The Drive Home

I’m alone on this road. I can go home. In the past 36 hours, I have sat in a sheltered bunker watching a dot move closer to earth. In eight hours, the dot will hit the Pacific Ocean. The world is going to change. Hell, the world is going to end.

The lock-down and shelter-in-place orders started yesterday. I am alone on the road. Driving with windows down, I needed fresh air. I stopped at a red light. I don’t know why. Habit, I guess. But that is when I heard it. The deafening silence. Ambient noise is missing except the hum from the electric lines overhead. The trains are all stopped. Authorities have also grounded all airlines. I am the only car waiting for the light to change. I am the last person allowed to leave the bunker. The last person with family waiting at home.

The light turned green; I drove on. Again, more out of habit. Now I can hear the silence. It became defining. The next light turned red. I eased off to check for oncoming traffic. I am the last person out. Everyone is sheltered inside as ordered. All the businesses are closed, no open gas stations or fast-food joints, no signs of life. Everyone is sheltered as best they can. This is a lonely drive.

I reached a modest, two-bedroom house. I parked and killed the engine. No more noise. The silence is almost unbearable. Then the door opened. My Darling ran to me. Her embrace almost takes us to the ground. That’s when I knew I could die with a smile.