Ordinance
1.
We woke to an air-raid siren blaring, strapped to the roof of a police car. I felt dizzy, delirious, like someone had grabbed me by my ankles and ripped me out of bed, straight into a nightmare. My stomach lurched, as I swung my feet over the edge. I fumbled for the lamp cord, no power. I grabbed my phone, squinting at how bright the dim screen felt. 17 missed calls.
Fuck, I thought, This is the big one.
“Honey wake up, you gotta get up right now.” I tried to hide the panic in my voice.
They rolled over to look at me, our eyes locked, and we both knew. We had known about it for years. The risk of it happening would increase over time. There likely wouldn’t be enough time to evacuate. Survival would be determined by luck, if you could even call it that. Outside, another cop car drove by in the opposite direction, faster this time. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and threw it onto the bed, casting angular, evil shadows around the room.
Don’t panic. We’re prepared, we know what to do.
I got out of bed, and they followed suit. We dressed quickly. Speaking softly, as if loud noises would suddenly startle it into existence. I pulled my pants on, they hurriedly buttoned their shirt. We kept shoes and socks under the bed for this exact reason. Whispering our ‘I love you’s and ‘It’s going to be okay’s. I kept a gun in the bedside drawer, I didn’t know what good it would do, but I liked having it anyway. I tucked it into the holster I wore inside my belt.
“No matter what, we stick together.” I said.
“Nothing could take you from me, my love.” They replied.
I don’t remember why we decided that we would run. When it came up in conversation at dinner parties or after some big event on the news, our friends all reacted differently. Some of them talked about getting deliriously high before it hit. Others said they would use it as an excuse to finally enact some spasmic fantasy, safe from all repercussions. A sudden burst of violence towards a boss, the thrill of going outside completely naked. Many said that they would immediately call up all of their friends for an orgy of dionysian proportions. One last orgasmic goodbye, spraying cum into the face of death.
A few of us, maybe a dozen, planned to run. We knew that it wouldn’t help much, and would most likely end up with us dying in our cars on the freeway. We said that didn’t matter, because running would at least feel like we were doing something. Our bags were prepped and packed, our cars ready. We had lists and books and tables memorized. I knew the most optimal route to escape, my spouse knew how to coax the cat into the carrier.
I pulled our bags out of the closet. We put them on and hugged each other tightly, I started to cry but choked it back. There was still work to be done.
2.
We sat in the car, unmoving. My body felt like lead, and I knew theirs probably did too. My car keys hung out of the ignition. I couldn’t bear to turn it. As it turns out, no matter how much you plan and prepare, you never really know how you’re going to act when it happens. I turned and looked at them. They turned and looked at me.
“What now?” they asked.
“I don’t know.” I replied, “I worry that we’re making a mistake.”
I thought of all the hours wasted on reading survivalist forums, finding the best water filter, or backpack. Hours I could have spent sitting with them, watching the sun set. Watching TV together over microwave chicken nuggets because we were too tired to cook. All the money spent on special tools and clothing instead of flowers and movie tickets. I felt like I had wasted my entire life living in fear of some future disaster instead of living in the moment. Now the disaster was here, and I blinked first.
“Like we should be getting fucked up right now instead?”
I shook my head, “I don’t want to run from this. And I think that getting high is a kind of running too.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Besides, I think it’s a false dichotomy that happens when you can’t fight back.”
They shifted in their seat, uncomfortable, “What false dichotomy?”
“That you have only two mutually exclusive options. Chasing after safety, or running towards transient pleasures. I think there’s a third option, and I think it scares us more than anything.”
They looked at me, expecting me to continue.
I took a breath and said, “Do you remember the first time we kissed? I thought I was so cool and you were so sexy. I remember that, and sneaking out of my parents house to see you. I remember dancing with you at that one basement show. I remember our life together. I know everything about you. I know that you know how much you mean to me. And that you know that it’s actually twice that.”
I was crying now, and so were they. We pulled each other into a firm hug, crying into each other’s shoulders, not caring that our armrests were cutting into our sides.
“The third option is to live.”
3.
“FALSE ALARM” the news bulletin on my phone read, “CRISIS AVERTED AT LAST MINUTE.” But it was too late, damage had been done. In the six hours since the news broke, panic swept over the city. Homes burned, both on accident and on purpose, while fire departments responded to neither. Orgies ended with friends awkwardly putting their clothes back on, relationships forever changed. There were only seven murders during the entire event, and news anchors remarked on how small that number was. There were hundreds of injuries though. The list included alcohol poisonings, car accidents, fireworks injuries, and even one girl who climbed onto the roof of her house to watch it all unfold, got drunk, and promptly fell off and broke her arm.
The damage was done to us too. After we got the news, we left the car, let the cat out of her carrier, undressed, and went back to bed. Six hours of panic and sobbing had left us drained. When we woke up, we just laid in bed and stared at each other. Not speaking, just memorizing every detail of the other’s face. We only got up once the cat started begging for food. The sun illuminated the kitchen, and instead of seeing dirty dishes and an unswept floor, I found myself looking at dishes that represented all the food we cooked for each other. I cleared a spot on the stove and started cooking breakfast while they fed the cat and made coffee.
“You know, I feel like I should be more upset about last night, but I can’t help myself, I feel reborn, rejuvenated, happier than I’ve been in a long time.” I said.
“You know, I was about to say the same thing. Like I’ve been slouching for years, and just now stood up straight.”
“When did you know that we were going to be alright?” I asked.
They thought for a moment, “You know? I didn’t know we were going to be alright. But I thought to myself, looking back through all my memories, and I honestly… I wasn’t happy with myself. I was happy with my life, sure. Good and bad, at least I lived it. But happy with myself?” they poured two coffees and handed me mine, “I let myself be scared and humiliated for most of it. I’m a coward. Was.”
“And now?”
“And now I have to live with the realization that I was so unhappy that I would have rather given up than push myself forwards to safety. I have to live. And in order to live, I have to change.”
I finish cooking and begin fixing plates for each of us, “Change?” I asked.
“I think I’m a woman.” she said.
I looked at them, thought about it for a moment, and said, “I know. I love you.”
4.
I think, in a way, I knew that she was unhappy. Neither of us had the words to describe the shape of it. That’s one of the first cruelties we discovered. Once we knew what to look for, we found women like her everywhere. Musicians, scientists, leaders. Even cave paintings. Woven into the tapestry of human history, were people who had asked themselves the same questions that she was asking herself, answering in unison. Now she added her own voice to the choir.
A magical thing happened when she met another woman like her, and then another, and another. We discovered that the event had changed a lot of people’s hearts. Soon we saw them everywhere, in the grocery store, on the bus, laughing together in the library. She found an online community, and would spend at least two nights a week talking to her friends. She wasn’t alone anymore. It was like a constellation had been laid over the city, rooms full of women that shone so bright you could see them from space.
We always knew that there were risks associated with the change. Complicated risks that were often invisible with harsh consequences. Every day she made the choice to face them, even though it would have been much easier to stop and go back to the way she was before. She knew that it was worth risking it all for another moment of joy, and nothing could convince her otherwise. Every setback seemed to invigorate her. She wasn’t just fighting, she was winning.
Soon we found that we weren’t afraid of getting old. When we spent time with friends from before, they talked about aging in the same hushed tones as they did when discussing the Big One. Contemplating the same strategies of killing their boss, having drunken sex, or leaving to go hide in the woods until it all blows over. We just nodded and laughed along because we knew they wouldn’t get it. Everyone’s afraid of change except for those brave enough to change themselves. We unlearn our fear a little bit at a time, until finally we can let go of the illusion of control.
Many years later, I asked her if she had any regrets. The journey had been long and difficult, and not everyone we knew had made it. We carry the joy of their memory with us, along with the pain of their loss. I had my own regrets, mostly shame towards my human failings, but she never talked about the past in that way.
She laughed, “I regret not doing it sooner.”
At the end of it all, we had spent so much time dancing, and travelling, and eating, and drinking, and fucking that we forgot all about the Big One. We were simply too busy living to worry. She wasn’t alone anymore, she wasn’t afraid anymore. There had always been people like her, and there always would be. Even if something awful happened tomorrow, she had made her mark on the world, and it had made its mark on her. Pleasure and joy, pain and sorrow, we drank it all down because we knew that life wasn’t worth living without it.
5.
We woke to an air-raid siren blaring, strapped to the roof of a police car. I got up, shut the window, and went back to bed. I am too old to run now, too tired to drink. Too content to worry about false dichotomies. I’ve already found my answer. I cuddle close to my wife. She cuddles close to me.
And we live.
