It wasn’t a distinct moment. It happened in a flash, it was imperceptible. It was almost perfect. Ivan was in his old car, transmission would freeze here and there, but human and machine knew each other very well. Only Ivan could tame the metal beast. The scratched red paint had personality, and the torn seats, expelling the foam filling, squishing its guts out, made it unique. Ivan covered the seats with the old wool blanket this grandma gave him. His car was still alive, motor was still running, wheels still rolled, windows still protected from the Armageddon. It protected so well it went unnoticed.
He stopped in front of a pedestrian crossing. A beautiful young lady launched herself in front of the cars. She was perhaps a couple or even five years younger, sun was coming down slowly and the golden skin with green eyes and her dark hair in an updo with only two curls framing her delicate face made him forget he almost ran over her. What a beauty, he thought. She could have a bit more meat, but he wasn’t perfect either. She was in front of a five star hotel, she would never look at a bum like him.
What went unnoticed is that the tan lady with green eyes froze in the middle of the crossing, traffic accumulating both ways of the small road. He honked and lowered the window and screamed at the tourist, she was startled enough to cross to the other side. Her stare was blank, if had he not looked at her breasts, he would have noticed it before. She was a stupid tourist, like the other thousands.
Ivan parked his old buddy and jumped out. The air was floral, in summer, how could it be floral if the grass was golden and spiky, dried and dead. He covered his mouth and got his beaten-up shopping bag, looking down minding his business. Milk, eggs, strawberries, he wondered why they still had strawberries, it was boiling hot outside. Strawberries from abroad, tourists from abroad, perhaps only Ivan and his tiny old car were local.
Another blank stare from the cashier after his brief greeting. People around him smelt floral, after a whole day working, he was probably the only person stinking in his small town. While his groceries sang beep beep, he discreetly sniffed his armpits and confirmed he was the only person not smelling floral, he reeked of hard work in summer.
Fifteen, ninety-two, sir. The cashier stared at nothing while Ivan searched in his old leather wallet for a two cent coin. There it is. He delivered the coin with an awkward smile not returned by the cashier.
He drove home, a tiny one room apartment with a beautiful view he inherited from his great-aunt. The post war furniture was still standing tall, strong and caramel, his whole house had caramel colored plywood. The walls were white, except near the stove that he used to heat the house and boil water in winter, just like she did fifty years ago.
The sun was in its last rays before it hid behind the mountain west. He loved his balcony, ample around his apartment with a drying rack, when his ex-girlfriend lived with him, he had three, now that he was single he needed only one and the other two he hid, waiting for the next woman. He sat on his chair and opened a beer, he hated cans, the taste was subpar, he only drank from glass bottles.
The floral scent was perhaps impregnated inside his nostrils; he watched people up and down his street. Frozen plastic faces, blank stares, walking up and down into nowhere. The floral scent raising to his first-floor apartment. He got up and closed the windows and turned on the TV, left it on the news where journalists complained about the few babies and the many immigrants while he prepared his bread and cheese wondering if he would at some point earn enough to have a bigger place to accommodate a wife and a child. TV people knew nothing. He changed channels and watched cartoons while biting his stale bread that he fixed with cold butter, cheese, and a cold cut.
The scent, however, penetrated through the cracks, how annoying, he thought and searched for rags to close gaps from the doors and windows. He took a shower and washed away his exhausting day. He woke up and had cookies and coffee. Ivan’s real breakfast was at the company he was employed; with the leftovers from the previous day, his waistline was growing, but while he held that job he would take profit from infinite food, he would lose the belly only if it didn’t fit in his trousers.
With his head out of the door, he noticed how pungent and sweet the floral scent became and had trouble keeping his eyes and nostrils open. His car was his solace, despite the fog. It was boiling hot for 8 AM, Ivan wondered what on Earth happened to have a white fog. Until a body hit the windshield. And another one. Frozen expressions, blank stares, white square teeth smiles, wide eyes, tan skin. Cheap linen on earthy tones leaning to cream and terracotta for men and flowery dresses for women. Ivan froze behind the wheel. His car was surrounded by good-looking people trying to walk through his car with cellphones in their hands, taking selfies.
“Can’t you see me? Can’t you see my car?” He screamed, not daring to lower his window. “Move away!” He turned the car and moved slowly. But when he reached the main road, a line of cars, all engines running, with doors open, empty. He needed a ten minute drive to work in the tiny hotel, cleaning the pool and cutting the grass. No other car had people inside, he drove slowly, deviating from empty cars in both directions and people grouping in the two cafés near the flower wall with matcha drinks, taking pictures and dumping the drinks aside, forming a mountain of empty cups and straws, and a green stream slowly finding its way inside a storm drain.
He was able to bypass the confusion near his house and head to his job. And having breakfast from the buffet, the hotel was empty, depleted even from workers, the cold cuts, fruits and breads were unattended, forgotten perfectly placed on many platters. Ivan could not think with an empty stomach. He closed every door leading to the breakfast room and ate as much as he could stuff himself and then packed every bit of food and threw it inside two bags. He scanned outside, he surrounded the hotel and went into the deposit and grabbed water too and loaded the car. Before leaving he fed the gray hotel cat. “Old lady, you will need to fend for yourself for a bit, good luck.” He said after leaving all her kibble on a big platter and many water bowls.
Before closing the beverage deposit, he went back to the whisky and grabbed the box with six bottles. The cars were still lined up like the previous day. Ivan had a small hose for emergencies and decided to fill up the tank with the courtesy of the guests. He thought about stealing a beautiful sports car, but he would not leave his old buddy behind in the apocalypse. He would stick with his car forever, and he knew forever would be only probably another few days.
He knew a cabin in the mountain, he could wait in it until the mass hysteria died down. Inside his car he held the wheel tight and told himself: “I will not stop the car, not even for people… only for animals, not for people”. His car started with a coughing noise, and he knew no sports car would be able to climb a mountain like his red little buddy.
The car went slowly mountain up, on a narrow road sided by a cliff with few tall trees. The mountain side had burnt grass and stones to cushion him and his old car. Ivan risked opening the window and removing the T-shirt covering his mouth and nose. The air was pure and fresh smelling of cow dung, wet soil and trees. He knew it was too early to be relaxed, but he opened both windows and drove up to the small mountain cabin.
It wasn’t noon yet when he reached the cabin, it was from his school friend, he remembered his summers as a teen and hoped his friend would have the same idea, he was bringing whisky for two! He was no killer, but he brought a spraying can against hornets and hoped for the best. He knocked on the cabin door but nothing, it was empty, he knew he could open the back window, giving to the kitchen. The dusty cabin would be his hiding place until the floral-scented people left his precious town.
He transferred his water, food, and booze inside the cabin, dusted what he could and closed windows and doors. It was a pity, he could see his town and beautiful lake but had to settle for brown windows and white walls. He ate a sandwich. His brain remembered the whisky bottle, he drank one dose and left it on the floor. Then another dose. Would the water and electricity be billed during Armageddon? He got up, tipsy and went to find candles, the cabin had no water or electricity. He found only a pack; he would also stay in the dark. What if they charge us retroactively? What is the protocol? Am I unemployed? The pool still has to be cleaned, though, will I have a boss to give me a paycheck? His brain traveled until he found a corner to sleep.
He woke up and could see the sun peeking through the cracks. He checked his watch, it was another day. Ivan forgot the toothbrush, he cursed, there would not be dentists in Armageddon. He washed his mouth with water and whisky and proceeded to have stale bread and cheese. On his last bite, the door resonated with a powerful knock. He ignored it the first hour. But the person was insistent, he opened the window just to evaluate if the human was worth saving, if it would be worth to share his provisions.
The smallest aperture was enough for him to feel the floral scent so concentrated he inhaled in shock. Ivan tried to exhale and cough it out. How could they come so far up the mountain? He felt dizzy and sat down on the floor, less than a step away from the armchair. The woman opened the window and pushed his body, withgoing the transformation. His body jerked, his skin, pale, became sun kissed, his hair combed to the back, his denim shorts and T-shirt transformed into an olive-green cotton long sleeved shirt and large cream linen pants with leather sandals.
Ivan got up, frozen face, his vision was rosé colored, his eyes were empty. He looked at the woman with a slick back bun. There is this matcha place we should try!
