December 21, 2012

I decided to do a short story to celebrate the fact that I’m still around on “doomsday.” It will probably run in three parts, of which I’ve only written one - Nothing like putting pressure on myself. Anyway, I'm thinking that 3 parts will allow me to post one part each day and then switch to a Christmas eve greeting on the 24th.

My disclaimer: What follows is a work of fiction. It’s necessary for me to repeat this each time I post a story, because I guarantee you at least one person in my family will read the story and call or text me. This time it will be with the likes of: “Hey, I didn’t know you guys had an underground shelter!” I asked two family members to read something I wrote. Despite my specifically telling them it was fiction based on something I’d heard as a kid, they both later contacted me, compassionately concerned that I’d been sexually assaulted as a child. “This was just a story. It's not about me!” To this day they give me a sympathetic look and pat my back, or hug me whenever they see me.

The Prophecy

June 21, 2013

Today, I began a journal on my old laptop. We’ve no internet service anymore, but my word processor still works. I’d been keeping a handwritten journal, but he constantly checked it. “You think too much,” he’d say, “And you write too much, too. You’re going to mess this operation of ours up with your emotions.” Based on my writing, he decided I was suffering from anxiety. He made me start taking the anti-anxiety prescription I’d gotten from the doctor seven months ago. He watches me swallow it and all.

We have the general over-the-counter vitamins, plus, medicines like aspirin, ibruprofen, anti-diarrhea, iodine, etc.  But, we’ve never had a sick day since we entombed ourselves. No germs I guess. We’d also gotten some prescriptions from different doctors in the months before, like antibiotics, muscle relaxants, pain killers, sleeping pills and of course, viagra.

When I pulled out the laptop, I told him I was revising all of my old short stories. “It will help me calm down if I have a task that’s both constructive and enjoyable.” I rewrote two longish stories and made him read both versions. Then, I badgered him for his opinions on various wordings. “Which do you like better?” “Yeah, but how about this paragraph?” “Do you think ‘anchored’ would work better here?” That’s all it took. He no longer asks to see what I’m writing on the computer. To be safe, I continue to do a handwritten journal and I keep this journal in a hidden file.

June 22, 2013

We’d never told anyone when we built our “dream home” in a rural area of Iowa, that we were also putting in an underground survival shelter. Of course the contractors were aware, but I’m certain they dismissed us as just a crazy old couple. We’ve been underground for six months now. I wonder sometimes if our children or the authorities have been in the house looking for us. When we come out, sometime six months from now, will they be furious? Or, will they even...

I almost teared up and he immediately noticed. I told him I was just reworking a sad tale. “Take a break,” he says looking at his watch. “We’ll have our tea a half hour early today. Actually, it’s surprising how fast time seems to be pass when you’re on a rigid schedule.

June 23, 2013

Sunday is my favorite day because it’s our least structured day. Here is a typical weekday: Wake up, have coffee. Oh, how I miss the delicious coffee we used to have! Freshly ground beans. I prefer cream and sugar. You know, real half and half. Plus, I’d gotten into the habit of using a battery-operated whisk to add froth to my coffee, just like those fancy cafes. He takes his coffee black, always has. Now we drink the freeze-dried stuff. I’m allowed to add a spoon of powered milk, but no sugar. “We have enough food to last us one year, IF you follow the rules,” he constantly reminds me.

See how I got off-track just thinking about my coffee habits of old? He says I should focus on what we have, not what used to be. “Use that yoga and meditation you’re always bragging about.”

Where was I? Oh yeah, our schedule. Except for Sunday, after coffee, we begin with exercise. First the brain (puzzles, sudoku, crosswords or such). Then we do physical exercise (jogging in place or a step routine. Then he does stretching and weights for strength. I do yoga). After that we have breakfast. After breakfast we “shower” and dress for the day. Depending on the extent of our workout, it’s either a “marine” shower or a quick “navy” shower. We each have four pairs of pajamas and four pairs of everyday clothes and undergarments. We wear each outfit twice, three times if it’s worn on a Sunday, when we “rest.” I do laundry on Saturday.

After our shower we go to “work.” For my husband it’s checking and rechecking our various systems, air filtration/purification, co2, smoke alarms, water storage and purification, waste disposal, power supply, etc. For me it’s checking on our water and food for the day, and any waste processing that’s necessary. If I finish quickly I have time to write. We don’t eat lunch, but do have afternoon tea and whole grain crackers. After each meal, including tea we spend 10 minutes rinsing, brushing and flossing our teeth. Can’t take a chance on tooth or gum decay. We take an afternoon nap. I don’t sleep well, so for me this is usually meditation time.

After rest we read for two hours, then take a “walk,” which is really just pacing in circles. This is the only time he doesn’t reprimand me for reminiscing, as long as I don’t mention family or friends. “Remember the time we were walking on Branch Road and that owl swooped down?” is acceptable, but not “Remember the time we were all walking the beach in Virginia and that wave soaked Joey and we all laughed?” I’ll hear, “You talk too much!”

After our “walk” we have our dinner. We’re permitted alcohol every Wednesday and Saturday evening. I have a small glass of wine and he has a shot of whiskey and one larger glass of wine. “I’m bigger than you,” is his excuse. After dinner, we play rummy or poker or some other simple game while we listen to music until we’re tired. Then he again checks our monitors, while I process waste. Then we go to bed.

Even our sex is scheduled. Two evenings every week. On Wednesday and Saturday, if you couldn’t figure that out. “It’s good for us physically and psychologically” he claims.

June 26, 2013

I’m in charge of meals. Meals are as predictable as the sun rising in the East - I wonder if the sun still does that.  Six days a week, we have rehydrated oatmeal, served with powdered milk and dried fruit for breakfast. Whatever packet I choose for dinner must be eaten two evenings in a row. The food, which we’d bought from a survivalist store, features dinners like vegetable stew, broccoli/cheese casserole, macaroni and cheese, or creamy chicken and vegetables.  I “cook” the food by adding hot water and stirring. The food comes in canisters that will keep it viable for 2o years if the seal is unbroken. Each canister holds a 60 day supply for two persons.

On Sunday our breakfast is dried eggs, zwieback, a slice or two of dried meat and a glass of Tang. Instead of tea on Sunday afternoons we have low-fat chocolate  powdered milk and cookies. For Sunday dinner I take something from our small freezer or our canned food supply. This is the best food we have and I can choose from the likes of Teriyaki Chicken, Chili Macaroni, Spaghetti Marinara, Chicken Fettucini Alfredo, or open a can of creamed corn or lobster bisque. It’s also the only day we have “dessert,” which means we split small bag of candy or a small packet of trail mix.

June 30, 2013

I read somewhere that it usually takes 20 to 40 times of repeated asking/nagging for something you desire before the giver caves. Although, I think they were talking about kids asking parents. I’m going to start asking when we can leave our shelter. If I ask everyday for the next 40 days I’ll be out in time for my August birthday. We were planning on staying for one year, but the thought of being confined for 5 1/2 more months is more than I can bear. I won’t tell him but, I don’t think those anxiety pills are working.

July 4, 2013

He senses that something is wrong with me and he’s right. I just don’t care anymore. Is that depression? He tests our strength and fitness once a week. I usually beat him on flexibility because of my yoga. But, not this time. “You’re not trying.” “Yes, I am. I’m just not as loose anymore.”

I continue to ask daily when we can leave.

July 7, 2013

When I served him the oatmeal this morning, he just sat there for a moment. “You do know this is Sunday, right?” “I’m sorry. My bad. I don’t know what I was thinking.” “It’s okay,” he says and I think he really means it.

July 17, 2013

Today I remembered that day, years ago, when we were vacationing in Yaxuna on  the Yucatan Peninsula and our guide, Rajulio, told us about the Mayan calendar which ended on the 21st of December 2012. That was when he began researching underground survival. We’d had a couple glasses of wine when he first proposed his plan, and you know how that goes, at the time it sounded like a fun idea. So, I complied, after all he was a good husband. I promised I’d tell no one. And didn’t. But, how I now wish I’d resisted. I’d rather be dead, I think.

July 29, 2013

While we were walking in circles today he said, "We’re going to leave the shelter. It will take about two weeks of preparation. I figure we can leave on August 13, which is the date of the onset of the Mayan calendar. It will be likenour new beginning.” It was as if an electric shock went through my body. It jarred me with pain. My mind raced in thought. I was terrified. This is what I’d prayed and longed for. Now I wasn’t so sure. It was safe here, after all. Who knows what lies outside? He thought I was sobbing from happiness.

August 12, 2013

Today is our last day in the shelter. We used up a lot of our water this week in preparation. A sitz bath for each of us. Clean, unworn clothes from an emergency stash. He trimmed his beard, then shaved for the first time since December. I cut his hair. My hair has been uncolored for months. It’s half-dyed and half grown-out grey. I cut off the brown ends and now have a grey pixie cut. He laughs, “It’s cute.” We’re both excited, but frightened.

We’ll be leaving late tomorrow night. “It must be dark outside when we leave,” he says.

Tune in tomorrow for the further adventures of The Prophecy...