All We Ever Had

M. A. Akins

My dad did his best to never miss work, a Sunday at church, a wedding, or a funeral. Not even when he could have avoided all kinds of problems by just staying home. Not even when the president announced the world was going to end.

My dad’s example helped me get out the door to work that day. And all the weeks after. Now, the last day, I walk out of my apartment carrying a plant I gifted my girlfriend during an online date. I keep it with me since now I’ll never get to meet her in person. I put the plant in the basket of my mountain bike. I have a while before my shift starts, so I pedal slowly and take a last look around the city. Downtown is quiet, hauntingly empty

I ride past Dan’s barber shop with the red, white, and blue barber pole, where my dad would take me as a kid. We still go together. Did go. Dan closed up a week ago after my dad and I paid him one last visit. He didn’t charge us. I don’t think he took money from any customers over the last month.

I pass St. Mark’s church. I was baptized there. A few members are there now, but many, like members of a lot of religious and social groups all over, are out keeping company to the ill, the handicapped, those alone with nobody to sit through the end with. I don’t see my parents’ car, so I guess they’re still out ferrying people. If they don’t get done in time, still they’ll be listening to my final broadcast, so in some way, we’ll be together.

I cruise past the empty Hannaford’s Supermarket. Mr. Hannaford had put up a sign a while ago – Everything Free – Take Whatever You Need. It happened in a lot of places. The expected looting in the big cities didn’t last – people looked at those long-desired electronic gadgets or diamond tiaras and found they didn’t mean so much now.

I arrive at WJRG AM radio station, where I’m station manager. We’re one of the only fifty-thousand-watt stations in the northeast. Most of New England listens to us. But stations have been powering down since the news hit. Today, we’re the only one in the northeast still on the air.

Before I turn off the satellite feed I check for messages from Kirstin, my girlfriend. She’s in Berlin, and should be on the air now.

I met her through the Facebook page I set up inviting other radio show hosts to share their plans for celebrating ‘asteroid destruction day’. I explained to my listeners we actually don’t know where most planet-killing size asteroids hang out, and this one showed up without giving us years for a response, or even time for an official name. But the astronomer who discovered it was looking in the vicinity of Venus, so he called it Hesperus, Evening Star.

Scientists and engineers around the world worked high speed on plans to save our planet. News reports covered their meetings like they were superstars. I imagined an Armageddon style victory.

NASA scrambled and sent up its most powerful kinetic impactor to deflect it. But because of the size and composition of Hesperus, and the angle of interception maybe being off, NASA’s impactor failed. Some people immediately left their jobs and never returned. Others, like my dad and mom, came out of retirement to help out. Some of our host group, mostly those on their own, stayed on for Hesperus’ Impact Day. This was the easy time to quit, but my dad’s example kept me going. As a group we buried our heads in the project and helped each other forget why we were doing this in the first place. Our broadcasts were being sent to a possibly secure facility as part of the record of the last days.

I’m shy, and never did well with dating. I filled my days with fantasy and science fiction, gaming, anime, and science nerdery. I convinced myself I wasn’t missing much, but then I met Kirstin. And even though this was just online, I realized I’d been missing a lot.

Kirstin is cool. Very cool. Sharp humor. Very educated. And beautiful shoulder-length, black and red hair, a ruby stud in her nose, and blue eyes. A bit goth, which is probably what she’s shooting for.

I send out a message letting the group know I’m at the station. I’d prepared the show yesterday, so I could have time with Kirstin before we all open our video conference apps. I put her plant in canera view and start Messenger.

Me: hey kirstin

Kirstin: hallo matt.

Me: i wish i were there with you

Kirstin: i’d rather be with you, then we’d have a little more time

Me: ha ha your plant’s doing well

Kirstin: i can see. do you remember its name yet?

Me: pa…

Kirstin: paphiopedilum venustum

Me: give me a few more days and i’ll get it

Kirstin: sure matt, I send you some days… maybe hold it when…

Me: i will

Kirstin: have a date for the after-party?

Me: I…

Kirstin: come on matt. Last chance.

We’re going to die without ever being together. I wanted to be with her in Berlin, but air travel was restricted to essential missions, unless you had family you wanted to join for the end.

Me: I would be your date forever

She sends me a heart

I feel my face flushed red as I disconnect the satellite feed and turn on my microphone. I take a breath and speak in an almost even voice

“The last few weeks, I’ve played your requests and talked a lot about asteroids, about why ours didn’t break up, how it’s coming in at the worst possible angle, and how likely the time capsules and people stashed away in mountainside bunkers are to survive tsunamis, fires, sulfur rain, and years of cold. But today it’ll be songs I’ve chosen for you along with live updates from our sister stations around the globe. Remember, we’re in this together. We have each other. Let’s go back in time and work our way to the present. My first selection was suggested by my girlfriend. I hope you like it.”

I start Allegretto from Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, a little somber, but the ascending crescendo just speaks to defiance.

Song playing, I open our Zoom meeting.

“Glad you made the last day Matt.” It’s Doug, from the L.A. station. “What did you start your tour with?”

I tell him.

“That’s pretty heavy,” Michael says, “Your old lady put you up to that?” He’s in San Francisco and probably the oldest of the group. I’m pretty sure his parents were hippies. He even wears a red headband.

“She might have suggested it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Doug says, “Kirstin? Suggestion or command?”

“Come on, guys. It’s not like I can play the no-sex card from seven thousand kilometers away,” Kirstin says. She has only a hint of an accent.

I hastily change the subject. “Greg, how’s Perth?” Greg’s friends in the Australian Space Research Institute had passed on information and let us know when Hesperus’ devastation would reach each of our locations.

“Cold at the moment. I expect it’ll heat up soon.” Greg says.

I keep forgetting the time and season difference — his Evening Star is our Morning Star, and our summer is his winter.

“Still think it’ll miss?” Doug asks.

“It might. It might. I’m broadcasting from the beach. Brought my dog for this last evening of course. Some people are recording with their cell phones — they think the Cloud will survive. Not the full picnic there. But along with the torches and flashlights, the beach is twinkling. And the t-shirts under the jackets– ‘There’s no asteroid – it’s a conspiracy to sell t-shirts like this one’ and ‘Finally Perth is the world epicenter for something!’ Good onya mate. Oh, and the bloody thing’s visible to the naked eye now… quite beautiful really.”

I turn away and start another selection, one of Mozart’s longer pieces.

“It won’t be too long now,” Greg says softly. “Take a gander.”

He shifts the camera up to a small glowing dot no larger than Venus in the morning sky, but it has a tail. It looks so innocent – but it’s miles in diameter and it won’t burn up in the atmosphere. As I watch, it very slowly grows larger.

“That’s enough of that,” Greg says, and we see his face on screen again.

“Just a sec. I’m going to tell my listeners.” I stop the music.

“Everyone, Greg down in Perth just showed us video of Hesperus, now visible to the naked eye. It shouldn’t look beautiful, but it does. It will enter the atmosphere in a short while.”

On the video screen I see Kirstin telling her listeners the news.

“Well, mates, keep watch,” Greg says as he starts addressing his own audience. He puts his arm around his dog and carefully describes the descent of the flaming rock. The screen pixelates and goes in and out, but we stay with him. We promised we’d stay with each other to the end.

A tremendous explosion. Greg steadies himself. The screen goes blank then returns. “It’s hit the lower atmosphere. And…and… it didn’t miss. Struck the ocean. It won’t be long now.” He lowers the mic and stares. He turns to us, his hair tossing in every direction, a roar growing louder and louder. He smiles a little and waves. Greg vanishes.

My hand trembles so I can hardly shut the music off and turn the mic on.

“Hesperus has landed in the ocean off Perth. Over the next hours, the shock wave will circle the globe.”

The ground rumbles and shakes like a small earthquake. How must it have felt for Greg? I stare at the mic then start Kind of Blue by Miles Davis.

“Matt? Matt!” Kirstin’s voice pulls me back into the room. “Are you alright?”

“All the planning for this day, but the reality…”

“To paraphrase,” she says, “no plan survives contact with reality.”

“Greg handled it,” Michael says. “I don’t know if I can do that well.”

“It’s his Australian accent,” Doug intones solemnly.

I laugh crazily then look at my watch. We have to make the next announcement soon. I message Kirstin.

Me: did you feel the ground shake?

Kirstin: no, but you’re a lot nearer the antipode.

Me: this shouldn’t be happening

Kirstin: i’ll file a complaint

“Are you two talking without us?” Doug asks, his face filling the screen, eyes looking down as if watching us type.

“Guys, I hate to be a downer, but it’s time again,” Michael says.

I take a deep breath and look at Greg’s timetable from the Institute. I turn off the music and switch on the mic.

“Australia, Indonesia, and New Zealand have ceased broadcasting. Greg… Greg was on the beach as the wave slammed the coastline. For all of you and for Greg here’s a collection from the fifties and sixties.

While the others talk to their listeners, I type Kirstin a message as she broadcasts.

Me: do you still have comms with your friend in Cape Town?

She glances down, continuing to speak to her audience, then nods.

Me: let me know when

She nods again. I don’t understand German, but her tone is subdued. I catch Greg’s name in the stream of dialogue.

“I just heard from my friend in China,” Doug says. “He’s pretty far inland, so we… hang on.” He looks down then back to me. “The wave will be striking the Chinese coastline soon. I’ll tell you when he shuts down.”

I nod, then stand and try to stretch, but my muscles just tremble. As I return to my console, I look at my plastic water bottle and laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Kirstin asks.

“Yeah, let us in on the joke,” Doug says. “We could use a good laugh.”

“Plastic bottles. They’ll destroy the planet.”

“That’s funny, man?” Michael says. “How could anyone know this was coming? We had to do what we could for Mother Earth.”

“I just mean… ”

“Dude, China’s gone,” Doug says.

“I’ve lost contact with Cape Town,” Kirstin says.

I turn off the music. The others engage at their stations.

“Broadcasts from China have stopped,” I say into the microphone. “Cape Town stations are now silent. In approximately forty-five minutes, the shock wave will reach Hawaii and…” I glance down at the notes then look at Kirstin. “Berlin.”

The minutes spin away.

Kirstin types to me while talking to her audience.

Kirstin: no puppy eyes. i need focus. can’t cry to my audience they need me calm

I just type ‘okay’, even though I want to cry. There is so much I want to say and do, so much I should have done.

Kirstin: good. play our song please

I lean into the mic and say, “Please give a special welcome to this next song, it means a lot to my girlfriend and me.”

Kirstin and I are oceans apart on most music. But we both love the sixties: The Beatles, The Mamas & the Papas, the Turtles. I switch off the mic and start Simon & Garfunkel’s The Sound of Silence. We had agreed we’d play it at the same time, hearing it as if we were together in a club.

I wish I were with her. In a club. In my apartment. Just anywhere together.

I turn to the video screen. She looks at her watch.

Her icon turns grey, then glows, then again greys.

“Kirstin…,” I stop and then blurt out, not caring the others hear. “Why did I wait so long? I want more time with you.”

“Let’s be glad we had any time at all. Hold my plant. Try to remember its name.” She pauses and wipes her forehead. “Well, friends, it’s getting a little warm here.”

The video pixelates then rights itself. My heart is thumping hard.

The bottle of beer on her console tips, but she catches it and lifts it in a toast. She puts her other palm to the side of the screen.

I press mine to it. “I love you!” I yell. She smiles and blows me a kiss. Kirstin vanishes.

I put my forehead next to my hand on the screen.

“Matt.” Michael speaks brokenly. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

“So am I. So sorry,” Doug says. “We loved her too.”

I want to shut down my broadcast, but I raise my head, kill the music, and say, “Ah. I… Hawaii and Berlin are gone. I’m putting on some mellow dance music for everyone who’d like one last dance. Kirstin would have, I think.”

I just listen for a while. There’s maybe an hour before… I hear blurred noise, far off like from the end of a tunnel. It’s Michael and Doug talking.

“I’ve lost so many friends and family over the years,” Michael says. He takes a deep breath. “It never gets easy. My mom tells me there’s an afterlife.”

“Michael, you’ve told us. A lot,” Doug says.

“And it’s one where we can all be together again. Like an after party. We’ll meet up, dance, make love… love is all we need… needed” He looks at his watch. “Looks like that party is about to start.”

“Guys,” Doug says. “I’m looking out the window. A helluva thing. A dark wall of fire. Coming right at us. Can you hear it?”

It sounds like the roar of ocean waves endlessly crashing onto rocks, growing closer.

“Not sure if the tsunami or shock wave comes first, but it’s time to say goodbye .”

“I’m further inland. But I can hear it now too,” Michael says.

“Everything’s shaking,” Doug says.

I tell Doug I’ll miss him.

“If Michael’s right, not for long.” He flashes the peace sign. “Peace out, brother. See you on the other side.” His connection goes dark.

“Peace to you too brother.” Michael says. “It never gets easier. I guess I’m up next, so I really —”

Michael goes silent. I sit, then slowly turn the video system off. My head sags down onto the desk. Then I remember my audience.

“San Francisco, Los Angeles, and London are silent now. This is my last announcement. I hope you’ve enjoyed the music I chose for you. I’m sorry, we don’t have long now. I’ll play one last song. But first I have something to share with you, something my girlfriend in Berlin made me realize. Maybe you’re like me and wish you’d done things differently. But we mostly did the best we could. I wish we’d found out sooner that we’re in this together, that all we ever really had was each other. But we can be glad for the time we had. And now here’s that last song. Thanks for staying with us to the end.”

I was being a wise guy when I planned playing REM’s “It’s the End of the World”, but I decide to be a little more honest, and when I hit the button it’s for Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”.

I listen through to the end. I power down the station. I look at my cell phone –. no signal. I think of my parents — I can’t get back to town in time.

I hold Kirstin’s plant and step outside. It’s quiet. A black-and-white cat rolls in a patch of sunlit grass, and birds fly through the trees. Not what I’d expect at the end of life on Earth. I hope there will be something left to start over.

Engine noise startles me. My dad’s pickup appears from behind the trees and turns into the parking lot. He zooms up and shuts off the engine. Mom jumps out before he even gets the door open. She runs to me, hugs me, and doesn’t let go. My dad wraps his arms around us both and kisses the top of my head.

“I knew you’d see the last day through.” He smiles and holds up a six-pack. ‘Not your brand, but it’s all that’s left”.

“That’s okay dad. Maybe my friend’s right, and we’ll be drinking what we like at the after party.”

The three of us sit down on the stoop. Dad pops a can and hands it to me.

The ground starts shaking and a roar grows. The wind gusts. We look at each other and link arms.

“But right now, I’m with people I love.”

Illustration by Fran Eisemann, using stock from NASA, public domain, and Omnia

You can comment on this story at The Forums and on our Twitter page.
You can Subscribe to receive notifications of future publications,
and to help us bring you more stories, artwork, podcasts, and articles.