Monday, November 21, 2016

Chapter 8, School Trip Over the Bridge




Chapter 8, First Draft

Teresa Winslow was the most popular math teacher at the Lewis Bay Charter High School. She taught the gifted kids their trig and statistics (“Never trust election polls until you check the margin of error, and even then. . .” ); she taught her students with special cognitive needs in creative ways that brought the best results in the state, she taught all the kids the principles of economic math, from credit card interest to compounded interest in savings accounts,  to reading electric bills (so complicated these days) to examining the annual town budget- what a way to learn percentages. Who knew a police department could cost so much, and look at the overtime pay for traffic detail. . .
                Teresa also taught algebra, geometry, and knitting. Yes, knitting. Once her Special Ed kids mastered the ergonomics of how to hold the knitting needles when taking a stitch, and could cast on and then transfer over to the other needle, it was magical- the clicking rhythm of the needles as her students caught on and raced to get to the end of their row first was the sound of success.
                You Tube was so helpful, how did people learn things without it? Teresa made sure You Tube was up on the flat screen in the classroom, with a video on an endless loop demonstrating with giant hands the precise method of knitting each type of stitch, and then the backwards purl.
                The counting of stitches was necessary; the estimation of length, the gauge of the stitch, all of this improved concentration and calmed the kids down. She had a sign at her door, “All cell phones off or pay the consequences!” No one ever knew what the consequences might be, when she heard someone texting or saw the head bobbing, she rooted out the phone and made up the consequences on the spot.  Usually it was classroom cleaning and she had one of the most well dusted and swept classrooms in the building.
                By mid-October all fifteen of the kids with special needs had managed to produce a sampler scarf and passed their basic midterm on rations, scale and metric conversions.
                Miss Teresa had promised her students a field trip if they all passed their exams, and this was accomplished after generating several peer tutoring groups where they all helped each other study as never before. The exam was “open book” and each student had their notebooks to refer to. All above board, and according to their own individual education plans.
                The field trip was a blending of two of her classes- the special needs groups and the gifted groups.
                The Mensa Club students were blessed with brains that grasped and remembered everything easily. They were easy to teach. They were always hungry for the next thing they wanted to learn. But in Teresa’s opinion, the rarefied air they breathed did not allow the socialization skills other kids had by the time they were in high school.
                So first, Teresa taught them the foundational concepts of social service, via handout and discussion. And then she had them tutor the kids who needed help during study period, one on one. Then they took their field trip.
                The budget was tight. They could have a school bus for one school day. They had to be back when the final bell rang and because that bus would then take the girl’s field hockey team to their game off cape. Because it was Friday and the traffic back to Cape Cod would be intense due to the Wellfleet Oyster Festival, they couldn’t go far.
                Theresa decided upon the Plimouth Plantation. She had two appointments set up, one with a character actor who played a Pilgrim wife in the recreated village, she was scheduled to demonstrate to them for a half hour the arithmetic involved in her day. . . estimation of firewood for the day, week, and winter ahead, recipe measurements, the threading her loom for the weaving of her textiles, the number of sheep that needed to be shorn to spin wool enough for a woven blanket, how many ounces of herbs to make her medicinal health tonic.
                The second appointment was away from the Pilgrim settler’s meetinghouse and fort, down a path at the Wampanoag encampment. This appointment was with a real Wampanoag, Brown Turtle. He was an interpreter, not an actor, who needed help building a new winter wetu. This would take a day, the students were to help for a few hours. Precise geometric placing of the long cedar poles was necessary to create the long domed lodge that would have housed several Wampanoag families comfortably through the winters of the 1620’s, almost four hundred years ago. Sixteen generations ago or so, if each generation was given a twenty-year span before the next generation was born, the kids estimated, when she threw the question out to them.  
                Progress on the wetu was slow. The kids wanted to skip rocks in to the Eel River. They were excited by the almost naked Brown Turtle who wore only a tanned deer hide loincloth and an impressive carved antler necklace. Tanned and strong, he demonstrated what human beings had done for thousands of years- worked physically with their own strength to create whatever was necessary for survival. Brown Turtle picked up two steamed cedar poles and instructed the students on how to insert them into the ground. They were bent into an arch and lashed together, and then held in place until the next poles were placed to stabilize them. The idea was to form a strong framework first, and then shingle over the poles with wide slabs of tree bark, all held in place by pulling plant-based twine through drilled holes in the bark, and then tied to the frame. Another framework of poles would then go over the layer of bark. A smoke hole in the center of the roof would allow ventilation, and the interior benches would be covered with furs for sleeping. The Wampanoag lodges were much warmer through the winters than the settler’s cottages with their huge chimneys, which let out all the heat their fires created.

                Another Wampanoag worked on a new canoe. A large wide log had been cut and stripped of its bark on one side. Little fires set along the top barkless side of the log slowly burned toward the center. A sharp chiseling rock in his fist, the man chipped away at the burnt wood to hollow the log until it was deep enough to carry a person on the water.  The women in the encampment were busy with the food supply. Dried corn was ground by hand, a fresh stretched deer hide that wanted tanning indicated a fresh kill of meat to be dried for the winter. A roasting turkey was turned by hand over the fire, and smelled as delicious as any turkey baked in a modern oven.
                Teresa’s students looked out of place with their Nike fluorescent sneakers and sports jerseys. The flashy artificial colors against the natural setting of buckskin, wood fires, the flowing river and the blank faced Brown Turtle was almost comical, like a sitcom about nerdy kids stepping out of a time machine into pre-colonial Massachusetts.
                At 1:30 PM, Teresa had to stop the progress, what little had been made. She gathered her students in a circle. “We have to thank Brown Turtle for his time and patience,” she told them. “I want you all to go over there, and each one of you shake his hand and make eye contact and tell him what you appreciated about today.”
                There was a slight collective groan, but they all moved over to the wetu and surrounded Brown Turtle, murmuring their thanks. Teresa was the last to say good-bye before they left the encampment and walked back through the woods to the parking lot and their waiting school bus.
                “We learned so much. I really think they will remember what you’ve shown them, in so many ways,” she said.
                He nodded. “My pleasure,” he said.
A very modern way of speaking, Teresa thought. She turned to the gently flowing river.
“It’s so naturally beautiful here,” she said. “There is nothing at all to indicate that we are walking in the 21st century.”
Brown Turtle’s calm face rippled with a scowl. “Right over there, four miles to the east of us? There lies the biggest threat to our whole existence here. Pilgrim.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said after a moment.
“The nuke. The nuclear power station. That goes, we all go. It’s right over there on the edge of Cape Cod Bay, and I can tell you, we are constantly on alert here in Plymouth. They’ve had to power down twice in the past two months with safety issues- the equipment is worn out, and they've deferred maintaining key components. More of the same corporate mindset- profits over people. 
Teresa’s students were all up the path out of sight now. “I have to go,” she said. “But thank you for the wake up call. I've never thought much about that power station.”
“Look it up,” Brown Turtle said, “And join me in my nightmares.”
Teresa shook his hand and walked quickly away. Then she broke into a trot, she had to catch up with the kids. How strange was that? A nuclear power station in “America’s historical home town.”  She’d find out how strange in just a few hours.



               
               
               

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Chapter 7, Forget the Fish




 Dear Readers, it becomes all-consuming when I write daily about the lives of fictitious characters. I allow my brain to go there to that alternative reality, and while I go about my day, I am thinking about characters admittedly created by me. These characters come to life, and have minds of their own, and surprise me in so many ways. But when my reality comes into step with theirs, that is chilling. That’s what happened this morning, as I read about a scram that happened last night at Pilgrim. Yes, “On November 7, 2016, at 1609 [EST], with the reactor at 100 percent core thermal power and steady state conditions, the High Pressure Coolant Injection (HPCI) system was declared inoperable.”
            This kind of notice always makes me nervous. In this case, the situation is supposedly not a threat to the public, and the state “will be notified.” Hopefully the HPCI will somehow be repaired, but what I really want, is for that nuclear reactor to be safely put to bed- forever. 


 Chapter Seven, first draft,  National Novel Writing Month

            John Fox stood in the wheelhouse as he steered the Mary Lynn across the bay and glided through the mouth of the canal at Sandwich. The marina was ahead, and he saw the refrigerated fish truck waiting for him on the wharf. He had been able to call that in before dropping his iPhone overboard. There were some sirens wailing off in the distance, that was normal. All the texting that people were doing behind the wheel these days, it was worse than living with a pack of drunks. John had been driven off the road twice this week already, both times the drivers looking down at their laps instead of eyes on the road.
            But then he saw a Coast Guard surf launch tied up at the dock, and immediately a heavily padded armed guardsman strode down the floating pier towards him. John felt that instant of panic, and then remembered he’d given up pot smoking years ago, this guy wasn’t even going to find a seed on board the Mary Lynn.  He called out a greeting before the dude had a chance. “Hey, how’s it going?”
            The guardsmen was all serious. All business.
            “Sir, do you live nearby?”
      “Yes, I do. About a mile away, Pleasant Street. Why? What’s up?”
      “Sir, I regret to inform you that you’ll have to leave your catch on board for now, and you must immediately go to your home and shelter inside until you receive official notice of further instructions.”
“Hey, what is this? Some kind of house arrest? I didn’t go out of the allowed fishing areas, I’m all above board here!”
“I wish it was that simple sir,” the guardsman said. “We’ve got an emergency radiological warning going on. Fire up at the Pilgrim nuclear reactor. We are getting radiated right now, and your fish, too, with that open hatch. I mean, it would be the same, even if it was closed. The fish can’t be sold. You need to get to your house now, sir. Do you have family here?”
“Yes, I do. I’m just shutting the engine off, then. I have to leave the bilge pump on, though. Or she’ll sink right here.”
John ducked back into his cabin. He grabbed up his sunglasses and his jacket. There was nothing much else worth taking. He shut off the key and pulled it from the ignition.He opened the dash compartment and pulled out his permit papers. Might as well not have those vandalized. The cabin door lock was a joke.
“When will I be allowed back?” he called to the guardsman.
“I have no information on that. Do you have a vehicle here or do you need a ride home?”
“Over there, that green truck.”
“Get in it and go, sir. And stay inside your house until you hear otherwise from official sources.”
John sprinted over to his truck, worried about Charlotte and the kids now. He saw the guardsman get back on the surf launch and shut the door to the cabin. Damn it, those fish would be rotten by tomorrow afternoon, all the ice in the hold would melt by then. He looked up at the refrigerator truck, and realized there was no driver in the cab. In fact, he didn’t see any people anywhere. It was downright eerie.
He thought of his iPhone as it had slipped into the water. What a day to lose it, even though he did have insurance on it. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” he shouted as he pounded his dashboard. Then he started the truck and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving a long strip of black rubber. The guardsman had told him to hurry, hadn’t he? 


Monday, November 7, 2016

Chapter 6, Stay Inside and Take A Pill




Chapter Six, first draft, National Novel Writing Month
 
Charlotte came to with the help of a splash of cold water on her face. She took a deep breath in, and looked up. Frieda Newcomb stood over her, patting Charlotte’s face, tipping a glass to splash more water if necessary. Charlotte pushed the glass away, and struggled up onto the couch.
            “I’m soggy,” she said. “What’s going on? What is happening, Frieda? My kids are out there, John is out there. Are they being exposed to radiation?”
            “Probably.  Where’s John?”
            “I’m not sure, he’s not answering his cell phone. He should be in from fishing soon. He went out up around Race Point, but by now he should be heading back down across the bay.”
            “If he’s out on the bay, he’s definitely coming through radiation with the wind coming the way it is. The kids?”
            “They should be on their buses by now, both middle and high school have been out for, what, half an hour?”
            “They might have been held at the schools. It depends on when the word got to their principals. Apparently, the fire has been burning for several hours, but Entergy just let the officials know that it’s now out of control. At least that’s what the word is that I’m getting, but that’s pretty second hand.”
            “What’s Entergy?”
            “That’s the owner corporation of Pilgrim. Entergy is based in Louisana, they don’t care much about us. Obviously, if they let things come to this.”
            Charlotte tried calling John again, but got no answer. She called Jason, no answer. She called Darlene, she picked up.
            “Mom! What is happening? The police just came and made us run into the school gym, and now the principal says we have to stay.”
            “I thought you were on the bus.”
            “I’m sorry, Mom. I texted you. I wanted to see the football game. I was going to ride home with Holly.”
            “Well,” Charlotte said slowly, trying to think, “I wish you were here, but maybe you are better off there. Frieda is telling me that there is a fire up there at the nuclear power station in Plymouth. It sounds grim. Daddy’s not home yet, and neither is Jason. We are all supposed to stay inside until further notice.”
            “Will it be over soon?”
            Darlene’s alarmed voice carried into the room. Frieda shook her head no.
            “I don’t know, honey. Just do what they tell you to do and stay in touch. I want to find out where the guys are.”
            “Mom? They are bringing around some kind of pills for us. Telling us to take a pill. I’m scared. Why do we have to take pills?”
            Frieda motioned for the phone, and Charlotte gave it to her.
            “Hi Darlene,” Frieda said. “Those pills are for protecting your thyroid, they should be telling you that. Potassium iodide. You need that because you’ve been exposed to radiation while you were outside. The Massachusetts Department of Public Health distributed them to all the schools in case of this type of emergency.”
            “They knew this might happen? They think a pill can help? Oh, my God.”
            “It can help somewhat to protect your thyroid, that’s right. How? It does it by blocking the radioactive iodine you might have breathed in. If they are passing out the pills, they must have been informed that we are either under a cloud of radiation now or will be soon.”
            “Oh my God. What does this mean? Will we all get cancer? When will the cloud go away?”
            “Take your pill, Darlene, and your thyroid will be protected. It’s worked before.”
            “Where?”
            “In Poland. Millions of people took potassium iodide very soon after the Chernobyl accident, and that proved to be effective. Russia and Belarus were not so prepared, and the kids there got thyroid cancer like crazy a few years after the accident. But the kids in Poland did much better, even though they had also been exposed.”
            “Oh Frieda. Why do you know about this?”
            “You forget. I was a biochemist, my dear. It’s my business to know .”
            Charlotte took the phone back from Frieda. “We’re going to hang up now, sweetie. I wish I could rush over there, but I do not think it’s the wisest plan. I have to wait here for Jason and your Dad.”
            “I know, Mom. Holly and I will hang together. We're okay. But, text me when you find out anything?”
            “I will. Love you, and we’ll talk soon.” Charlotte clicked off. “So what about us, Frieda, should we be taking a potassium iodide pill?”
            “Yes, if you have one. Did you get yours from the town health department?”
            “No, who goes to get pills from the health department? Who even knows that you can? How come I don’t know about that?”
            “No one likes to think about a disaster like this one. It’s not something that makes the handouts. Those are reserved for ticks and sharks and such. No one wants to think about a cloud of radiation hovering over us. Besides, it's bad for tourism.”
            Charlotte tried John’s phone number again, and then Jason’s. No luck. She tried the number of the middle school, and found it busy. Where was Jason? On the bus? Still in his school building? Frieda checked her computer screen and frowned.
      “So do you want some advice, Charlotte?”
            “I’m not sure.”
            “I’ll give you one of my pills I’ve got here. The health department gave me enough for a few people for a few days of radioactive cloud fallout. I don’t really need one, I’m over 60, so I’ll give you two more, one for John and especially one for Jason. The younger they are, the more important the pill.”
            “Wait, you said a few days?”
            “We might not get out of here for a few days. They have to decide where to put us.”
            “What do you mean?”
            “I mean, relocation once they allow us up over the bridge. With what’s going on, we probably won’t be back.”
            “Oh, don’t say that.”
            “I am saying it. It’s probably going to play out that way. So here’s my advice. Take this pill and sit awhile with me, give it some time to get into your system. Then scoot back across the street to your house, and start gathering your important documents. Passport, birth certificates, marriage license. And cash, if you've got any on hand. Get that all packed up so that it will be ready when necessary.”
            “God, Frieda, our cash is down in Hyannis in a safety deposit box at the bank. I’ve only got a few hundred bucks on hand.”
            “Better than what I’ve got.”
            “This pill tastes terrible.”
            “That’s a nice way to say thanks.”
            “Thank you, really. But I was hoping you had much less stressful news than this.”
            “As do I. It’s pretty hard to take, given that this was preventable. The NRC should have shut Pilgrim down, and now they know it. No, don’t go out just yet. Stay here on the couch for a while, and let that pill do its work. Let me get you some hot tea- that will dissolve it faster in your stomach. I know you, you’re going down to the marina to see if John is in, aren’t you? I advise against it. I’m just saying. And you might get warned for not staying inside.”
            “I’ll plead ignorance.” Charlotte closed her eyes. “Would you call Jason’s school again and see if they answer?” She handed Frieda her phone. “The number’s right there on the screen. And I've still got to find out if Mother is alright, and where my sister Teresa is. Oh, I am suddenly so tired. I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up to find this was all just a very bad dream.”
***


           
           
           

           


Saturday, November 5, 2016

Chapter 5, Stop the Game!



Hi readers! If you are just joining us on Day 5 of National Novel Writing Month, go to the sidebar on the right, and begin reading the chapters from the beginning. “It Began as a Normal Day” is the first chapter, and so on. . . thank you for reading.

Chapter Five

(Author’s note to self. Please go to bed by 10:30 PM if I want to get up by 6:30 AM to write for two hours before the Household wakes up with a snort and wants my total attention for twelve hours. Got it.)

            Stop action. Let's take a look at where we are. Charlotte Fox is passed out, her neighbor Frieda is screaming into two phones simultaneously about a fire at the Pilgrim Nuclear Power Station, John Fox is steaming across Cape Cod Bay from Provincetown on the Mary Lynn- heading for the mouth of the canal with a hold of fish to off load, and the kids (Darlene, 14, and Jason, 12) are not home from school yet. The nuclear reactor has spewed out enough radiation to set off all radiation detectors up the line in Plymouth, and fire stations in all of eastern Massachusetts are sounding off their own warning sirens. The Massachusetts Emergency Management Agency has swung into action with its emergency plan for Cape Cod, which is to close the bridges, and not let anyone off the cape until Plymouth and the South Shore have evacuated. There are cruisers up on the Sagamore and Bourne Bridges with their blue lights flashing, and officers inside the cars are thinking of all that they are losing, from jobs to homes to communities to health, because they have been told that as soon as the Plymouth area clears out, Cape Cod will be evacuated, and residents will be probably be relocated, never to return to their homes. Most Cape Codders do not know what is happening yet. They listen to their own downloaded music on their mobile devices, they do not listen to the radio. Many are involved with solitary pursuits, such as fishing, dog walking, cooking up a new recipe or gardening in the bright sunshine. Retirees are out shopping, walking, late lunching or early bird dining, and raking leaves.
            Students are still in school, or on buses heading for home, depending on whether they are in elementary, middle or high school. Nursing homes are filled to capacity with patients, rehab facilities are retraining patients with life skills, hotels are half full, it’s bus tour season, and it’s been a wonderful October, weather wise. Restaurants are busy gearing up for the evening’s clientele, moms are thinking about what to make for dinner, construction workers and landscapers are thinking about their first beer of the evening.
            Football games are underway at high schools, and that is where we unfreeze the stop action. Darlene has not jumped on the bus home, she has decided to stay after school with her girlfriends and watch the home game. It’s always exciting watching the boys bashing heads with their opponents, and the excitement is never so intense in her so called life as when the whole home bleacher section is screaming because a Sandwich Blue Knight has broken free and is running as fast as he can down the field towards the goal line with the football. Americans don’t seem to get excited about anything besides sports these days. Presidential election? Who cares. Binge watch on Netflix so you don’t have to see the commercials.  Mom and Dad are canceling out each other’s votes, as is everyone else in America. Red Sox on a winning streak? Big Papi hitting his final home runs? Brady back on the field with the Patriots?   Everyone cares, everyone watches, the stadiums are stuffed with caring people. 
Darlene is showing her team spirit, she has on blue lipstick, blue nail polish, blue skirt and blue socks; she is a new convert to football fanhood. She loves it. She’s never screamed with such abandon. She loves the school band that is out there in uniform tooting up the afternoon with all kinds of drumming and brass. And now there is a cop coming out onto the field with a bullhorn? What’s this? Is this a normal part of the game, is this some kind of team spirit routine?
            No. It’s not. Darlene scoffs at first, and then gets up and runs with the herd into the school gymnasium, as instructed. Everyone is there together. The football players from both teams,  the spirit band,  the fans, the geeks who were working on after-school projects, the teachers who haven’t left yet, the principal, the janitors, the visiting team bus driver. They all listen together as they hear from the principal.
 “No, there is not a shooting. There is no loose convict, there is not a crazed wild animal out there, there is no tornado coming this way. 
"But right now, there is an emergency situation up in Plymouth at the nuclear power station. The air is full of an invisible danger, ray-dee-ation, and we are following state emergency protocol for this specific situation. No, you can’t see the radiation, and no, we do not have a radiation detector here in Sandwich, we have to take their word for it, but we are to stay here and not open the doors. We are to seal ourselves in with duct tape if that is possible, and await further instructions. That’s the plan. It will be awhile.  I’ll be here with you. We’ll do this together. Blue Knight spirit prevails! They can’t keep us down!”
            No one cheered. The air has gone out Darlene’s lungs, and everyone else’s in the school gym,  as quickly as a pin pricks a balloon.
***