Ryan Wiley: Disappearance

While I’m driving, I still don’t see any cars. What is with people these days? The power goes out and everyone decides to lock themselves away in their house? When I get to McDonald’s, I can see it’s a ghost town. There is exactly one car in the parking lot, which I’m guessing has been there for a while because it’s parked in the farthest spot away. I’ve never been good at identifying car brands so let’s just call this one junk. My guess is someone just gave up on it one day and left it here for good.

Seeing that there’s no point in staying here, I pull through the parking lot and make my way to the grocery store. There still aren’t any cars, but when I think about that it doesn’t surprise me. With the power outage, these mostly mom-and-pop shops must be waiting on the electricity to kick back on.

The road the grocery store is on seems to be more of the same and I pull in to the big empty parking lot. Since I made the trip, I decide I’m going to get out of the car for once and inspect further. It’s funny, even though there isn’t a person in sight, I still park in the closest non-handicap spot. I can just imagine walking about twenty yards away from my car and miraculously a police car pulls up and gives me a ticket. That’s just how lucky I am.

I walk up to the automatic sliding doors but they don’t open. I beat on the door but that doesn’t work either. When I peek inside, I see the electricity is out. There’s enough daylight that I can see inside and tell everything is normal — well, besides there being nobody inside. I decide this is a lost cause, and my stomach growling has put me in an even fowler mood.

I trace my thoughts back to what food I do have left at the house. I’m stocked full of stuff in the pantry with an almost lifetime supply of canned beans. But, I realize, those would be pretty disgusting without a microwave. I do have a few things left in the refrigerator, mainly a bit of sliced ham I could use to make a sandwich. That seems like my best course of action for now until I figure out what’s going on and why nobody seems to be out today.

As I make my way home, I observe plenty of cars and trucks still parked in people’s driveways. Is this out of the ordinary? Maybe there are always a lot of cars parked even when the power is out.

I pull into my driveway and reach up and press the garage door opener, forgetting about the power again. I get out of my car and go through my newfound, annoying routine of opening it the old fashioned way. As I open the door, my optimistic personality starts to kick in as a little part of me is expecting Abby to be here.

“Honey, you there? Hello! Hello!” There’s still no answer. My patience is starting to boil, and it’s getting very frustrating. Why didn’t she leave a note telling me where she was going? If she did carpool with a coworker, why didn’t she kiss me goodbye?

As I go to the fridge, I realize I need to open and close the door as quickly as possible to leave the cold air in because who knows how long the power will be out. It’s the middle of fall in Ohio, so the temperature is usually around the 50s or 60s. It’s already starting to cool down in the house, and I’m not a big fan of cold weather. If the power was on and I was home the thermostat would be set on a nice, warm seventy-five degrees.

As I take the ham out, I see there are about two “my size” servings left. I don’t really care about conservation though at this point because I’m starving. I’m going to demolish this jumbo-size sandwich with no regrets. While I’m eating, I go into game-plan mode.

What kind of place would be open, even when there’s no power? I’m guessing the police station might be a good place to begin. I would hope people’s safety is a 24/7 job even with no power. Maybe they know exactly where the power is out. If it’s just in this area, I could head outside of town and reach a pay phone to check up on Abby.

Now that I think about it, that would be logical. If a coworker picked Abby up and carpooled to work and they have electricity at their office, it would make perfect sense that she hasn’t been concerned or tried to call. Not that she could reach me anyway. I’m now convinced that is what happened. After all, she does have two close friends, Anna and Kristie, who make the same daily commute. Anna and Abby work at the same company, a nursing home where they both assist the elderly. I can’t even remember what Kristie does. I know Abby has told me about where she works before but I remember it being kind of confusing. Whatever it is, I do remember that it’s very close to where Abby and Anna work.

I’ve always thought that it’s crazy that all three of them ride separately to work. If I had their commute, being a passenger two-thirds of the time would be much more to my liking. I would have forty-five minutes both ways to read or get some productive work done. I’ve asked Abby about this, and she says Anna and Kristie have different work schedules. Anna often has to stay later because she has more people to take care of. Kristie, I believe, has to do some traveling during the day, so sometimes she isn’t nearby when it’s time to come home.

This is what Abby has told me, but I think the honest answer is she likes her long commute. Abby is a very emotional and attached person. It’s hard for me to understand why she chose nursing for the elderly as a profession. “I just love old people,” she says. I will admit that I have been at her work before and seen her in action and she is terrific at what she does. Many of the patients barely have an idea of what’s going on but she somehow manages to make them smile. It’s a job I can’t imagine myself doing, as I’m nowhere near the people person she is. Give me a computer, Wi-Fi, and an empty room and I’m happy.

I’ve always thought about how great it would be if you had solitary confinement in prison. The only outside communication would be someone pushing food and water in through a little hole in the door. Of course I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a room forever. I would need to have some sunlight or I would go crazy. But if I could live in solitary confinement and somehow sweet-talk the guard into giving me a laptop and Wi-Fi, that would be paradise!

Abby couldn’t last through that scenario for an hour. She would get so bored and become so desperate for human contact, I picture her running full-speed into the door trying to get out.

I think Abby uses her solitary commute home as a way to think about the elderly patients she works for. It’s always very hard on her when one of her patients dies. I can always tell when she gets home if this has happened. She does everything she can to hide her sadness but I always know. When she has a good day though, it’s equally as obvious. She seems to glow the entire night as I listen to her tell crazy stories about what her patients did that day. I’m sure this violates some kind of privacy regulation, but I’ll bet ninety-nine percent of doctors and nurses are doing the same thing when they get home.

I make my way toward the bathroom. Before I begin to do my business though, I think about whether this is a good idea or not. Will the toilet flush without electricity? I feel like such an idiot for not knowing this — if only I could do one quick Google search and know the answer for sure. Unfortunately, at this point in the bathroom process I’m going to have to learn first-hand what the answer is. As I finish up my darker-than normal-bathroom experience, I move my hand over the flusher. I pause and take a deep breath, “Here goes nothing” and press down. Much to my delight, I watch the water swirl around and make its way down into the depths below.

Now that I have everything in order and a full stomach, it’s time to make a decision on my next course of action. Before I leave and waste gas, especially considering I’m not sure if gas stations are working now, I think I’m going to ring on a few more neighbors’ doors and see if they happen to know anything. If there’s a reason besides the power being out that everyone seems to be staying home now, I’d very much like to know about it.