Edward Bloor - A Plague Year

Mrs. Cantwell’s face faded and CNN returned. At first, I could not believe what I was hearing. The CNN anchors, who should have been talking about New York City and Washington, D.C., were talking about us instead. About Somerset County. About western Pennsylvania.

We were under attack?

I turned to Arthur. “Pennsylvania?”

He waved me off—“Shut up”—and continued to glare at the screen.

A plane had just crashed in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. Basically right next to us. It could have been in Haven County. It could have been right here—on our school, on my house, on the Food Giant.

Mr. Proctor looked at me and said, “Remember today, September eleventh. It’s going to change everything.”

He raised up the remote and clicked to different channels. The horrible news was everywhere, and it just kept coming. A car bomb had detonated outside the State Department Building in Washington, D.C. There were mass evacuations going on in New York City and Washington.

Then, just before 10:30, the second World Trade Center tower followed the first, disintegrating before our eyes, killing everyone still trapped inside, including all the firefighters and police who had run in to save people.

I turned around and looked behind me. Most kids just looked stunned, like this was way too much for them to handle.

That Ben kid kept saying stuff like “My dad’s gonna be really pissed. Supermad. Like furious.”

Jenny Weaver sobbed as she stared at the TV. “All those people, thousands of them, they all have families.”

And me? What did I feel? I know this is strange, but I was secretly thrilled by the reports. We had never been part of the big story, the news headlines. Never. And now we were part of the biggest story to happen in my lifetime. It was happening right here. “Pennsylvania,” the reporters kept saying. And I felt connected to the big world, to the real world, for the first time. This was happening to us , and it was being recorded in my journal.

At 10:45, an announcement came on for bus riders to go to the bus loop. At eleven o’clock, car riders were told to gather out front at their drop-off spot. I figured that Mom would be tuned in to all this and would be there, but she was not. Neither was Arthur’s mom, my aunt Robin.

I hung out with Lilly, not speaking at all. Then I heard Arthur’s voice behind me. “Payback time, cuz! This is it. Vengeance is ours, saith the Lord!”

Lilly asked him, “What are you talking about?”

“Vengeance. Payback. I’m talking about a military response. They’ll be needing a lot of men, and I’ll be one of them.”

“A lot of men to do what?”

“To get whoever did this!”

I shook my head in total confusion. I asked, “Who would do this, Arthur? And why? It seems so crazy.”

Arthur shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares? It’s a matter of honor now. We’re going after them. We’re gonna kick ass and take names, cuz. The wrath of God will descend, and the infidel will be slain. Amen.”

When I looked closer, I was surprised to see that Lilly had been crying. She asked me, “Does this mean they’ll close the Food Giant today?”

I shook my head. “People will be panic-buying. Who knows when there’ll be more food deliveries. All planes are grounded. Maybe all trucks—”

“Tom!”

“What?”

“Just yes or no. Will they close the damn store?”

“No.”

“That’s all you have to say.”

Mom pulled up at 11:15. She told us, “Your father called. He said the store is a complete madhouse.”

We drove straight to the Food Giant parking lot. It was crowded and chaotic. Mom eased the car into a parking space. “They say we may not be getting groceries for days. I have to stock up.”

As we wended our way through the lot, I saw Dad and Bobby corralling carts. I hurried over to join them.

As soon as he spotted me, Bobby pointed and cried out, “Tom was there! He told me to do it. Didn’t you, Tom?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. The planes? The World Trade Center?

But then it hit me.

“Oh my God!” I stopped and stood with my mouth hanging open. I had forgotten all about the prank on Bobby. I had forgotten to tell Dad.

Bobby’s stubby finger stayed aimed at me.

Dad maneuvered a train of carts my way. He looked really pissed off. When he got close enough, he said through clenched teeth, “Of all days to pull a stunt like this! With our country under attack!”

“It was yesterday, Dad. We didn’t know—”

Bobby screamed, “You did know!”

“I mean about the attacks.” I half whispered to Dad, “Oh my God. What did Bobby do?”

Dad snarled, “He did what he was told to do.”

I cringed.

“Mrs. Mercer came up to me at eight, before all… this happened. She told me that Bobby had said something inappropriate. Did you put him up to it?”

“No!”

“Did you know anything about it?”

“Yes, I knew,” I admitted. “And I meant to tell you. I just forgot. I’m sorry.”

I told Bobby, very sincerely, “I am really sorry.”

“You’re a liar! You’re like Reg the Veg!”

“No, I’m not. I’m not like Reg. And I’m not lying.”

“Yesterday! You lied yesterday. You told me it was the banana promotion.”

“No, I didn’t. I just… didn’t tell you that it was a lie. I just stood there. I let it happen. I’m sorry.”

Dad looked at me with great disappointment. “Did you really think that was a funny joke, Tom?”

“No. No, sir.”

His eyes swept the parking lot. “Well, we have more serious things to worry about now. Bobby, do you accept Tom’s apology? Can we all get to work?”

Bobby was quick to forgive. (He always is, except when it comes to Reg.) He shrugged. “I accept it.”

“Okay. Please, both of you, get these carts into the store.”

Dad took off, nearly running, and squeezed through the entranceway between clumps of shoppers.

Bobby and I threw ourselves into a frenzy of cart collecting, and bagging, and wheeling groceries out. All fifty carts were in use, and all were full of groceries, and all three registers were running.

The frenzy did not let up until 6:00 p.m. By then the shelves were about three-quarters bare. Dad and Uno had restocked them steadily throughout the day, but the stockroom, too, was now reduced to just a few cartons and lots of empty wooden pallets.

Mom came back at 6:05 and took Lilly home, but Dad wanted me to stay. (He was still mad about the Bobby prank.) I wound up working until 10:30, over ninety minutes after the store had closed. Uno (who was also in Dad’s doghouse) and I had to sweep the front, the storeroom, and the parking lot.

By the time we were driving home, though, munching on our deli sandwiches, Dad had let the Bobby thing go. He wanted to talk about something else. He said, “I had to fire Vincent this morning.”

“What? Why?”

Dad shook his head in mild disbelief. “He was stealing.”

“Stealing? Stealing what?”

“Cleaning supplies.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And over-the-counter drugs. Boxes of cold medications.” Dad pondered that. “Cleaning supplies and cold medications. Isn’t that a weird combination?”

I told him, “Yeah.” And I thought it was.

But I wouldn’t think so for long.