Last Dance at the End of the World Read online

  LAST DANCE AT THE END OF THE WORLD

  Jacqueline Druga

  Copyright © 2021 Jacqueline Druga

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: Jacqueline Druga

  Printed in the United States of America

  A special thank you to Paula, Kira, and Wendi for all your help along with my Betas!

  LAST DANCE

  At the End of the World

  Jacqueline Druga

  ONE – LIFE NOW

  August 3

  If only.

  If only I could go back and change my course. Instead of taking the path with life, what if I had chosen to die?

  Death was a gift; one I had the option to take or leave behind.

  Some would say I was fortunate to be able to choose what I was going to do when so many others, countless others, never had the option.

  It wasn’t given to them.

  Unlike me, they didn’t have a choice.

  The phrase ‘some would say’ was a joke now.

  ‘Some’ would refer to many and there weren’t many left to say anything.

  Although to be fair, I didn’t roam the countryside, my life wasn’t a road trip. I didn’t want to venture too far from my hometown, too far from my home.

  It was all I had left.

  My existence was centered there, our amazing two-story apartment above a storefront. I had made into an art gallery for my wife. A place to showcase her brilliant work and sometimes sell something. It didn’t matter if she sold anything, that gallery meant the world to her. We bought the building, for what seemed like pennies. It was during the small town revitalization plan to make our Tennessee town look more storybook, or the way Hollywood would depict a small town. Bring in tourists! Whatever the reason, it was a steal.

  We spent seven years making that building truly ours, along with every penny we had. Knocking down walls in the run down, upstairs apartments, we created a living space in our small town that could give any lavish New York apartment a run for its money.

  The two, third-floor apartments would be homes for our children, should they need them when they became adults.

  During the day I worked my printer job to pay the bills, at night I worked on our building.

  My wife Maranda was a substitute teacher during the day, at night she created.

  We had plans. Long term plans.

  Then it all came to a screeching halt.

  Maybe not as fast as it seemed, but it crashed down around our heads.

  Nothing exploded, no wars, no alien invasion or dead beings ripping the living to shreds.

  Our world, our bustling, beautiful, loud world … went out with a whimper.

  The large living room of our home, once filled with laughter, love and clutter was now one big shrine of everything and anything I ever held dear.

  Pictures, drawings, papers, graded homework assignments, anything and everything, covered every inch of the walls.

  So, each day it was a reminder of a life I would never forget.

  Like a lunatic, I wanted to remember every single thing.

  While walking, or doing anything, I recited things out loud as reminders, ‘Maranda loved old movies, Beau’s third grade teacher was Mr. Richter. Daisy called me Daddy-Da. My mother smelled sweet, and my father drank Jack Daniels with a twist of lime’

  Things like that.

  It was crazy in a good way.

  My sanity was still intact, still strong, I made sure it stayed that way.

  I hoped it was.

  For a while there, I doubted it.

  I lived in a mostly silent world; choosing who I talked to and when. The comforting noise was that which I created. My music, videos from my phone and tablet represented life.

  Voices of all those I loved and would never hear again. The same voices which stopped talking long before they ever left me.

  I was it. I was all that remained of my family.

  Even though there were others, I felt like a lone survivor.

  Maybe I am bound to live alone in my new existence?

  An existence of my choice.

  I made the choice to live. More so I chose ‘memories’, because for every single living being on the planet, the memories were the first to go.

  I couldn’t forget.

  I owed the world that much.

  TWO – A HINT IN THE AIR

  February 3

  SIX MONTHS EARLIER

  “Travis, can you take this down to Dewalt’s?”

  “Like, right now?” I asked.

  “Yeah, if you can. They want to have these out a couple days ahead of the sale.”

  “Don’t you think they should have planned for that?”

  “Should have, could have, but come on man, you’re just giving me a hard time to give me a hard time.”

  Connor Stevens was a good man. Same age as me, his kids were a little older than mine, but I had worked for him for nearly two decades.

  What could I say? I wasn’t just a creature of habit; I was dedicated to a fault. If I found something I liked, I stuck with it. That included everything. From the food I ordered at restaurants, to the peanut butter we bought.

  All the same. Never changing.

  I was the exact same way at work. If I was working on something, I finished it. I set my mind to the schedule. If a date was set for an item to be delivered, that was the day it got there.

  Changing up at the last minute was a small pet peeve of mine. Especially Dewalt’s, they did this all the time.

  “Travis? The sales flyers are ready to go. Did you see them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Buy one pound, get one pound free on select deli meats.”

  “What the hell am I gonna do with all that deli meat?”

  “Freeze half,” said Connor.

  “Oh, who the heck freezes lunch meat? Never tastes the same.”

  “Travis, take the box of flyers.”

  I grumbled. We were a five man operation, but our output was so high, we should have had ten. I was in the middle of packing the box with political postcards. “You aren’t asking me because I am set to deliver these postcards to Mayor Todd, are you?”

  “Not if you tell me you’re not gonna give him a hard time.”

  “Fine. Let me finish this and I’ll take the box,” I said.

  “You can finish them when you get back.”

  “No, I’ll finish it now and put it in the truck. If I leave it, you’ll have Jan finish and she’ll take it because she loves Mayor Todd.”

  “Everyone does,” he said.

  “I don’t.”

  “You don’t because of silly reasons.”

  That made me laugh. “Silly? You’re a grown ass man telling me I’m doing something silly.”

  “Travis, take the goddamn sales flyers.” Connor stepped back and stopped, raising his eyebrows a few times. “How was that for grown up talk? Huh?”

  “Very good.”

  “You’re a strange man, Travis Grady.”

  Was I? Probably. But strange in a good way. I was a happy man, really, life was good to me. I wasn’t one to complain.

  Dewalt’s was busy. It usually was midday. People would be out shopping, trying to get back home with the groceries before the kids got out of school. Dewalt’s was a stap
le in our town of Loudon. I had gone to school with Eddie Dewalt. He ran the store. His father still owned it, but Eddie had really made it something. It used to be the store you went to for a few items or when a person didn’t want to drive fifteen miles to the nearest Walmart. Now, it was the go to place.

  We always shopped there.

  I made a mental note to go before that big ‘buy one, get one pound of deli meat’ sale. People came from the next town for that.

  It wasn’t the good stuff. Usually the meat was left over, or stuff they had too much of. Still, it was a good deal if you liked deli meat.

  There were four boxes of flyers, so I took them around to the back loading dock. It really wasn’t much of a dock. A back entrance off the side street. Even the big delivery trucks couldn’t fit back there, they had to drop off out front.

  After loading the dolly, I carried the first three to the back, went back and got the fourth.

  The stock guys were in the back. They all said hello and I asked if Eddie was in the office.

  “Back office,” one of the men answered. “Not front.”

  “Thanks.” I carried the fourth box back to his office for Eddie to inspect.

  His office was on the upper level. It had one of those windows to spy on the employees in the warehouse, but Eddie wasn’t like that. His door was open, and I could hear the radio or something.

  It was the news or sounded like it.

  Balancing the box, I knocked on the partially open door.

  Eddie was behind his desk, rocking back and forth as he stared at his computer.

  “Hey,” I called out.

  “Oh.” He turned in his chair some. “Hey, Travis, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Obviously.” I smiled. “I got your flyers for you. Early, too.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes shifted to the computer.

  “You know, Eddie, since you know you’re having the big sale, why don’t you put in the order for the flyers early?”

  “Because I know it bothers you.”

  “Well, I need you to inspect them so I can drop off postcards for Mayor Todd.”

  “I don’t know why he wastes his money,” Eddie said. “He’s gonna win.”

  “One day I’ll beat him.” I set the box on the desk and opened it. I noticed Eddie went back to watching his computer. Something definitely had his attention and it wasn’t my presence with the flyers. I opened the flaps and pulled one out.

  Pictures of bologna, ham and salami were on the front.

  “How come you never have turkey on sale for the buy one, get one?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Never mind. So here you go,” I said. “Take a look.”

  “Sure … hey ... Travis …” He sort of glanced at me, then went right back to his computer. “Didn’t you have this?”

  “Huh?” I was confused, standing there holding the flyer. “Have what?”

  Eddie pointed to the computer and turned it slightly my way. “This virus.”

  I looked. Sure enough, Eddie was watching the news, the little ticker tape thing on the bottom read something about a virus.

  “Is that a fake video on one of them sites or is that real news?” I asked.

  “Real news. You had this right?” Eddie asked. “I mean, it was a big deal because it was rare, and you were like the town celebrity.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I saw the name of the virus.

  ARC.

  When people hear the word ‘virus’ their mind goes to a cough, fever, rash, that sort of thing. Maybe even a stomach bug, but that wasn’t what I had.

  My first symptom was I forgot how to tie my shoes.

  I mean, I really couldn’t remember. I stared at my laces like they were some multilevel Rubik’s cube.

  It was rare and it had happened about three years or so earlier. I was one of about thirty people in our country, and the second in our state. They said there were more infected in Malaysia than the rest of the world combined, but it was still rare.

  At first, I thought I had a brain tumor. Who at thirty-seven suddenly forgets how to tie their shoes? It worried me. Then I thought about my grandfather who had dementia. It was only when we went for test after test, my memory getting worse, that a lab technician taking my blood, brought up about something he had read online.

  A virus carried by insects, something like Zika or Encephalitis.

  Sure enough, I was later diagnosed with it. They never figured out how I caught it. They narrowed it down to this fishing trip. I didn’t recall getting bit by a mosquito. Then again, my short term memory had started to decline.

  I had a virus of the brain.

  They called it the ARC virus.

  Each person has the ARC gene, and ARC proteins.

  It stood for Activity Regulator Cytoskeleton. Not that I was so smart to know that off the top of my head, but I had heard it so many times and read about it, it was embedded.

  But learning the name for the acronym came after they cured it.

  They cured it pretty fast, too. It took about seven months and I had that thing for the entire seven months. Medication kept me from getting worse. I wasn’t as bad as some. I still couldn’t remember how to tie my shoes even when my kids taught me. It was like a part of my brain was saying, ‘no way, nope, not gonna learn’. But I still functioned, I went to work, Velcro shoes and all.

  Something happened after I was cured, I started not only remembering, but I also had this memory that was impeccable. I didn’t realize it had happened until they called me back for testing.

  I was like super memory guy.

  Boy, what I wouldn’t have given to have that superpower in the tenth grade.

  While the virus wreaked havoc for a brief period of time, the cure made the ARC gene stronger and the proteins powerful.

  I didn’t become the town celebrity because I had the virus, my fame was because the virus lead to a remedy, it ended up leading to the cure for a devastating illness … Alzheimer’s.

  The cure created a super ARC protein.

  The world truly rejoiced and that wasn’t an understatement. Unless folks were in the latter two stages of the disease, they started to return to reality.

  Clinical tests and studies were pushed through at hyper speed and before long, not only was it cured, but two years almost to the date of my cure, a vaccination was available. They said something like eighty percent of all men, women and children received it.

  Not me, nor the others with ARC. They said we didn’t need it.

  So, it surprised me to see them talking about ARC as a virus again.

  “Yeah, I did have that,” I said. “Is it back?”

  “Well, they’re calling it ARC-2.”

  “ARC-2? You mean like a sequel?” I chuckled.

  “You’re funny. But yeah, you would think with all of us getting the vaccination we wouldn’t get it.”

  “Maybe the vaccination for the cure only lasted so long. Who knows?”

  “Yeah, but ... didn’t they use the cured virus to make the Alzheimer vaccination? I mean, you would think we’d be immune.”

  “Maybe that’s why they call it ARC-2,” I said. “I don’t know. I’m not a scientist. What are they saying?”

  “They’re aren’t worried, I mean, after all they know how to beat it, but they’re just expecting a lot more people to get it this time.”

  “Did they say why?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Not really. Someone said because it’s winter and things spread easier then.”

  “Well, I guess Velcro shoes are gonna make a comeback.”

  “Okay, that’s not funny. I won’t wear the Velcro shoes. I remember how you looked.” Eddie reached for the flyer. “I’m excited to see this. My brother did the layout. He just got his degree online for graphic design.”

  “He did make our job easier,” I replied. “We just needed to print.”

  At first Eddie opened it up, looking at the middle. He nodded approvingly. “Looks good.”
He looked at the front. “Yeah it …” His face just froze in this shocked expression.

  “What? What’s wrong? You got that ARC sequel virus?” I joked.

  “It’s wrong.”

  “Wrong? What do you mean, wrong? Eddie, you proofed that before we printed it.”

  Eddie glanced up.

  “You didn’t proof it?”

  He exhaled loudly. “No.”

  “What is it? Where’s the error?”

  “How do you spell bologna.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” I replied. “Even before I had super memory, I used to think of that old song my dad would sing. My bologna has a first name … and it would end with Oscar Mayer has a way with ...”

  Eddie handed me the flyer.

  I stifled a laugh. “B-o-l-o-g-n-s?”

  “None of us noticed. Do we have time to reprint?”

  “Yeah, but, no reason to. No one will notice it in the store, they’ll be too busy buying it. And if they do, we’ll tell them it’s how they spell it out in California.”

  “Okay, yeah, that works.” Eddie took the flyer. “Other than that, they look good.”

  “Alright then.” I set the box on the floor. “I’ll leave these and probably see ya tomorrow here at the store.”

  “Tomorrow? Don't you mean Friday for the sale?”

  “Heck no.” I shook my head. “For as much as I love B-o-l-o-g-n-s. I’m gonna avoid the madhouse here. I mean after all, there is the virus again and it’s winter, a crowded store, things spread.”

  We both had a good laugh about it. However, I stopped laughing when I stepped from his office and the words I said registered.

  I joked about a virus in the winter spreading in a crowded store.

  That was true, but the ARC virus, at least the one I caught, was spread by mosquitos. Last I checked, there weren’t many mosquitos in the dead of winter.

  <><><><>

  There were times a man could bask in pride over the creation of the person he loved. Then there were times he just had to fake it.

  My wife. My beautiful wife Maranda. She never aged to me and was just as breathtaking as the day I met her in the ninth grade. I swore I fell in love with her in ninth grade science when she said to me, “Travis Grady, I am not gonna fail this assignment because you refuse to dissect our frog.”