Paula and the City

Jedidiah Bird

Paula jogged lightly up the stairs of the apartment building. She lived on the fifth floor, and oh how she remembered the first few months of heavy breathing, aching legs, and wishing so desperately they had an elevator. So much had changed since she first moved here almost five years ago.

Back then, she'd been an out of shape, spoiled brat, used to having her own way. Her parents weren't wealthy, but they were upper middle class. She moved to the city looking to become an actress on Broadway, but you could fill an ocean with the failed dreams this city devoured.

Still, she was lucky, and she wouldn't change anything that had happened in the last five years. Well, almost anything. If she could change it, Tyrone would let them be more than just friends. For now, it was strictly platonic; although Paula was sure they both wanted more. Tyrone, however, had a set of morals above most people she knew.

She was also aware that her parents would never stand for her to marry a black man. But she didn't care what they thought, they were old-fashioned. Tyrone was a godsend, even though he wasn't religious. It was Tyrone who'd found her sobbing on the stairs one day, after another failed audition. The same day she'd lost her third job in as many months. To make matter worse, she'd spent her last two dollars on a quart of milk, and was in the process of painfully mounting the stairs when she twisted her high heels and stumbled, busting the carton of milk all over the stairs and spraining her ankle.

She'd sat there for ten minutes crying before Tyrone came down. He was on the way to teach a Tae Bo class, but he always left enough time for emergencies, so he helped her up the stairs to her apartment and got her settled, promising to return and check on her when he finished his class. He even cleaned the milk off the stairs on his way out.

Paula had seen Tyrone before, and although never rude, she had also never been friendly. She'd always stereotyped him negatively - the big black man who looked like a boxer...or a thug, in Paula's eyes. He was at least an inch over six-feet, probably two and weighed between two hundred ten, and two hundred twenty pounds, all of it muscle.

True to his word, though, Tyrone knocked on her door later that night to check on her. They ended up talking for several hours, with Paula opening up more than she ever thought she would to a stranger. Tyrone even brought a quart of milk over from his apartment.

"Paula, you really should come down to the gym sometime. You'd be surprised at how much good it would do for your outlook," Tyrone said, not meaning to offend her.

"Do you think I'm fat?" She had gotten indignant at that point, even though it was meant well.

She hadn't been fat, far from it. But she had been soft. Eventually, she promised to try it out, not intending to carry through, but Tyrone was like a pit bull, he wouldn't let go. She started going to his Tae Bo classes and lifting weights. It actually began to make her feel good about herself. She'd always been pretty, and thought that was enough. Now she knew better.

The more in shape she got, the better she felt about herself; and the more it showed. She started taking self-defense classes and realized she really enjoyed it. More than that, she realized also that it boosted her confidence. She got a new job working as a waitress, and within a couple of months she was a manager.

Something else Tyrone introduced her to was the survivalist culture, dismissing another stereotype that she'd held. She used to think that survivalists were wacko rednecks, from places like Tennessee and Virginia, who were all extremely anti-governmental. Racially, she'd never pictured a black person with food stashed away for some mysterious emergency disaster.

She also admitted to being somewhat skeptical when he showed her his G.O.O.D. Bag, and suggested she have her own ready. He convinced her to go to a couple of meetings with local survivalists, and she found out they were all just normal people who were preparing for events that may or may not happen. Her paradigm really shifted when she realized they thought of their preparations as insurance, rather than getting ready for inevitable situations.

"You don't buy insurance for your car knowing you'll wreck it. You just hope you have it if you do." Glenn Anders would always say. "Some people can go their whole life and not need it, but you can't ever tell. For me, it's peace of mind."

If only her parents could have seen her in those first few survival courses, she'd looked like such a goof. Nowadays, she still looked funny in the camo face paint and all, but she was able to use it right. She learned how to use a compass and maps, read the stars, and other skills. She also was able to attend some events geared toward urban survival.

And yes, she learned how to handle a gun, too. For Christmas three years ago, Tyrone had given her a 9mm Glock. At first she was scared of it, but after spending many hours at the shooting range gaining proficiency, she was confident that when the time came, she could use it effectively. Still, it was too big to carry around all the time, so last year Tyrone had given her a small .25 that she could put in a pocket or her purse. She named it Baby, because of its size.

Since getting Baby, she now kept the 9mm in her G.O.O.D. Bag, which is what her survivalist friends called their 72-hour emergency evacuation kits. There were other names for it; most commonly it was called a Bug-out-Bag (BOB), or also a Go-Bag. She wasn't keen on Bug out Bag, because she thought it really fit with her old stereotypical thinking of survivalists. A G.O.O.D. Bag, however, stood for Get out of Dodge, and was less likely to conjure images of crazy rednecks talking about government conspiracies. Getting out of Dodge was good, bugging out just seemed to suggest going nuts.

As Paula finally got to the fifth floor this day, she saw Tyrone waiting. His face had a strange, worried look on it, so she knew something was wrong.

"Ty, what's wrong?" She asked quickly.

"There was some protesting today about the proposed trade agreement with China. Someone shot the mayor and a few others. There's a huge riot going on in the city, and the president has ordered a state of martial law." He stated somberly. "We need to get out of the city if we can. The rioting is getting closer, and the National Guard is being deployed."

As if to punctuate his urgency, they heard two sharp cracks, as someone fired a gun in the street. Paula began to fumble with her keys, starting to go numb with the news, before the training she'd taken in the last five years began to kick in. She opened the apartment and quickly ran into her bedroom and pulled her G.O.O.D. Bag out from under her bed. She opened the pack and pulled out her 9mm, loading it before sticking it back in. She also checked her .25 and stuck it in the pocket of her jogging hoodie. She grabbed the bag and headed down stairs to meet Tyrone.

Tyrone had pulled his Land Rover around and started to load it, but as she got down there, she saw him struggling with some rioters. One of them had a lead pipe, another had a metal baseball bat, and the third had a crowbar. Tyrone had blood on the side of his head. One of the attackers hit him in the back of the shoulders with the pipe as he was struggling with another attacker. He grunted, but kept fighting.

"Stop!" Paula screamed, dropping her bag and pulling Baby from her pocket. "Leave or I will shoot!"

The attackers looked up at her, and one whistled.

"Hey, baby, looks like you need a little ride to teach you some respect," one of them said.

"Don't worry, it ain't gonna hurt!" another smiled.

She fired once in the air, startling them. But they didn't leave.

"Oh, chica thinks she can shoot, huh? I don't think she can shoot a real person, huh, chica? Ever shoot anyone?" The apparent leader of the group jeered.

"Whatcha think that toy's gonna do, tickle?" said another, as he started to advance.

Stay calm, Paula, she told herself, just squeeze the trigger.

The pop was loud without her ear protection in. The advancing attacker jerked a little as the bullet hit him. He hadn't expected it, but it didn't slow him down. Now he was pissed. He quickly closed the distance with Paula; he was going to kill the broad when he got his hands on her.

Her heart racing, she squeezed the trigger, again. He was still coming, so she squeezed a third time, and a fourth. Each shot causing him to jerk involuntarily. The fifth shot rang out and he dropped to the pavement. She leveled the gun at the other two, but she and they both knew it was empty. The second man sprinted toward her, as she readied herself for some hand-to-hand self-defense.

As the second man moved, Tyrone suddenly sprang up, taking the third man by surprise. He wrenched the crowbar from his hands and swung. There was an audible crunching sound as the man crumbled, life vacating before he hit the ground. Tyrone grabbed his own pistol, a .45, and spun back toward the third man, still six feet from his target, Paula. The .45 roared angrily, hurtling heated lead at the object of its rage. The third man was thrown to the sidewalk by the impact, and began to convulse violently.

Tyrone and Paula looked at each other. She shivered and quickly grabbed her bag. Already, other people were appearing on the street, including more rioters and looters. They stowed their gear and got in, heading out of town. Most of the streets were impassable, and they found themselves backtracking often. They had gotten out of the largest part of the rioting, but still saw occasional looters. They also saw a few National Guard troops, but had thus far managed to evade the roadblocks.

An explosion ripped into the Land Rover, sending it sideways into a department store window. Paula was violently thrown against her restraining harness, her head feeling as though she'd been run over by a freight train. The concussive power of the blast had blown out all of the windows on the block, causing massive destruction to the surrounding buildings. Several bodies littered the street, strewn amongst the rubble.

Paula crawled through the broken window, the door being crushed inward and not able to open. She looked around for Tyrone, and saw him climbing through the busted out windshield, cuts all over his body and bleeding from his ears. He said something then, and she thought he must have lost his voice. Then she realized he was speaking fine, but she couldn't hear anything. Panic entered her mind as she realized she was deaf.

Paula dropped numbly to her knees, rivers of tears running down her face. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She had been one of the few who had prepared for the unknown, and here she was, facing something for which she'd never prepared. She was sobbing uncontrollably as she felt Tyrone's powerful arms wrap around her. He gently kissed the top of her head as he embraced her, weeping quietly himself.

The guilt wracked his body with the realization that Paula may never be able to hear the three words he should have told her so many times in the last five years. I love you. He clutched her tightly to his chest, cursing himself for every missed opportunity at letting his true feelings for her be known. He should have told her those words ten times a day...a hundred times a day!

He took her head gently in his huge hands, turned her face to his, and kissed her passionately, channeling every feeling of love, regret, heartache, and hope into that kiss. As he looked into those deep blue eyes, he saw his own feelings mirrored by hers, and noticed she had stopped crying. She was returning his kiss with just as much bottled up emotion as he'd had. Then Paula smiled. Loving Tyrone and knowing he loved her back would give her all the strength she needed to carry on.

Love without sacrifice is nothing but a word, Paula thought. And she would rather live with sacrifice than live without the love of her life.