Non-Essential
- Fiction by Niles Reddick –
Locally, only twenty-two had contracted Covid 19, and in fact, more people had the flu, sinus infections, and STDs, but hopefully those ailments wouldn’t kill them. Of the twenty-two, none had died, but nationwide, nearly ten thousand had. Julie felt bad for those in California, New York, Seattle, and other big cities, but she felt her own world in Indiana had been turned topsy-turvy, especially since she couldn’t get her nails and hair done.
The Mayor had seen fit to close most businesses and put a spank down on the public, making them stay home. The only way one could get out is if she was an essential employee, or if there was a need for groceries or health care. Even churches had gone online, and Julie meant to watch it, just like she meant to tithe, but she didn’t.
Julie told her husband, Mike, “I’m essential. Somebody’s got to pull the messages off the phone, get the mail, post payments, and keep that office going. Nobody else knows how to do all of that, and if that don’t make me essential, I don’t know what does. If those payments don’t get to the home office in time, people will lose their insurance.”
“You don’t need to go every morning. Maybe just go two or three times a week. You’re supposed to have something from the employer saying you’re essential. If you get pulled over, they could fine you, and you can bet your ass that insurance company won’t pay it.”
“They aren’t going to fine me. Besides, this will only last a couple of weeks, and everyone will be back at work. You’ll be back on the line at the battery plant in no time, too. It’s gonna get bad, though, if I don’t get some color for my hair!”
Mike rolled his eyes and scanned channels, and Julie went out the door, all dolled up to work in an empty office. As she was driving down Carter Street, she saw a police car behind her and after a minute or two, the blue lights flashed. Julie pulled her Impala to the curb, put on her hazards, pressed the window button, and turned off the ignition. “Officer, what seems to be the problem?”
“Morning, mam. You have a break light out.”
“You’re kidding. I just had this thing serviced. It’s brand new.”
“They don’t make them like the used to,” the officer said. “Where’re you headed?”
“I have to go to the office for work.”
“Do you have a letter from your employer saying you are essential?”
“No, sir.”
“You realize we’re on a lock down?”
“Yes, I did hear that.”
“I’ll have to give you a citation, but if you get your employer to provide a letter to the local court, the judge might cancel any fine.”
“I was just going to do a couple of things and then go to the grocery store.”
“Sorry, mam.” The officer handed her a citation. He scribbled a warning for the brake light and a noted the violation of the Mayor’s curfew.
Julie’s hands shook and she started the Impala, put on her left blinker even though traffic was almost nonexistent, and began to cry. She didn’t cry because the officer treated her in a mean way, but she cried because she was not essential, and she knew it. Neither was Mike. Life hadn’t turned out the way they’d hoped and dreamed when they were younger. They never bought a condo, moved to Florida, and started a business together like they had dreamed.
Now, the bank would postpone the mortgage, but not forgive it, and a stimulus check from Trump and unemployment would not pay their bills: car and truck payment, electric, water, gas, and insurance, to name a few. Julie was nauseas, drove around the block to avoid a U-turn, and went home. She didn’t tell Mike about the citation. He was consumed with a movie on Netflix. Julie went to the restroom, removed the tear-stained make-up, took the scissors, cut her hair, and washed it. With the gray coming in at the roots, and now with a lot of the brown hair on the counter and in the sink, she looked more natural. “I am essential,” she said to the mirror. “It’s the manager who’s not essential. He couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag without me. Same’s true for Mike. They couldn’t make a battery without him. It’s time for a change.”
Niles Reddick is author of the novel Drifting too far from the Shore, two collections Reading the Coffee Grounds and Road Kill Art and Other Oddities, and a novella Lead Me Home. His work has been featured in eleven anthologies and in over two hundred literary magazines including The Saturday Evening Post, PIF, New Reader Magazine, Forth Magazine, Cheap Pop, and Flash.