Like a lot of other cities, the East Village of Des Moines
hosted a zombie walk and pub crawl this fall, where the walking dead can roam
around, drink beer, party, and scare each other. My cousin’s Robin’s clothing
store is in the East
Village
This was just a few days after the CDC had confirmed that Eric
Duncan had the first case of Ebola here in the U.S. But people weren’t panicking;
he seemed to be doing okay and the message was simple. The United States of America
has the resources to handle Ebola. We’re not like West
Africa , and we don’t need to worry.
So Robin and I had a good time, enjoying the creepy
festivities and chatting with people who roamed into her store. The only thing
I was worried about was that customers would get their zombie makeup all over
Robin’s beautifully constructed clothes. I was in the middle of arranging a
rack of dresses when I heard a voice behind me. “Lucy? It’s you, isn’t it?”
I turned, and became nearly hypnotized, dumb with the
realization that the person who had said my name was my high school nemesis
Reggie, a guy who used to bully me relentlessly. A hunting accident post
graduation had put him in a wheel chair, plus he was in zombie makeup and he
had aged twenty-years. But I recognized those cold, hard eyes and the
diabolical scrape of his voice, as if no time had passed since when he would
terrorize me on a daily basis.
“Hello, Reggie,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Reggie laughed, causing his eyes, which were outlined in
blood-red, to squint. “Are you working in a clothing store now? Wow. Whatever
happened to the class brainiac’s big aspirations? I thought you were a college
professor in Seattle .”
I didn’t ask how he knew that, because I didn’t want to
know. “We moved back to Des Moines
last year, after my dad had a stroke. This is my cousin’s store, and I’m just
helping out for the day.”
Reggie nodded. “Yeah, and aren’t you married to Monty
Bricker?”
I nodded. It didn’t surprise me that he knew that. Everybody
in high school knew Monty, and he and Reggie’s moms were friends. But my pulse
was racing and I felt all flushed. Much as I hated to admit it, I was in panic
mode, capable only of hostility or idiocy.
“I have a lot to do, Reggie. So unless you need something, I
should get back to work.” I turned towards the clothes, away from him.
“Wait,” he said. “Midterm elections. How about the
Republican’s chances? Not only is Ernst
going to beat Braley, but the Republicans are totally going to take over the
Senate. You must hate that.”
Reggie and I always used to spar in our Civics class, taking
opposite views. Our senior year was when Dukakis lost to George H.W. Bush, and
I can still feel the burn from Reggie’s glee. So although I shouldn’t have
taken the bait, I did.
“Ernst and Braley are tied,” I retorted. “And there is still
time for Democrats to pull ahead in the other Senate races.”
Reggie chuckled. “Maybe there was still time. But not now. Obama blew it when he didn’t close
travel to and from West Africa , and the
Republicans are going to play on everyone’s panic. It’s done.”
“I don’t think so.” I sighed, looking around the store,
trying to locate Robin. She was busy, in the process of making a big sale to
some college girls.
“Oh come on, Lucy. You know I’m right. Why do you think
events like this are so popular?” Reggie gestured around, at all the zombie
stuff. “There is no better allegory for modern times than the zombie
apocalypse, because we’ve all become zombies ourselves, surrendering our
individuality to government surveillance and our autonomy to social programs
and ridiculous spending. So now there’s a virus that will actually make people
bleed from the eyes, and it’s come here to the U.S. ! People are not only going to
believe that Obama didn’t do enough to prevent it, but that on some level he
wants us to suffer. He wants us to
all be zombies.”
My mouth dropped open. “That’s insane.”
“But I’m right. And the republicans are going to capitalize
on all our fears, and they’re going to win.”
There was something tribal about the moment that passed
between us, like I could feast on that huge ego of his and spit it out all over
the floor, and I’d never be hungry again. “Reggie,” I murmured, suddenly aware
of how dry my throat was. “I don’t know why you’re talking to me like we’re
friends. We’re not. And even if all your predictions come true, you’re still a narcissist,
and I’d like you leave right now.”
Reggie raised his eyebrows in amusement, as if I’d just told
a mildly funny joke. “I was looking for a present for my wife.” He held up his
hands in mock surrender. “Sorry to ruin your day, or whatever. I’ll get out of
your hair.” He laughed and wheeled himself out of the store, and hopefully out
of my life for good.
But now, weeks later, his predictions still ring in my ears.
Especially since Monty told me he’d be D.C. indefinitely, full time. He was packing his bags one afternoon when I
came home. “They’re putting me on an emergency committee, to work with the
World Health Organization, writing briefs and policy about Ebola. This is the
worst health crisis in decades, and we need to be on top of it.”
“You won’t actually be travelling over there, will you?”
He shook his head. “I promise I won’t set foot in West Africa .”
But he left for D.C. a couple of weeks ago, and is now
working around the clock. At night when we talk, he rants about the news
coverage, that they’re causing a panic, and that people still don’t understand
that Ebola is not airborne. “But we can’t turn our backs on Liberia and
surrounding regions if we want to find a solution,” he said. “A travel ban will
just make it worse. West Africans will fly to other places first, and then come
here, so we won’t be able to monitor them, and then people really could die. I
don’t understand how Republicans can be advocating for it.”
“It’s politically motivated,” I answered, thinking about
what Reggie said. “They’re playing on people’s fear.”
“When did everyone become so ruthless?” Monty answered back.
“I can remember a time when everything wasn’t always about politics, when the
value of human life was actually put first.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed. “Any idea when you’ll be able to
come home?”
“No.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. I really miss you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
I suppose I’ll be watching the midterm election coverage
alone in a couple of weeks, if I can even bring myself to watch it at all. The
republicans have a 65% chance of taking the Senate, Mitch McConnell and Pat
Roberts are probably going to win after all, and here in Iowa , Ernst has pulled ahead. What’s worse
is that Reggie was totally right. People are freaking out about Ebola, but at
least there isn’t a real zombie apocalypse on our hands. However, that doesn’t
mean that I’m not afraid.
