Alice, Second Minor Character

         Alice is not the heroine type. She’s in her late 60’s, gray-haired, short, and smiles a lot. She’s an aging hippie, a retired professor, Jewish by birth. Alice tried the straight life when she was young. She married and had a daughter. It wasn’t until after her divorce from a comfortable businessman that she found comfort in the arms of a woman friend, and discovered she was gay. Her husband had let her keep the farm they had built, eco-friendly, conservationist farm, away from what was then just a small college town.

         By the time Alice retired, the small town was a large urban community, and the farm was just beyond its reach. A nice commute when she was working, it had become a quiet retreat. And who could have known it would prove to be a safe haven when all hell broke loose. The very things they invested in to save energy now enabled her to have some light and some power while others had nothing. She had to work hard to get food, but at least she could get it. And the farm was discreetly hidden. Only from the air would an enemy be likely to discover it, other than a nomad on foot.

         The woman who helped her through the divorce had become her partner in time. They dwelled together on the farm, which looked ugly and run-down on the outside. The partner, Maureen, had developed cerebral palsy and had degenerated in mind and body. Alice was her constant caregiver, gently tending her needs and never begrudging her anything. She protected Maureen. She never told her about the war, or the gangs, or the loss of radio and TV. She never told her they were cut off from the rest of the world and didn’t know what was going on. No use in the old woman being frightened.

         Alice’s daughter was a successful cellist and travelled widely. Alice hadn’t heard from her for a while since before the shut down. She had no idea if Andrea was okay or in danger. Alice had no other family. Her ex-husband was long since dead. The farm was paid for, well-stocked and equipped. As long as Alice was physically able, they would eat and defend themselves. Maureen would be cared for. But if something happened to Alice, if she became sick or injured, no one would come to help Maureen. And this worried Alice.

         Alice had tried to warn the locals to stock up on fuel, batteries, and first-aid. She had advised them to get paper supplies and canned foods. She had encouraged some people to start small vegetable or herb gardens. Some were already doing backyard gardens. Now that things were so bad, they were seeing her as a wise woman, not just a crazy old hag. They knew she could go anywhere on her black bicycle and was physically tough, despite her advanced education. They had seen her with a lady friend years ago, when things were good. But she “went away”. They had never seen Maureen in a wheel chair. They didn’t know about her illness. They hadn’t figured out the gay part, because she had a daughter, and was always discreet.
Alice knew the local man who sometimes sold drugs. He was a wheeler and dealer. He lived with his grandmother. Since the bombs and the marauding troops had gone through, he had lost his job and just hung out, stealing food. He and Alice kept a mutual distance from each other. Otherwise, she had no enemies.

         Jim and Karen both liked Alice. She was like a mother to them, the first kind person they had seen in months. She was leery of them, not knowing if she could trust these two strangers. But from the vacant sad look in Karen’s eyes, she could tell she was not faking. Karen was in need of strong psychological help. Jim seemed sincere to her as well. He was obviously physically well and strong; he was clever; and his main concern was Karen. Alice could appreciate that. She listened to them, asking the appropriate questions without probing, and waiting for responses in their own good time. She felt safe enough to let them stay on the property without telling them everything, and to offer some fresh fruit without fear of being robbed. As they stayed on, day by day, both sides trusted each other more, and began to rely on each other. Their bond was growing without realizing it. With Alice’s training, she knew to withhold judgment, but made keen, insightful observations. The time would come when they would be willing to listen to her insights.

         Alice did not tell them about Maureen who was living safely and comfortably below ground in the home built by Alice’s husband, accessed by a tunnel from the dilapidated looking green farmhouse built in the mound. She only told them that her partner was “away” on a journey and would return any day. She intentionally let them think she was talking about a man, so they wouldn’t get too comfortable or try anything foolish.

This is a 45 minute free-for-all brainstorming session about my NaNoWriMo story.

         Alice speaks for herself.

         I'm retired after a long career teaching college students. A nice young Jewish girl, I married an upwardly mobile Jewish boy, who turned out to be very successful and rich. That's very redundant, I know. We only had the one child, a girl. We spoiled her rotten. She was so talented and smart. After college, she traveled with an orchestra and had a lot of friends. She was so outgoing. I thought she'd give me grandchildren. She was married briefly, but he left her for a prettier woman--I should say a tramp. Anyway, she hung out with her girlfriends so much that she discovered she preferred them to men. Oh, she still had lots of male friends, but it became obvious I wasn't going to be a grandmother.

         With our daughter never at home, seeing the world, my husband and I realized we had grown apart. I preferred my academic acquaintances; he preferred his business connections. We got along, but preferred not to see each other. He wanted out of our mundane life. He gave me the farm he had built for our retirement with all its built in safety features. He figured he could afford to build one further west, where safety might be surer. I wanted to stay with my college community. So I was left pretty well off. One friend was closer than all the others. I had
accepted my daughter's lifestyle. I guess it made it easier for me to try the alternative.

         My special friend, was Maureen. We grew closer, shopping together, going to concerts and poetry readings together. I invited her to some faculty functions and we enjoyed each other's company. It took a while, but we did become lovers. As the years went by, I neared retirement, we noticed Maureen was having problems. By then, we were committed to each other. We had traveled together, had a lot of memories, and had developed quite a fondness for each other in the day in and day out tedium of survival, the burdens and trials, and the joys and celebrations. So when the doctor announced, after lots of tests and months of debate, that she had Cerebral Palsy, I never doubted my devotion to her. We would go through whatever we had to, together.

         So when the war broke onto the mainland, and the gangs and paramilitary groups came in the aftermath, I was glad we were safe underground. I could Maureen from knowing what was going on. She was talking hardly at all, and had to be fed and coaxed to stay awake. I was doing all the farm work, the house work, running the errands, and tending to Maureen. I made up my mind that I wouldn't let her see me be irritable or impatient or unkind. I would keep the news of the outside world away from her. I only took her out on sunny, mild days, or would let her look at the rain through the window. I never took a chance when there was shelling or helicopters or smoke around. I figured that if something happened to me, Maureen would suffer. We both would probably die when supplies ran out or when a bomb caved in our home.

         Now these two kids are here. They have problems of their own, big ones, then the war, the devastation. And they don't have a secure place to stay even temporarily unless I trust them just a little. One false step and they'll have to move on. I have a rifle I can use. I don't think it will come to that. They don't seem like the murdering type. If I let them stay here on a day by day basis, maybe the wife will get stronger. Maybe I can counsel with her. Psychology was my field. I'm a behavioral psychologist. That doesn't mean I can fix people. Maybe I can help her function. I'm not a marriage counselor. I don't think I can help that. They are younger and stronger. Maybe their labor can make the risk worthwhile.

         Maureen and I are in our golden years. My daughter would inherit the farm, wherever she is at the moment. I worry about her, since we can't communicate. Maybe she'll make it home before I die. I just hope she's safe, wherever she is. My main concern is for Maureen. Her welfare I put ahead of my own.