The National Guard

The Trouble With Apartment One — Chapter 15

Here’s the latest chapter of The Trouble With Apartment One.

Washington Square Arch, 2018 — B. F. Späth

THE NATIONAL GUARD

The evening stood surrendered to the screen, the world arranging itself around the television—it locked us down without reprieve:
The towers fell—all day—and into a looming darkness.

★

As the last light faded over Cleveland Place, Thalia set to work upon the freezer—hacking away with a claw-hammer.
You shouldn’t do that—it’s under pressure—you’ll puncture it, I said—
Oh—it won’t hurt anything!
A hissing sound escaped—and in an instant—took possession of the room.

★

Toward the close of that troubled hour, as freon bled into the air—four firemen mounted the stairs to Apartment Seven.
One of them hoisted the refrigerator on his back and bore it down the steps—the others followed in his wake.

★

I met them on the sidewalk, and offered what thanks I could, but they disappeared into the night—as if I had never spoken.

★

It hit me as I reached the landing—those men back there—they’d seen half their brothers gone in a single morning…

★

As I entered Apartment Seven, I sensed An Alteration in the Air—sharp, insistent—with a reek of burning fat about the room.
It had found me out again—through every shuddering corridor and chamber—
The wind had turned against us.

★

I choked all night on smoke and ash—the morning found me seized by a gathering panic.
I’m going to my mother’s, Thalia said.
Stay here, if you want—I’m leaving—you have to take care of the cats!

★

The poison drove me down the stairs—and onto Cleveland Place.
It bore me northward, the buildings wavering in their stations, as though the ground itself had lost its measure—
Aircraft ripped the sky apart.

★

I came out upon a spectral Houston Street, the whole length given over to the barricade—and held by the National Guard.

★

Young men in battle fatigues, weighed down by automatic weapons, paced back and forth in agitation—
Barking out commands as if by rote.

★

After a brief exchange they let me pass—but not without suspicion—
What unnerved me was their youth, their uncertainty, and the sudden authority thrust upon them.
I followed Lafayette Street up to Union Square—

★

The park was nearly empty—stragglers milled about as if uncertain—
My eye was drawn to the balustrade, where a quiet font of candles burned—
Notes and prayers lay scattered in the breeze.

★

Across the square, a young man—seemingly unhinged—had set upon a woman twice his age.
A fury took hold of me—I stepped between them—cursed him—and threatened to call the police.

★

The wind arose without a warning—blowing west—and bearing down upon a stricken Union Square—
A noxious vapor followed in its wake—the smell of ash and something burning—
Candles guttered out—papers lifted up and whirled away.

★

The wind careened about the city—as if ripped from A Page of Madness—
I zig-zagged through the wicked streets, bearing southwest—
Toward some distant memory of Washington Square…