Sweet Sixteen

Sweet Sixteen

My name is Janis Irving; my birthday is three months away, December 12, 2012. In all likelihood, I will never see it. According to the authorities, Central Ohio will be one of the last regions destroyed; even so, we only have a month, maybe. There is no way to be certain—the estimates change daily. Satellite signal is our last bridge to the world. I'm leaving this written record.

Those who live near coastal waterways are lost already. Volcanoes have killed millions around the world. Hawaii is a river of fire. Earthquakes have turned California into a pile of rubble. As I pen these words, the forces of the universe are haphazardly tossing skyscrapers to-and-fro, like an army of enormous sci-fi monsters playing “fifty-two card pickup”.

The world is actually ending.

My family has taken refuge in our neighbors’ bomb shelter. They tolerate our intrusion because my father is financially able to help them. Now, he rarely goes outside, except to purchase supplies off the black market. I have no idea why they call it the black market. Even though I’ve been in advanced placement classes since the fourth grade, and possess an extremely high I.Q., the amount of information I don’t understand is increasing exponentially. I suppose it doesn’t matter. I suppose nothing really matters, other than deciding how to face the inevitable. What will I do? What decisions will I make before my existence is over? Admittedly, my choices are limited and will mostly consist of endless, mental exercises. I am well adjusted.


Two weeks left:

My parents are atheists. They made it clear to me, very early on, they didn’t believe in God. Moreover, they eloquently explained the absurdity of an omniscient, omnipresent being sitting on a throne, where the streets are paved with gold, punishing and rewarding earth’s inhabitants without rhyme or reason. Why are children born retarded? Why do evil people prosper while good people suffer with incurable diseases? Their arguments are as persuasive now as they were when I was a small child. Notwithstanding, interestingly enough, before the earth found itself on the precipice of annihilation, I described myself as a hopeful agnostic. At fifteen, I assumed there would be ample time to deal with these age-old philosophic matters.

I’ve never been to church, or prayed. It seems only logical that the absence of the latter is connected to not experiencing the first. These are the questions dominating my thoughts this week. Joy, our neighbors’ daughter, is seventeen. My parents consider her overbearing and disapprove of her crusading behavior. Until recently (about when the universe erupted), Joy’s singular mission in life was to save my soul from eternal damnation.

To my relief, and befuddlement, she suddenly abandoned her campaign. This perplexes me. Now that we are on the brink of the abyss, why wouldn’t she double her efforts? In fact, instead of being her confident, outgoing self, Joy’s personality has taken a dark, fearful twist. She cries for hours at a time and refuses to participate in our group meetings. This seems inordinately inconsistent with her belief system. I suppose it is to be expected. Everyone is acting strangely.



One week left:

Our satellite signal has been interrupted. Blackish gray soot hangs in the air, blocking out the sun’s warming rays, and the pungent odor is almost unbearable. Explosions can be heard in the distance. The adults have decided it is no longer safe to go outside. Yesterday, Dad purchased kerosene and water. It cost fifty times the usual price. Upon his return, his comments made me remember a story about a Vietnam veteran—a Medal of Honor recipient—who died homeless on a park bench across from the White House. Man’s capacity for self-interest, greed, and neglect is mind-boggling.

I should have comforted Joy.

After my ridiculous rant about the cost of the water, Dad told me not to be so quick to judge my fellow man. Explaining that all of us are only products of our environment, which encompass that part of the world we inhabit, our genetics, educational opportunities, our parental upbringing, and a host of random occurrences that are completely out of our control. “These are unprecedented times,” he said. “The prospect of Armageddon affects everyone differently. Sweetie, there were dead bodies everywhere.”

I was familiar with this term. Armageddon is a biblical scenario that ushers in the end of the world. Never before had I heard him use that word. My father, and mother as well, were acting and saying things out of the ordinary. For example: They both bowed their heads when the others prayed at mealtime. Once, I heard Mom ask Joy’s mother to remember us in their prayers. Mom got sick shortly after that. Radiation poisoning is the likely culprit.

No one escapes death. We all have to die. Does the sadness come from having to leave this world prematurely, or does the thought of non-existence simply terrify us. For the majority of people, after everyone that knows them dies, it will be as if they never existed. Of course, there are exceptions: those historical or famous figures that have made important contributions to society will be remembered. It appears even that privilege will soon be canceled. My father used the correct word: Unprecedented.

What is the difference between children being told they are going to die from leukemia, and my present situation? How did the Jews feel when they realized what was being perpetrated during the Holocaust? When a young couple is informed their child will not live much longer, what comfort awaits them?



Four days left:

We were born to die.



Three days left:

We have been dying since the beginning of time.



Two days left:

Joy has slipped into a coma. Her parents are hysterical. Everyone is sick. There is a metallic taste in my mouth. Dad has covered us with blankets. He is having trouble breathing and speaks in short, breathy sentences. He always calls me sweetie.

“It won’t be long now, sweetie. Your mother will go soon, and then me. Sweetie, I don’t want you to be afraid. There is plenty of water left. You are young . . . and strong. Listen to me. Conserve your energy and stay away from the dead bodies. Anything is possible—you might make it. I love you. We raised you the best we knew how. Your mother and I are very proud of you. We did our best to prepare you for this world. I didn’t know it would end so soon.”

“Hush, Daddy. Rest. You did everything possible to enable me to think for myself. There is nothing more you could have done to prepare me for this moment. I love you.”

Joy’s father interrupted "our" moment. He began screaming about God forsaking his family--he wailed and beat his chest. His wife and daughter were covered with plastic and had been moved into a corner. Their time had come. I remembered a silly article in a teen magazine about important milestones.

The kerosene heater quit. If only we had been better stewards of the earth. All that discussion about alternative energy, taking to our enemies, and human rights . . .

Science classes bored me--such a funny thing to remember. I'm tired. The shadows look tormented, defeated. I feel sleepy.



One day left:

Maybe this is a dream. Maybe I will wake up and everything will be fine. Maybe my mother and father aren't dead. Maybe I will have the opportunity to help my fellow man. Maybe I will have time to contemplate the mysteries of the universe, and make up my mind about Jesus, about God.

I wish I could live to be sweet sixteen.

The End