Jacqueline Druga - Immune

She was fun, she also was the quintessential, cliché Jewish grandmother.

After he finished getting ready, he opened his door. His grandmother must have been listening.

“Bubby, its eight forty-two. You need to get a move on.”

“I’m hurrying, Gram.”

“I got cinnamon buns for you.”

“Be right there.” He moved across the small apartment, and she sat in the kitchen, fully dressed and hair done.

“Bubby! Don’t you look handsome today? Have a bun, you need your nourishment.”

“Thanks, Gram. I’m gonna have to eat it on the run. The manager just sent me a text, he’s sick. He’s not coming in.”

“Well, you do have those responsibilities, you never know who will walk in the store.”

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

“And try to be home by evening. Purim starts.”

“I know.” Cinnamon bun in hand, Myron grabbed his music player and headphones and left for his day. He had no high expectations because nothing out of the ordinary ever really happened to Myron, and this day would be no different.

It was the third time in a year that Grace Howard spent the night in jail. Not that she was a criminal, far from it, in fact. Grace had never committed a crime in her life. However, some other woman with the same name, same birthday, had a laundry list of bench warrants and when Grace got pulled over, they arrested her and impounded the car.

She couldn’t be lucky enough to get stopped in the same borough. Three times. Three different areas of the city.

The previous time, she was in county lock up for three days because it was a holiday weekend. She had been fighting it ever since, and they kept assuring her it was handled.

It wasn’t.

At first she wondered if the mug shot would give it away, but when Grace saw the mug shot while in county, she saw why there was confusion. She and the other Grace had physical similarities.

She was released early and the arresting officer took her to the impound lot to get her car. The battery on her phone had died, so she had to wait until she got to work. She would have called off of work, but it was Wednesday and a big day for school tours.

Grace worked at the Museum of Natural History. With a degree in Archeology, she dreamt of traveling the globe, but that wasn’t feasible with a husband and two daughters, so Grace worked in the fossil division, dusting off bones while scores of schoolchildren watched her in the window.

She came close to going to Egypt once with the museum, but she quickly learned her passport had been revoked due to outstanding warrants. By the time she cleared that up, it was too late.

Grace arrived at the museum and was surprised to see there wasn’t a single school bus out front. Usually there were at least five or six.

Maybe it wasn’t Wednesday.

Her co-worker Mark was in the lab, already in his coat, already working.

“Morning,” she announced as she raced in and grabbed her lab jacket.

“You’re disheveled.”

“Well, I spent the night in jail.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

“Grace Howard?”

“Yep.” She grabbed gloves and goggles from the counter. “I got pulled over for a taillight. Who ever knows when they have a taillight out? There should be an indicator system in your car.”

“So why did you spend the night in jail.”

“I had no one to vouch for me.”

“What about your husband?”

“Scott was home with the girls and he has this bug, Macy too.” She walked to her work area. “I was fine. They were very apologetic and bought me a latte.”

“What was his excuse last time?” Mark said. “I think your husband uses this as mini vacations from you.”

“Probably.” Grace looked out the big observatory window. There was one lone woman moving slowly through the exhibits. “Did we cancel tours today?”

“No, why?”

“I don’t see a bus and that…” she pointed to the woman, “is odd. Only one person.”

The woman moved aimlessly, staring down, as if looking for something.

“Hmm.” Mark peered out the window. “Weird. I can’t speak for her or the lack of people, I can speak for the buses. I guess you didn’t hear.”

“Probably not, I was in jail.”

“A lot of the schools canceled classes today. There’s a rumor that the virus is in the city.”

“How can that be? It’s contained in South America.”

“You know how people get,” Mark shrugged.

“I wonder if the girls had school. Shit.”

“What?”

“I better call to let Scott know I’m out.” Grace picked up the work phone and dialed. It rang without an answer. “Odd, he knows the work number.”

“You want to send a text?” Mark extended his phone.

“Yeah.” Grace reached out and when she did, from the corner of her eye, she saw the woman teeter. Grace turned her head to see the woman drop to the floor. “Oh my God!” Grace rushed to the window. “Mark, call 911.”

It was impossible to leave the lab and go directly to the main floor. Grace had to go out of the lab door, down the hall, and race around. In the few seconds it took her, security had arrived.

She wasn’t a large woman by any means, still wearing a winter coat, despite that it was fifty degrees out. But it took both security men to carry her because the woman began to thrash. Her arms fought the security men, legs kicking up and down, while her body twisted. Her head moved as well, and if Grace didn’t know any better, she would think the woman was trying to snap at the security men like a mad dog.

The security men tried to calm her as they carried her out of the main floor.

Stunned, and heart racing, Grace returned to the lab.

“What the hell was that?” Mark asked.

“I… don’t know. Some sort of seizure.”

“Hope it’s not that virus,” Mark said. “You’re screwed if it was.”

Admittedly, Grace didn’t know much about it. It had started in a small town in Bolivia, and had never made the news because it vanished as quickly as it started. It had resurfaced, garnishing attention, and the only reason Grace knew anything about it was because her nine year old daughter, Candice, asked.

She had responded with a quick Cliff Note version from information gathered on the internet. It didn’t seem scary, so Grace tucked it away in the back of her mind.

However, after watching the woman, hearing about the schools, and seeing the empty museum, Grace decided to check the internet one more time to see what was being said about the illness.

That was, of course, after she tried to call home one more time.

Paul Furlong typed the words, ‘Heading to Canada’ and hit send. He placed down his phone and sat back in the booth of his favorite Chinese restaurant.

He had a different perspective on things. Everything in the restaurant looked different, despite the fact that it hadn’t changed in two decades. Not even the waiter, Ed, had changed. Paul often wondered about him but never asked Ed anything about his background. All he knew was Ed worked for the previous establishment and he came with the deal.

A man in his sixties who looked seventy, Paul had been a ‘two times a week regular’ at Silver Palace since he was in college twenty-years earlier.

Ed wasn’t Asian; he was the only worker there who wasn’t. But Ed was a staple and was always there.

Ed set the tea pot on the table and asked, “The usual?”

“Nah, let’s mix it up. Let’s do the shrimp and lobster sauce.”

“You are mixing it up.”

When Ed turned, Paul called out. “Hey, Ed. You know I have been coming here for decades, and I’ve never asked. Are you married? Kids?”