Why not, thought Davis. At this point, after all that happened the last few days and today, the longest day of her life—why not ring a damn dinner bell for people she didn’t even know?
~
Quinn led Davis to a corner of the kitchen with a box-type object on the wall, sort of a silver pyramid, a little bit bigger than her hand with a metal clapper in the middle of it. “That’s the cowbell,” said Quinn. “Give it a few smacks with this mallet. ‘More cowbell!!!!’” said Quinn, very enthusiastically.
Davis looked at her with a blank stare as she slowly took the mallet from her. Confusion clouded her face. “It’s an old joke…from an old show,” stammered Quinn in somewhat of a slight laugh/slight quizzical tone. She then added as an explanation, “When I used to be in the Pods, every night I loved watching old TV shows and movies at the library. I found it so interesting; things people said and did and even the clothes they wore. The cowbell thing is from an old TV show. It was quite the joke once upon a time.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Davis. “I loved doing that too, watching old movies and television shows. Very interesting. I didn’t know that one, though.”
“Never mind…sorry. So, go ahead and smack the cowbell.”
Clank, clank, clank.
“No, smack it good, fast a few times in a row.”
A very tinny, loud clank-a, clank-a, clank-a, CLANK-a!! rang out.
“That’ll do it, dinner is served,” Quinn said as she carried out a big plate of white filets and handed a plate mounded high with fluffy white piles of some type of food to Davis. Quinn saw the confusion on her face and shot her a short explanation of “potatoes.”
~
When Davis came in, she was surprised to see that Ringo, Audrey, and the kids were already settling in. Ana and her children followed soon after and quickly sat. Quinn put the platter on the table and then took a seat next to Ana, delicately placing her hand on Ana’s shoulder but quickly removing it. Davis sat in the same spot she had been in earlier, and Brookshire came in shortly after and promptly settled in next to her, causing her to feel suddenly very warm. Davis hoped to herself that the heat in her cheeks was not showing as redness on her face. Then, before she knew it, Namaguchi came in with two people she did not recognize. “This is,” Namaguchi said in an exhausted voice, “Hernandez.”
Hernandez was a very friendly-looking man, with skin a deep reddish-brown, the color of a sepia photo that Davis had once seen. His small brown eyes squinted with a smile, and with a toothy grin, he stuck out his hand. “I’m the nurse here,” said Hernandez.
“Nice to meet you,” said Davis quietly. She took Hernandez in with a quizzical stare before realizing it might be rude, so she quickly looked down and away. Davis hadn’t meant to be offensive, but she had never seen someone overweight. Not that Hernandez was obese, but he had a small stomach bump that extended over the top of his pants, and his shirt pulled taut over it. He also had a slight padding of pudgy, plump skin under his chin. She was doubly surprised because someone who worked for President Everett would most certainly have to be healthy. President Everett had proclaimed being overweight extinct, claimed he “cured” it by providing people with nutrition biscuits only. Davis saw the posters in her mind. President Everett held a plate of biscuits in one hand, a glass of clear water in the other. The caption read, Proper nutrition for healthy people! She had learned her whole life in school that each biscuit contains the exact amount of calories, fat, fiber, and vitamins you need to function. They included macronutrients, minerals, and antioxidants too. She realized she didn’t even know what a lot of that meant. She had just learned her whole life that it was true.
Hernandez seemed to read her mind, or Davis was more obvious than she realized. “I know, my weight. Even though I’m only considered about twenty pounds overweight in most historical medical books, you don’t see it nowadays. But, because I’m a good nurse, I keep my head down and do my assignments; in short, I know how to play the game, so nobody bothers me.”
Davis wondered what he meant by “play the game.”
Hernandez, patting his stomach and chuckling, added, “You don’t get this for free!” He continued, “I have a weakness for something. These processed cakes they started out calling them ‘2025 Cakes’ because they introduced them that year. But the name changed to ‘Canoe Cakes’ because of the shape. They were long, about six inches. And they dipped in the middle, which was cream-filled, then…” at that point, Hernandez seemed to get a little excited, “They’re covered in chocolate. They’re not healthy for you, that’s for sure. Full of preservatives and with an airtight factory wrapper, they seemingly will last forever. Plus, we place them in vacuum-sealed containers, and those are in our deep freeze. They thaw out pretty nicely and make a treat I can’t resist! In the next bunker over, which is run by Romo, they saved many boxes. Romo’s father loved them, but he passed two years ago. Nobody else likes them. Nobody but me, that is.”
Davis felt quite overwhelmed by this new information and wasn’t sure she followed everything. She was grateful when a small older lady came forward. Even though she was probably in her seventies, she seemed perky and lively, with an infectious spirit of happiness that seemed to surround her. In the customary bob, her amber-colored hair had a bit of a curl and wild wave to it, and her warm brown eyes exuded friendliness.
“Oh, stop talking, Hernandez!” she said in a friendly but firm tone. She then
