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Oct 8, 2019 08:34
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| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 00:43 |
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Short Trip From the computer in the living room I check the latest report the meteorologists have put together. So far, they haven't changed course, and that brings me a great deal of joy. As I sit and read over the same prediction, I bounce my legs up and down. Two days from now there is going to be a safe travel window. Uncle Joćo and I are going to travel to the larger bunker to the southeast to exchange yeast cultures that the scientists have been developing. I don't care as much about that; sure, it's "neat" or whatever, but more exciting is the novelty of going somewhere different. Mama manages to sneak up behind me and touches my shoulder. I shout; she laughs. "You don't have to check that every chance you get. He'd tell you if something changed, you know," she says. "I didn't want to wait for Uncle to wake up to know," I reply. "Fair enough. Did you finish your homework?" "Yes, Mama. Mum wouldn't let me go play basketball until I finished." She pats my back and I hear her tread into the kitchen. I continue to read and reread the report on the screen. Three days, each finally dipping below 40c, before shooting back up to 50c. It might be cloudy, but it isn't expected to storm. Later, Mum gets up and she beckons along with Mama for me to come eat breakfast with them before I leave for school. They talk about their plans for the day but I don't pay a lot of attention, but I know that there's something about a vacuum pump and another about the hydroponic garden. They both wish me a good day before I leave and ask me to try my best to pay attention. I promise I will. I let the day pass me by for the most part. Some of my friends and I speak about my coming trip and they ask me to tell them about it when I come back. Most of us haven't gotten to go, except for the older students. I'm unsure of how I'll feel when I see the surface. I think of the bags we have waiting to go in the closet that are filled with supplies we need. I've heard what the older students have said about surface before but nothing will seem real until I get to see it firsthand. When the day arrives, I wake up before Uncle Joćo and look at the computer one more time to be sure nothing has changed, and sure enough, nothing has. I take the bags out of the closet and carry them over to the door. When Uncle Joćo comes out into the living room, he takes his boots, laces them up, and says "Let's go" and nothing else. A massive lift carries us and the van up to the surface. All the while he says nothing, and I stare out the windows while the doors to the bunker open. It isn't brighter outside, but the light does feel different from being underground. It feels odd being there. As we drive out onto the cracked road, Uncle Joćo starts touching some buttons in the car. A harsh noise blasts from the speakers, and he says, "Oh, right," and pushes a button to stop the noise. He keeps driving and we continue on the road. The trip is quite bumpy and we have to keep the AC at full blast lest we overheat. I feel chilly and warm at the same time and it's rather unpleasant. I look out the side window and see abandoned buildings and sparse plant life, mostly weeds. It doesn't look anything like what the surface looks like in pictures from the past. I think nobody feels like taking pictures out here anymore. We continue the trip in silence. There is only a cloudy sky, what's been abandoned, and what little has grown around it. It's completely silent outside save the wind and the noise our van makes. I look at Uncle, and he has an intense look on his face as though driving is the most difficult thing in the world, so I let him be. I know that Uncle Joćo was my age when everyone had to start living underground. I'm fifteen years old and he is forty seven. I know about this because Mama told me, and she warned me not to ask him about it, so I never do. I think I get it. After several hours, with only one short stop to eat some of the food we had packed, we arrive at the other bunker, and we go down another lift after Uncle identifies us and our cargo to someone who had been waiting outside. We step out of the van once Uncle has navigated to a loading zone that looks just like the one we have at home. I rush to hug him, and he seems surprised. "Why don't you go look around, maybe see if there's some other kids that play basketball?," he asks. "We'll be staying in room D-33." "What if I get lost?" "You're a smart young woman. I wouldn't worry about that." I leave for the lifts to the other levels. The placard indicating where facilities are next to the call buttons is of the same design as the one at home. Everything is in the same place for the most part; it seems that the bunker is simply slightly larger. I call for the lift and choose the floor where the gymnasium is located. I walk down the corridor and I look all around me. The lighting is the same long white strips embedded in the ceiling. The walls and floor are the same impersonal concrete. There is one other person in the corridor, but they pay me no mind. I enter the gymnasium and see a group of younger children playing football and a couple playing tennis, but no basketball. I leave and take the lift again, this time to our quarters. They look like home, but without our things or people. I sit at a table waiting for Uncle to arrive. When he arrives an hour later, he looks confused. "I figured you'd be longer." "There wasn't anyone playing basketball, so I didn't stay." We are both silent for a moment. "Well, kid, what do you think?" "I thought it'd be different. I thought it'd be exciting. I didn't think it'd be the same." "Sometimes, things not being exciting is a blessing." I think about this for a moment. I don't really agree, but his capacity for excitement must have gone when the world did. "Thank you for taking me with you, Uncle Joćo." "Thank you for coming. It was nice not being alone on the drive." Since we hadn't spoke on the drive, I didn't think it should have made much difference. I hug him again, and we start to prepare dinner. We sleep, and then return the next day.
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Oct 13, 2019 22:14
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