Homeland Security, Yellow Alert

by Valerie MacEwan

I only had one can of peas, a painting of my bride, who is due to
arrive from Lithuania at 3:00 tomorrow afternoon, and, of course, the clothes on my back. My security stash is safe in a rented locker at the bus depot. In my mind, I changed my bride-to-be's name to Ellerbee.  The Lithuanian one I knew I could never pronounce, it had to go. She would fly into La Guardia, then take a Greyhound to Fort Smith, and meet me, at the bus station, tomorrow. The New York to Arkansas trip would take over 35 hours. I felt bad about that.

    Actually, I began to feel bad about a lot of things. I'd lost my job,
my apartment, and lived in my car, a 1968 Barracuda with hardly enough space for me, let alone another person. I sold my TV, VCR, and my mother's ivory broach to buy Ellerbee's bus ticket. I'd bought her plane ticket during a brief flush of financial stability when I sold one of my kidneys to a local man who was desperate to live another ten years. I used the rest of the money for canned goods, duct tape, and plastic sheeting.

The duct tape came in handy last week when the bumper fell off the Barracuda after I hit a pot hole on Garrison Avenue. I'd already used some plastic sheeting to replace the rear window. I had to duct tape it real good because, if I went over 10 MPH, the plastic would balloon and the drag would almost stop the car  -- like a parachute.

    The canned goods came in handy when Farckus, my German Shepherd, finally succumbed to old age. She'd been sick a long time. The vet wanted $70 to put her down and dispose of her -- money I clearly didn't have.  So I had a private memorial service in the park, behind the Confederate Dead Memorial, then wrapped old Farckus in plastic, made a shroud out of duct tape and used cans to weight the body, hold it under, when I tipped her into the Arkansas River. I didn't want her floating into some state park swimming area, freaking out the Boy Scouts.

    When Ellerbee gets here on Friday, I hope we're not under any kind of security warning. I won't have nearly enough canned goods, duct tape, or plastic for the two of us. I'm donating blood this afternoon so I can have enough money to take her to the Broadway Grill for her first true American Meal. That way, I serve my country, then, the Randall family, down at the grill, serves me. That's how I see it. 

    I've got to get the Barracuda cleaned up, ready for company. First
thing, though, is getting me cleaned up. I'm going down to the river,
got a bar of soap from the Trade Mart bathroom, and I'll make myself respectable for my bride. She's going to want to get married right away, I suppose.