Chapter 1, Part 6 "Sam" Wednesday, May 25, 2033
Seeing the almost hidden wireless earbud in Javier's ear as we meander around people and vegetable bins on the sidewalk, I ask, "What are you listening to, Javier?"
"Taeyang," he responds.
"Who's that?"
"He's Korean. He's been making music for twenty-some years now. Wanna listen?"
Javier takes an earbud out of his ear and hands it to me. I put it in my ear. Good beat. "Why are you listening to Korean music?"
"I don't have to think about the words. I can think about anything. I like music. Any kind, really. It has patterns. All music does."
Music has patterns. I don't have to understand Taeyang to enjoy the music, but I'm probably not going to download it.
As we approach the park, more crowded than it usually is for a weekday, I spot an ice cream vendor selling waffle cones.
"Eight point six billion," Javier says.
"I hope that's not the cost of an ice cream cone."
"People. In the world. I came across that little fact yesterday."
Javier sees me smile.
"You like me, huh?"
I can't help but laugh as I respond, "Oh, yeah. I like you."
The scent of fresh cut grass and the shouts of a nearby volleyball game fill the air. I walk up to the vendor, order mint chocolate chip, and a retinal scanner captures my identity, deducting the price of the ice cream from my bank account. Paper money still exists, but I don't see it that often -- kind of like those two-dollar bills my dad used to give me when I was a little kid. Javier orders his caramel swirl ice-cream, and we continue walking, taking off our flip flops to feel the soft grass under our feet. Sitting down under a tree not far from a street musician playing classical guitar, we take in the sights, sounds, and smells of the world around us. I like not going home yet, sitting next Javier, listening to street music and watching people play volleyball. After I finish my cone, I lie down, clasp my hands behind my head, and savor the smell of the grass. Javier does the same. It's cute how he copies me.
"Wanna come over Saturday?" Javier asks. "We have a pool."
Chapter 1, Part 7 "Camille" Saturday, May 28, 2033
"Let's watch a movie," My husband says behind me.
I turn around from my canvas to see Antione, my childhood sweetheart, beaming like a kid with a new toy. I smile because I know why he's smiling. No one has a home theater like we do. Since we got it, we almost never watch TV anywhere else.
Changing the subject, I ask, "Do you think I'll ever paint like Frederick Church?"
My husband looks away from my easel and over to the Heart of the Andes print hanging on the wall, a breathtaking landscape originally painted in 1859 by my favorite artist.
"You're perfect just as you are."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," I respond with a smirk.
"Where's Max -- uh, Maxime?"
Maxime, our only child, started going by his full name a few months ago because, according to him, it sounds less commonplace. I remember when I was a teenager, reinventing myself over and over again. All the phases I went through. Now I'm going through my second childhood as Maxime's going through his first. Antione's still getting used to his new name preference. "He's next door, and a movie sounds like fun. Let me clean up first, and I'll join you in a few minutes."
"Great. I'll pop some popcorn," Antione says, and then walks through the kitchen and down the basement stairs.
After cleaning up my paints, palette, brushes, and removing my smock, I take a look at my painting so far. No, it's no Frederick Church, but maybe someday.
I walk through the kitchen, descend the stairs into the basement, and walk across the room to a door that looks like any other door in our house. I pull a cell phone out of my pocket - not my personal cell phone - but my other cell phone, the one the Department of Defense gave me, and place it on the wall next to the door knob. I listen for an almost inaudible click, open the door, and gaze down at another, longer flight of stairs. The weight of my family's unique situation settles heavily on my shoulders.
Dim lights illuminate the long set of stairs as I descend. The door I just went through from the basement automatically closes and locks behind me. I don't see Aslan, our Irish terrier, so I assume he's already down there with Antione. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I see that Antione has left the big door open for me. We call it the big door, and it really is. It looks like a door one might see going into a bank vault, except that ours opens inward. As I step onto the threshold and into the main room, I hear popcorn popping in the microwave. Antione turns and sees the look on my face, much different now than the expression I wore upstairs when I was painting. He reads me well and understands completely, for he has worn this heavy expression many times in this room. I can almost feel the weight of ten feet of earth, three inches of lead, and one foot of reinforced concrete weighing down on me as Antione comes over to give me a hug.
"Let's hope we never need to use this place for what it was designed for," he says.
Standing here for a moment, feeling the warmth of my husband's embrace, I'm both thankful and apprehensive at the same time. Thankful that we have this bunker for our family, and apprehensive that we might actually need it one day.
With a sigh, my husband releases me from his loving embrace and steps toward the big door. "I need to check the positive pressure," he says as he pushes the door closed and seals us in. "Remember, the colonel wants weekly inspection updates."
I walk over to the coffee table, pick up the remote, and turn on the big-screen TV. Nobody uses remotes anymore, not since the late-2020s when voice recognition software had reached a level of sophistication that was reasonably acceptable. But we have a remote here, and it controls more than just the TV. We made some old-school design choices when this bunker was built five years ago. I'm glad we did. Standing here, I look around the room and try to imagine what it might be like to be cooped up here for several months. It's actually a rather comfortable room as far as bunkers and bomb shelters go. The big door leads into a small cozy nicely decorated living, dining, and kitchen area. Along the left side are two very small bedrooms with a Jack-and-Jill bathroom and laundry area. Along the right side are three doors leading to a large, very well-stocked pantry, a state-of-the-art communications room with two large solar-powered batteries, and a weapons room. 985 square feet in all. And since it has no windows, it has the best home theater sound.
The microwave dings, Antione gets our popcorn, and pours it into a large bowl. I sit down on the sofa and he joins me. We dig into the bowl of popcorn with gusto.
"There's a new Julia Roberts movie on Netflix," Antione says.
"She's one of my favorites."
"Mine too. I've been watching her movies forever it seems. Can you believe she's already 65?"
"Yeah, I can." I respond. "Let's watch it." I grab another handful of popcorn as Antoine picks up the remote and starts the movie.