Spring: The Unexpected: The Seasons, #2

SIDE A

Ten Stories Based on ‘Spring’

ETERNAL SPRING

L. K. Blair

Sci-Fi Fantasy/Apocalyptic

DEDICATION

To my children, Brad and Ericka.

For some time now, two messages have been slowly taking over my subconscious mind, like a constant hum in the background. They are subtle thoughts, but always at the edge of my consciousness, vying for my attention. The first commanded and launched me into action whenever I went shopping. Canned goods, canned goods . The words drilled like an obsessive sergeant demanding obedience, and I watched myself grabbing cans off the shelves.

When I reached the checkout counter, the cashier said, Back again? Another large family get together?

Yeah, big eaters. I lied, laughing and pointing to the cart full of cans of green beans, mushrooms, baked beans, pumpkin, chili, tamales, tuna, salmon, chicken, and corn.

My kitchen pantry was already crammed with cans, and when I arrived home, I examined our closets. What could I move? I grabbed sweaters and scarves off shelves, stuffed them into drawers, took pants off hangers, and piled them on the dresser. I shoved the remaining clothes to the other side of the closet. Now that I'd made room, I dragged our newly purchased bookshelf and crammed it into the space. Not a designer’s dream but functional. Loaded with armfuls of cans, I lumbered through the hallway. Three cans slipped out of my grasp, fell to the ground, and I couldn’t see my feet or the floor. Stepping on a can of corn, I stumbled, and more cans tumbled onto the carpet. After unloading, I picked up the strays. Back and forth from kitchen to bedroom. So many cans now double and triple stacked on the shelves. I’d toiled and plodded like a worker ant, intent on finishing the task. 

Why was I obsessing over canned goods? Was I senile? At the age of thirty, not likely. Eccentric? Maybe, but not losing my marbles. Subliminal suggestions? Intuition? Premonition? Lately, when I least expected it, glimpses of future events would come to me. However, these flashes were, at best, poor previews of a hidden movie. I couldn’t make sense of them. All I could say was—the idea of storing cans compelled me—it was vital, and I complied.

The second message was far less tangible. The abstract idea of spring hummed its tune in a much more ethereal and aesthetic way. Images of springtime filled my mind. Chartreuse buds studding the tips of branches. Slender green daffodil stems with their leaves poking through the soil and their blossoms unfolding into bright yellow sunrises. Dew kissing the ground. Tiny birds chirping in nests. A caterpillar emerging as a butterfly. The brown of winter morphing into myriad shades of green. And the crisp air with its scent of freshness, the breeze tickling my nose with the sweet fragrances of roses, gardenias, and daffodils.

The two thoughts didn’t relate to each other. They danced together in my mind like an odd couple: each was the other’s opposite. One obsessive and the other serene; one mundane and the other heavenly; one domineering and the other gentle. They swayed in tandem to the beat of a different tune. Rocking and twirling, they permeated the subconscious realm; one had emerged into full-blown reality and the other remained elusive, still working its way into my awareness.

These thoughts persisted for months, until one night, I awoke to the sounds of wolves howling. I’d always been a light sleeper, and as I turned over in bed, Ethan stirred and opened his eyes. I threw on my robe, slipped my feet into my shoes and slid open the glass door to our deck. He joined me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. Bright stars studded the midnight curtain that stretched across the horizon. Serene and vast, the sky had always calmed me. Our mountaintop perch gave a bird’s-eye view of the forest below along with near and distant lights, some lights over a hundred miles away. Nestled in our mountain location, we remained separate, remote, and isolated from city life, just how I liked it.

The eerie yowls ranging from high and to low-pitched started up again. They intrigued me. What song were the wolves singing? What did they know? Did they sense something? 

While pondering the thought, a bright flash yanked me out of my reverie. An enormous asteroid streaked across the sky, leaving a plume of burning light, wider than I would’ve believed imaginable.

In the morning, I checked my can supply. All in order—nothing disturbed there. 

We turned on the TV, and the media confirmed huge asteroids had bombarded Earth—

fiery debris scattered. Forests burned. Other woodland areas survived, but the announcer emphasized that even woods such as ours would never again experience the breath of spring.

To be honest, a year ago, a few news outlets had featured interviews and short clips about asteroids, but not as essential news. Controversial political issues, top celebrity stories, the Olympics, sports and other events took center stage and buried the scientists' warning. The documentary mentioned never garnered the attention it deserved. An hour film, it debuted on Netflix, then was forgotten, plucked from memory like a worrisome weed among flowers.

Not even the scientific community could agree that an asteroid strike was imminent. Accusations of disinformation and misinformation flew in all directions with no united stand in sight.

The media reported that government bureaucracies had debated the asteroid issue and possible courses of action, but countries couldn’t agree on the severity or accuracy of the prediction. Now government leaders backpedaled, claiming the bombardment of asteroids had been unavoidable.

Compelled to see the aftermath firsthand, Ethan and I hiked down the mountainside and walked through the woods. Giant trees had toppled, blown over by strong winds, and an unnatural stillness enveloped the forest. The usual chirps of crickets and tree frogs, the trills of birds, and the white noise of insects burrowing or stirring had vanished. Nature was hiding. 

I grabbed Ethan’s hand, and he drew me close and kissed the top of my head. I hugged him tight and closed my eyes, wishing I could turn back time. Our five-year marriage had brought boundless joy. Passion and excitement in the beginning, and later, a warm, caring intimacy. Thank goodness we had each other.

We returned to the cabin and turned on the television. Stations reported that cities also lay demolished by the high velocity impacts. The world over, clouds of dust and soot blocked the sunlight, leaving a murky shield enshrouding the globe. Our days turned into polar night. Sunshine as we knew it ended.

One Year Later

Spotty internet connections conveyed what the media had to say, replaying impact images of numerous asteroids striking land. Satellites in our atmosphere, ever dutiful in relaying information and fixed in their orbits, kept circling and circling. At first, the news reports were fresh. Later, the same old story. But who knew how long the satellites would circle, their transmissions recycling outdated signals and stale information? Indeed, they might still function well after every living soul had gone.

Meanwhile, planet Earth rattled in its death throes—death throes for humankind, animals, and plants. Ethan and I had almost finished our canned goods. We’d been meticulous about rationing, stretching out food for as long as we dared. Our loose hanging pants and shirts told the tale of our frugal meals. There had been wisdom behind my compulsion to stock canned goods. In hindsight, my obsession was given meaning. We didn’t have lots of stuff to cram in our closets, anyway. Canned goods kind of made sense with our remote location, in case there was a harsh winter or a natural disaster. Natural disaster... right. But who could have imagined a disaster of this magnitude?

With Ethan at my side, I could avoid the fallen world. We had each other and spent hours talking, joking, reminiscing, and sharing ideas. We tried to pretend the AE (asteroid event) never happened. Creating our own time references, we referred to certain memories as BA, or before asteroids. As best we could, we turned back the clock. Call it denial if you want—it worked for us. It propped up our emotions while the world plummeted into darkness.

But the thoughts about spring still made little sense. I stared at the naked tree branches and spindly bushes filling the forest and longed to get a glimpse of green buds. The evergreen trees drooped as well, their brittle pine needles burnished brown, making last-ditch efforts to cling onto tree limbs. No hint of life was forthcoming. This past year left no hope. Spring? Why in heaven’s name did that idea of spring plague me? It had become a cruel joke, a charade that taunted me. What torture to perceive it only in my mind when everywhere I looked, its opposite ridiculed me for thinking it. The barren plants and trees filled me with emptiness, a hollow spot in my chest where my heart used to beat with hope. So unfair. Springtime should fill me with life, joy and beauty, not act like a trickster, dangling false promises.

I wasn’t the only one acting unsettled. Ethan paced back and forth across the room, a man possessed. I knew he was gathering the courage to do something. Worn areas of carpet showed where he'd paced in the past. Isolation and lack of food had taken their toll. Hunger deprived his body of energy and overwhelmed his emotions—I knew where he was coming from. Besides, Ethan was an active guy, who enjoyed getting out and doing things. This confinement tormented him. His eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clamped into a stern expression. Like a pot of boiling water about to spill over, he glared at me.

Emma, we’ve got to leave to find food. We can’t put it off any longer or we’ll starve to death. He stopped, folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance. I couldn’t blame him. For months I’d resisted his arguments to venture out. But why abandon our home without knowing what dangers would ambush us?

I shook my head in protest. Who knows what’s out there? Rabid wolves? Insane people killing each other for food? Disease? Decay? Take your pick. 

Look, we’ve tried it your way. And it got us this far—but your solution ran its course. It’s over. Done. We can’t stay here and wither into nothing. The determination in his voice let me know I wouldn’t win the argument.

I thought we should stay close to home and check for nearby resources—but I knew Ethan. He’d drag me down the trail, trekking high and low, off on a great adventure where chaos reigned. 

I wasn’t giving up the argument without a fight, not yet. Staying beats a violent death, being ripped apart by a grizzly or shot by madmen. I stood as tall as I could, but my 5 foot 5 inches paled compared to his 6 foot 2. Even so, I raised my head high and jutted out my chin.

Cowards don’t win, Em. Not ever. I’d rather be brave and die trying than cower in this house, wasting away. If we wait any longer, we won’t make it. He pointed to his skinny arm. I’ve lost 50 pounds. Where’s the muscle? Where’s the strength? He pointed at me. And you... you’ve probably lost 25 pounds. We’re a pair of weaklings, but at least we can walk. At least for now. Ethan’s blue eyes glowed with conviction. He reached out and put his hands on my shoulders. Please... listen to me.

Then you go. I shook his hands off my shoulders and stepped back. "Find out what it’s like. Come back and tell me. When you’ve seen it, then convince me that leaving would be best." I curled my fingers into fists and hoped my challenge might deter him.

Oh. My. God. Why are you so stubborn? He threw up his hands, walked to the closet, and snatched his backpack off the shelf.

He gathered camping supplies—a sleeping bag, canteen, flint, lighter, rope, a warm camouflage jacket, his shotgun, hunting knife, and other essentials.

So... you’re... actually going? My chin quivered.

He turned away from me. Well... one of us has to. He paused and faced me. His gaze lingered, and a flicker of sadness flashed in his expression. For an instant. But swiftly he resumed his bullheaded resolve. 

I shrugged. You better take my canteen. I won’t need it. Installing a well was a great decision. Remember how awful well-water tasted at first? A laugh snagged in my throat. Good heavens. He was going to leave.

Hey... I’ll be back... look, it’s not the end of...

"Of the world? You always used to say that. It is... it is the end of the world." Tears welled up in my eyes. What if he got killed? What if he never came back? Should I go with him? No. It didn’t seem right. Deep inside, something told me to wait. Was it fear? Or was I right about this? I was right about the canned goods, and he’d poked fun at that. 

Ethan finished packing his bag, then pulled me into a hug and whispered in my ear. Oh...Em...you know how I am... once I make up my mind. We're two stubborn people, and I'm just as stubborn as you are. I can tell you not to worry, but I know you will. Please, please believe me that this isn't goodbye. I'll be back soon. I promise. He put his fingers under my chin and lifted my head. You'll see. He kissed me on the forehead, picked up his bag, and rushed through the door. Why was he rushing? A haze of tears clouded my eyes.

I covered my gaping mouth with one hand and waved goodbye with the other. Then I shut the door and locked it.

Sadness, over the past months, had grown inside me. I stored it like I’d stored those cans, only I hadn’t realized it. With no warning, my sorrow came gushing out. Sobbing, I shook with grief. As I saw him disappear out of view, I wailed. I cried as loud and as long as I could. He couldn’t hear me. No one could. Endless winter swallowed the world, and now Ethan along with it. I had every right to grieve. 

One Month Later

I ventured a few yards from the cabin and found mushrooms around nearby trees. Starving, I ate them and had no negative side effects. After exhausting that resource, I drank as much water as I could stand, bloating my belly for a full sensation. 

In my BA life, I was self-conscious about my weight and staying healthy. I’d often tried different diets to stay trim, including cleansing fasts. After eating the remaining cans of food, I labeled my hunger a fast. Fasting would be healthy for my system. People used to fast for health reasons all the time. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Sleeping was my other survival tactic. The more sleep I got, the more energy I’d conserve. I’d almost fooled myself with that idea as well. Almost. Well... energy conservation was true, of course. Sleeping helped me escape the barren woodlands, the world that was wasting away, and my dying self. However, losing Ethan agonized me most. Had he survived? Why wasn’t he back? Was he hurt? Was he lying in the forest... was he dying? When the possibility of death flitted through my mind, waves of grief washed over me, and I’d cry. I missed him. I missed his touch and his warm body next to me. I missed how we’d shared ideas, joked and laughed, cooked meals together, and BA, traveled to other countries. 

We were avid readers, sharing insights as we read, but we couldn't have been more different in our preferences. Ethan delighted in non-fiction. Historical, liked the American Revolution, Civil War and WWI and WWII and archeological digs. However, I preferred fiction. Fantasy. The Hobbit. The Lord of the Rings. Books where fantasy intersected Sci-Fi like Dune, or Carl Sagan's novel Contact. Their expansive imagination held me spellbound. Yet, the movie Arrival appealed to us both—Ethan for its scientific approach, and me for its circular time concept and out of sequence flashes of future events. No doubt, he enjoyed the plot, but whenever I mentioned aliens, he teased me to no end.

Then there were our travels. With Eurail passes, we jaunted all over Europe, but Florence won our hearts, walking down the Ponte Vecchio, marveling at its medieval stone, and browsing quaint shops that sold antiques, jewelry and artifacts. After our trip, we dove into Italian fare with a culinary passion, cooking together, scouring the internet for recipes and discovering unusual pastas. We relived the romance and ambience of Florence. 

I missed it all. I missed him. But... crying exhausted me. Yes, it wasted precious energy, energy I no longer had available to waste. Buried in sleep, I could stop wondering what had become of him. Every chance I got, I slept, and I’d escape from the horrible nightmare, the outside world and from the loss of precious Ethan. I couldn’t believe he’d disappeared.

One thing was strange, though. Another thought had replaced the canned goods idea. Ironic, wasn’t it—that thoughts of spring never disappeared? So unlike the canned goods themselves. Spring had tenacity and reigned eternal in my mental world, although the woodland landscape decried it. The new thought was: Help me. Is anybody out there? Please help me. Oh yes, a worthy thought, one I could pour my whole heart into as I became overwhelmed with desperation. I was teetering on the edge of an abyss, the abyss of death.

No sense in deluding myself—I hated being alone. Little had I known that loneliness would become what I dreaded most.  Aside from chattering to myself about my BA life with Ethan, I devised other coping mechanisms. 

I dove into memories of my fondest moments. When I was three, Dad brought home a puppy, an adorable golden retriever. Fluffy and cuddly, he was always smiling. As a puppy, he looked like one of my toy teddy bears, but much more animated. We'd roll on the carpeted floor together, and oh, how he loved to lick me with that warm, smooth tongue of his, traveling all over my face. Good dog, good dog, I'd tell him. I said that so much that it became his name, the two words rolling into one.  Goodog and I were best friends. Loyal and loving, he greeted me whenever I came home from school, and even as I got older, we romped and played together. He lived a long time for a dog, dying when I reached 18. But his failing health and older years weren’t how I remembered him. In my mind, he was forever young. 

I relived the camping trips with Goodog, Mom, Dad, and my brother Jed. These were my favorite times as a family—snuggling in sleeping bags, waking to the chirping birds and sunshiny mornings, at night building campfires, watching the flames flicker and ashes spark, singing songs while Dad strummed on his guitar. Mom and Jed would sing too. Dad’s favorite song was Hey Jude by the Beatles, and he always sang it alone. While Mom’s parents had christened her Judith, everyone called her Judy, except Dad. The song was just for her, even though the lyrics didn’t quite fit because they were about a guy named Jude. But the words Take a sad song and make it better stuck in my mind, and his warm voice crooned in mellow tones, rich with love. Guess that’s what I was doing now—taking Earth’s sad song and making it better with my memories. 

I had loving parents, always praising and rewarding us when we did well. Quick to respond when we got good grades, when our team won in baseball or when I made them special cards for holidays. Good job, way to go or this is lovely. Of course, Jed and I fought like all siblings do, but he stood up for me at school. No one dared bully his little sister. He liked to pat me on the head and when he did, he’d wink. I never doubted his affection. Recalling these times, I smiled and warmth spread through me.

For hours, I entertained myself, sifting through memories, but I’d developed other coping mechanisms as well.

My favorite was the one I borrowed from Tom Hanks in the movie Castaway. I grabbed a magic marker, drew a smiley face on one of our round sofa pillows and named it Ethan Pillow Face. Instantly, another entity stared back at me. Sometimes, Ethan Pillow Face and I would have great conversations. We rehashed some of our favorite topics and debates.

Laughing, Ethan Pillow Face jeered at me. He said, You mean to tell me you believe in aliens? I have just the tinfoil hat for you!

I pointed my finger at him. "Don’t be arrogant. Think about it. Do you believe that you—or humanity is the only intelligent living species in the universe? Or that there aren’t other planets like ours with human beings? The probabilities of math alone have explained the fallacy of that premise. The size of humanity’s ego is shameful. We’re the only ones? That’s pure vanity." I waved my arms and ran into the kitchen, grabbing the box of aluminum foil from the drawer. Then I searched for and found a piece of cardboard, curved it into a cone, taped it, trimmed the bottom edges and wrapped it in tinfoil. Foil hat! I’d show him.

Foiled cone hat on my head, I entered the living room, and curtseyed before Ethan Pillow Face, sitting on the couch with his smug smile spreading from ear to ear. Ethan Pillow Face laughed and laughed, and I joined him in the laughter. I plucked my precious Pillow Face off the couch, and clutching him to my chest, I did tango steps to the song, Libertango, playing in my mind, and I chuckled at how he kept in perfect step with me. Our laughter consumed us, snowballing until hysterical. I couldn’t stop the laughter to save myself. Woozy from lack of breath, I bumped into the end table and knocked over a lamp. I clutched my stomach and pillow, fell to my knees, and rolled onto the floor. Tears ran down my cheeks. Laughter bubbled out of my mouth, and for all my exertion, drool trickled down my chin. What a workout. It was cathartic. Relaxed but drained, we both took a nap.

Throughout my nap, the thought signal, Help me. Is anybody out there? Please help me, kept getting louder, as it played over and over in my mind. As I envisioned help, Ethan came to the rescue. He waltzed through the door with four bags of groceries in his arms. He set them down, and I threw my arms around his neck. I hugged him and kissed his cheeks, lips, and fingers. It was a heartfelt reunion, and we soon launched into making a fabulous spaghetti dinner, our all-time favorite meal. The tantalizing aroma of basil tomato meat sauce, bursting with sage and other Italian spices, wafted through the air. Steamed artichoke with melted butter and garlic bread put final touches on the meal. My mouth watered, and savoring every morsel, I took my time chewing. After swallowing the last bite, I leaned back in the kitchen chair, patted my stomach and basked in the joy of Ethan’s return. What a marvelous meal we’d eaten. How stupid had I been? Ridiculous to think an asteroid impact had devastated the planet. And that Ethan had abandoned me to die in the wilderness? Boy, what a wild delusion. It was obvious where he’d gone... he’d gone to the grocery store. I took a deep breath and let out a sigh. Life at this moment was perfect.

My joy ended when a tapping, scratching noise yanked at my attention. What was that horrid, screeching sound? A high-pitched squeak. My body cringed, and I gritted my teeth. Something touched and scraped against the house. I opened my eyes and saw a barren tree limb. It looked like a long skeletal arm with bony twigs for fingers. As the wind blew, it rubbed