Matter

CHAPTER 7

We drive to pick up Nicholas, again in silence. The hum of the engine the only sound filling our space. I go to the door and Patricia seems saddened to see him go.

As Nick moves past her, I give her a warning about what we had heard, "Patricia, you should get ready to leave. Soldiers are heading this way quickly."

"I'll be fine. If they show up, then maybe it will be time for me to go see my son and his father." She smiles as her voice trails away in a near serenity.

I'm confused by the joy exuding from her. How could death be happy? I give her a hug and she kisses Nick on the top of his head before we leave.

As I clasp Nick into his car seat, I kiss his forehead and behold his delicate features, Patricia's words revolving in my head. What would I do without him? Would I look for death? Invite it gladly?

His brown hair reflects the sunlight, the dimple in his left cheek emerges as he smiles and his blue eyes dance. I can't imagine my life without him. I climb into the front seat and we're off toward our house for the last time. Dylan and I both look back at Nick. He's blissfully playing with his Matchbox cars, completely unaware of the pending danger. He is the best part of Dylan and I. He's what makes it possible to go on each day with a smile on my face and a purpose in my heart.

We pull into the driveway and I see our picturesque brick home and our perfectly groomed lawn. As I look down the road, I see the same scene repeated, yard after yard; it's perfection as deemed by the Home Owners Association. We should have spent less time on our pathetic lives to keep up with our neighbors down the road and what they deem as necessary. What does it mean to us now? We have to leave the so-called 'perfection' that we've built, the shallow life we were told to lead. Does the Association think their rules and regulations will be important to our New Administrators? Our money will dwindle to unusable currency soon. What do we have to show for all the life we've made for ourselves now that we're leaving it?

We place a backpackof food and water for each of us in the pickup, then take one last look at theshell of our empty life as we pull out of the driveway. Not wanting to beseparated from him, I sit Nick in the front seat with us. He's excited for the change in routine and the closeness we can share. Slowly, he drifts to sleep onmy lap as I stroke his hair. What will I tell him when he wakes up and doesn't recognize where we are? How will I answer the multitude of questions that will fill this quiet space in a few short hours? Without words or barely a look between us, we pass the now leaving sign of our town in the attempt to outrun the mass army hunting everyone.