Prescriptions – 4

I didn’t dream. I haven’t in some time. It’s just some haze. Some drift. A lapse in time. And it’s not that I forgot my dreams, because you usually wake up remember bits of it. No. I didn’t have anything in my mind. One second I’m lying down, next I’m opening my eyes. Helen’s faded blue shirt right in my face. I’d say it’s losing its blueness to gray. But that didn’t matter. Again, my point was made. She was sleeping with her back to me.

I can’t believe all the laughs are gone.

“Are you ready to go?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” I wasn’t surprised. “But only if you are.”

She laid still.

The sun wasn’t up yet. But the amber glow was starting to burn the violet night. This used to be the best part of Los Angeles. The cool quiet of the city, before the sun’s rays sparked life around town. Filling the city with noise and activity. Knowing that it wouldn’t happen took the nostalgia away.

“Where will we go?” I asked quietly, a bit to myself, but I hoped she’d answer.

“There’s a place up north,” she still didn’t move. Her voice still quiet as she spoke from her sleep. “We are going there.”

“Why?”

“It’s a place for people like us. They are all gathering there.”

I waited.

“To live,” she finished and pushed herself up and stretched.

I knew that was it. No more explanations. I had a ton of questions, but I refrained. She was the smart one. She probably figured this was the right thing to do. I’d just follow along. As usual. Doing my best not to be annoying. Which I think I did no matter what.

Prescriptions – 3

We rode out of town.

Finally there was some color. Thanks to nature. There was grass. Trees. Even birds. Yet, we were still confided within the concrete highway.

There weren’t too many people on the roads. About one car for every couple minutes. And usually they were on the other side or crossing on an overpass. Hard to believe this was Los Angeles. No traffic. No people. The weather was still nice. But with the sickness, everyone fled. Well, all the ones that survived. Big cities meant big death tolls. Massive death tolls. There were hardly enough people left to clean up. Within weeks the smell and infestations were unbearable. People went to the countryside. Higher elevations if they could. Water was cleaner then the water below where our reservoir systems had failed. Of course, because there was no one left to run them. It’s amazing how much work a city needs to operate.

I wasn’t sure why we were back here. But we were already leaving again. I guess nature had enough time to sorta clean the city and Helen thought it was a good time to come back. Maybe to stay? Maybe to pick up some things? Neither was the case. I doubt she came back to make me a sandwich.

I never asked her where she got it though.

“We going to stop at the next exit,” Helen shouted back to me.

“That’s fine,” I said.

The scooter puttered up a ramp and she pulled to a stop before the intersection up ahead. We were under a lamp post. And somehow, that lamp post was on. Not that it wasn’t time to be on, it was getting dark, but it was just on. Not too much power ran through the city, so I’d thought people would save it for their homes. For whoever wanted to still stay here. So for this to be on was nice. Like an oasis for the night. We would sleep here. Kinda counter intuitive if you thought about it, but hardly any crime was committed anymore. Hardly.

I got off and Helen pushed the scooter onto the grass. She pulled out a thick blanket and spread it on the ground. It was slanted. We were on a hill leading down to the highway. A good vantage point I guess. We could see down to the highway below and to cars coming up the exit ramp. Didn’t matter though, I felt safe. So did Helen.

She laid down on one half of the blanket. On her side with her back toward me, she went to sleep.

And just like that, I did too.

Prescriptions – 2

“Hop on”, she nodded, her hands preoccupied with the gas and ignition.

She never made real eye contact with me. Neither then nor before. Not sure if it was because I was a bother. Me tagging along not knowing what to do. Or if it was some form of dignified resilience, staying strong and positive during times of adversity, and one look at me would break that will.

I got on the back.

“Hold on tight.”

My left hand was on her shoulder. My right held my sandwich. I kept it on my lap. I avoided getting too close. There really wasn’t any need. It didn’t go too fast and the bumps weren’t as bad as I imagined. We sputtered through the streets and out of the small town.

Before the world went comatose, Helen worked at the hospital. The California Hospital in downtown Los Angeles. She was a pharmacist there. Her life was good. Eventually she bought a home up in Burbank. That’s when I came into the picture. she was looking for a roommate and I was looking for a place to stay. And being that we knew each other since college, it was a done deal. I became her roommate.

Things were different now.

There was no home. No place to go to. The only thing was this little Vespa. Like her home, I rent out the back seat. No matter where I go I return to it. I knew she’ll be there.

The Artic Tern

I started my migration north on the five. It was past midnight and a couple hours since I’ve left Los Angeles, yet still I couldn’t believe I was leaving. The tropical paradise would soon be a memory. San Francisco would be my new home.

Most birds migrate south in search of warmer weather. I, on the other hand, am moving to colder weather, in the dead of winter, in the middle of the night. The Artic Tern flies back and forth between the Artics and Antarctica for its migratory patterns. So I assume mine isn’t quite that insane. Though my dusty-gray-orange-labeled-boxy-U-Haul truck wasn’t as elegant as that white and grey plumed bird that glides gracefully along the coastal shores. No, my truck puttered and bellowed as it lugged my life northward.

Other more nimble wayfarers flew by gawking. White sparrow Corollas chirped as my misaligned wheels brought me into their lanes. Overzealous silver hawk Porsches flew into my path angry at my speed.

My only friends were the proud eighteen wheeled eagles that flew with me. They understood the long journey I was on. Maybe not the reasons, but the journey itself.

We were traveling far and slow.

Conserve power and maintain awareness.

Most migratory birds fly in a “V” formation to help each other conserve energy. We instead formed a line. A line in the right lane. Leap-frogging as we went along. It wasn’t as much to conserve as it was for awareness, for us and the others.

Eventually I had to leave them once I got to San Francisco. My little truck deviated off onto a ramp as the line of trucks continued. I wasn’t sure what to do. Wave? Flash my high-beams? I couldn’t imagine what birds do when they break formation. I did what I could and pressed on my horn. It let out a low bellow. A call that said goodbye to a past life, a past decade, and a greeting to a new life and a new morning in the new city called my home.