Creek Running North

1.

The bread was too cold, the gazpacho too warm. The service was too slow. He looked at his watch, again and again. “Damn incompetents! I’ve been waiting for my check for five minutes!”

“It’s OK, Steve. It’s the lunch rush.”

“What do I care? They’re making me late for my 1:30. Excuse me! Could I get my god-damn check, please?”

The waitress brought the bill. $38.95. He plunked down two twenties. “Hey, keep the change.”

“Anyway, like I was saying,” he continued, “I just can’t stand the damn liberal finger-pointing. Why the hell didn’t they leave? They decided to stay, I don’t see why we should have busted our asses to rescue them. It’s that whole culture of dependency. We’ve bred generations of people who can’t even save their own goddamn lives. It’s like ‘save us, save us!’”

“But Steve, some of those people were really poor!”

He dismissed his sister’s objections with a wave. “Then they aren’t my damn problem. This society has winners and it has losers, and you get to pick...”

He paused, let forth a belch.

“Sorry. I don’t know how that happened. You get to pick which you’ll be, a winner or a loser. It’s hard work, is all. And I...”

Another belch, this one louder. A thin, sickly smell floated across the room, a faint scent of gasoline, and was it… sewage? “Damn, I think this place poisoned me. I’m feeling si...”

He vomited, a little at first, a dank foul liquid with a hellish sheen. The gasoline smell grew stronger. He vomited again. It was thick and black, sewage and rotting meat.

His sister gripped the table, moved to stand partway. She stopped. His lips were turning purple, swelling, bursting. He vomited up a styrofoam cup, a diaper, a shingle. His lungs filled with aspirated foulness. He turned blue, then indigo. Gray tears ran down his face. His eyes dimmed, deflated, fell out. The slight wrinkles by his eyes vanished as his skin swelled taut. He fell to the floor, still puking. It just didn’t end. His sister ran screaming for help. By the time the EMTs arrived, he was floating face down in two feet of evil-smelling water.

2.

“Owell isn’t answering his goddamn phone! His column is due, and I’ve got a hundred papers on my case!” Carl walked into his office, a quizzical expression on his face. “What was that, Jeff?”

“I can’t get Owell. His column is six days late. First he gets me five thousand nasty emails by writing that stuff about the ‘savages in the Gulf Coast,’ and blaming it all on postmodernism, and now he’s jerking me around on deadline.”

“Take it easy, Jeff. We still have a couple in reserve. Anyway, I’ve got his cell in my Palm. Let me see if I can get hold of him.”

Carl walked out. He was back before Jeff got to the end of Cal Thomas’ latest. He looked pale. “I called Tom’s cell, and a cop answered.” Carl swallowed. “He drowned. He’s dead. They’re doing the investigation right now.”

After a moment, Jeff closed his mouth. Then shook his head. “OK, see what you can get from the cops, have that new kid pull out his obit and I want you to update it. Jesus fuck. We’re gonna have to find some new guy quick, and I think we’ve already hired every single winger who can write a coherent sentence. God damn it.”

Carl wasn’t moving. “What?” “Oh. Sorry, it’s just weird, him drowning.’

“Do they know how it happened? Was he out on the Bay or something?”

“That’s the weird thing,” Carl said. “The cop said they found him in his attic.”

3.

“Why is this place so quiet?” (Send.)
“What, is the Internet broken or something? LOL."(Send.)
“Hello?” (Send.)

“OK, that’s weird. MOM?”

“What, honey?”

“Did you change the filters on the computer or something?”

“No, but maybe your father did. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just trying to chat with the guys on Little Green Meatballs. We were slagging on the hurricane victims yesterday. But no one’s answering me today.”

“Well, you spend too much time on that computer anyway. Why don’t you come out of that basement and go play outside this afternoon? You know Jameel has that new basketball hoop set up in his driveway.”

“OK, mom. But I think I need some ginger ale or something. I’m not feeling too good.”

4.

“Wait, wait, quiet! Would you turn that thing up?” The television at the end of the bar showed a breaking news graphic. A nervous-looking Fox News intern, hair uncombed, stood in front of the Ellipse. In the background, helicopters hovered over the White House. “We are told that HazMat crews are working in the West Wing. Meantime, we have no word on the condition of the President or the Vice President. We’ve been unable to reach the Press Secretary.”

The in-studio anchor’s voice cracked. “Chantelle, can you tell us whether FEMA has been called?”

Chantelle held up her ill-fitting earpiece. “Apparently, Sean, there is a similar event happening at FEMA’s offices. We can’t — I can’t tell you more than that at this time.”

The anchor coughed. “Actually, Chantelle, this is Allan. We’re having a little trouble finding Sean. Um, Thank you, and keep us posted. We’re going to break for a commercial now.”

5.

LaVon wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. Damn, it was hot today. But hell, he chuckled to himself, if you don’t like heat, why live in New Orleans? Now a hundred? That’s just too damn hot. But ninety-five is perfect lawn-mowing weather.

“Papa!” Tanya stood on the porch with a pitcher of lemonade. “Are you ready for that snack yet?”

“I am now, lawn’s finished.” He slumped into the wicker chair.

“Daughter, I have to say I have this lawn lookin’ good! Mmm, mmm, mmm.” He sipped the lemonade.

“It does look good, Pop. It always look good. Just like my daddy.” She kissed his bald pate, sat down next to him.

LaVon chuckled.

“So have they said anything more about the president?”

“Naw, Papa, they still got scientists workin’ on it. From what I can read on the Internet, anyway. The news channels are all down, looks like.”

“Now that’s a damn shame. Those poor people. I feel for them, I really do. I didn’t vote for the man, but I feel bad for him.”

“I know, Papa, I know.” She pulled at her blouse. ”It is hot today. Are you gonna water the lawn? The kids could play in the sprinklers.”

“Yeah, and track mud all over your mama’s floor. I will have to set the sprinklers. I thought we were gonna get a little rain last week.”

“It was strange, the way that hurricane just dissolved out there in the Gulf, wasn’t it, Papa?”

“Yeah baby, I still haven’t got that one figured out.”