Pre-apocalyptic Chicken Dinner

I sit in my bed, laptop on lap waiting for the timer to buzz to alert me the roast chicken dinner I so lovingly prepared is ready. It's a Sunday night so my sleepy little town is very quiet this evening.  My bedroom door is propped open so I can hear the sounds of the house downstairs. My teenager helped in the making of this bird. They prepared the herb butter and cut the mini potatoes. The smells wafting into my room are heavenly.

Instead of the buzzer I'm startled by a series of explosions. I listen intently to discern what the booms are about. They are not fireworks. Never having heard dynamite, other than movie explosions, I have no real gauge to put these explosions on a spectrum. The house begins to shimmy. 

I call my kid. "Neptune!" 

They enter the room. "Yes mum."  

"Did you hear those explosions?"

"Yeah! What was it?"

"I don't know."

I instruct them to put their shoes on. 

"Okay."

My kid knows me. When I go into emergency mode, we don't ask questions or debate. We just act. They acted. I was particularly proud in that moment. Meanwhile my mom is downstairs yelling into the phone at my aunt. She's not angry or anything. She's just loud.

I slip my shoes on and from the top of the stairs I calmly yell down to my mom, "Hey mum? Could you tell whoever you're on the phone with that you will call them back shortly?"

She shouts back, "It's Auntie Frances!"

"I understand. Could you please tell her you will call back?"

"Okaaayyy." She replied in that sing-song-y, if you insist tone.

I grab my mini-mag flashlight and throw on a sweatshirt while my mom tells my aunt she needs to go because I asked her to get off the phone. 

I met Neptune in the kitchen. My mom comes in. "What's going on?"

"Explosions." 

"Oh, I heard them! At first, I thought they were firecrackers."(I think she meant fireworks.)

She tries to continue on about it, but I interrupt her. 

"Mum, could you please go put some shoes on in case we need to mobilize?" Yes, I use words like mobilize. No I've never been in the military. I just watch too many damn movies.

"Oh! yes!" She leaves the kitchen and opens the front door. 

I stopped her. "Shoes first! Investigate later!"

"Okay. Okay." She grumbles defeatedly and shuffles off to her room.

Neptune and I sit at the kitchen table. I crack a window to listen. Silence. The oven timer sounds and makes us jump. I turn the oven and timer off and sit at the kitchen table again with Neptune. 

My mother re-started her telephone conversation that was so rudely interrupted by me. I heard her loudly explain to my aunt why I rushed her off the phone. 

"As soon as those shoes were on, she had to get back on the phone. Part of the reason I wanted her off the phone was so that we could hear what's going on. Now all I hear is her!" I explain to Neptune.

Neptune giggles.

I continue, "Your grandmother is not good in emergency situations. I'm afraid if this had been a real emergency she would have been left behind unless you want to take the responsibility of wrangling her. She can be on team Neptune, but I'd hate to leave both of you behind."

Neptune laughs. My mother enters the kitchen. "What's so funny?"

Upon seeing her I throw my hands in the air and yell, "What the hell, lady? You not only didn't put shoes on you don't have pants on! I thought you were ready because you called Auntie Frances back."

"Well, she needed your sister's number. So, I wanted to call her back to give it to her." She replies.

"Ma, you failed. If this had been an actual emergency, we'd all be in jeopardy. I just told Neptune that you would probably be left behind. And that's before I knew you weren't wearing shoes or pants. So, yeah. You're done. You make calls from the road! Not before you're ready to move!"

She continues to try and justify her actions, but I insist she's clearly team B. Be here when we leave. Be here when/if we get back. She laughs knowing full well I'd never leave her. But dammit she needs some sense of urgency.

Feeling that we're safe from harm I unload the oven. We have roast chicken with garlic, lemon and herbs along with little roasted potatoes with rosemary and thyme, collard greens and some iced hibiscus tea. 

The three of us sit and eat our pre-apocalyptic chicken dinner listening intently for any more explosions. There were none. We laughed again at how my mom never put shoes on or pants. I mean maybe I've seen one too many movies about zombies or the end of the world. Art imitates life. Or is it the other way around? 

We never found out what the explosions were all about. But they provided some Sunday evening fun and conversation. But just know if you come up to me frothing at the mouth, trying to bite me I will do the only thing one can do to kill zombies. Shoot you in the head or cut your head clean off. Which, by the way, is actually how you kill anybody.