breastbone. Turn a corner. Go up Eleventh Street. Get to Nan’s, then you’ll know. I calmed myself, my mantra the names of streets and avenues: Burrell, Airway, Bryden, Thain.
Turning off the car, I sat for a moment, frantically studying the house and its windows. No light, no movement. I opened my door slowly, unwilling to fracture the sealed space. The comfort I normally felt walking toward my grandmother’s home had turned to dread.
I reached the porch, pressed my ear to the door, hoping for the sound of her ever-on TV. The silence convinced me. She’s gone. Everyone I love gone. All of them taken but me.
“Oh, Nanny, Nanny,” I cried, calling for her as I had when I was a child, slumping against the threshold. I drew up my knees and rocked, thinking I wouldn’t leave this house, I’d find a way in and hide as long as I could,