“Waaah, waaaaah!”, the wail was insistent. Margaret rolled off the grass filled cushion and went to see what little Neonate wanted.

Neonate was almost two. Neonan slept quietly nearby. She was almost two, too.

Mary Alice and Margaret were in their late 30s and had lived together since they were teens that first year in college. They both worked at the University, about 10 miles away. They were the kind of neighbors who, when someone asked a neighbor about them, the answer was always, “Them, oh, yes, very nice, quiet, I think one’s a librarian or something, I don’t know about the other one. She’s always working in the yard, seems friendly enough.”

Margaret had studied at the seminary, decided God’s work wasn’t going to surround her with the wretched refuse of the earth, and retreated to the cathedral of her flower bed. She thought she could worship just as well, and really mean it, by running her hands through the soil, nurturing her flowers and the belief that there was meaning behind it all.

Mary Alice usually brought armfulls of books home with her in the evenings. She wore her hair on the top of her head, and little gold-rimmed glasses. She worked in one of the labs at the school.

Both girls were plain in appearance, pleasant but plain, and there was something about the way they carried themselves, wholesome in attitude, physically healthy, mentally serene.

Neither had married, though both had long-term friendships and their social circle kept them active.

There wasn’t even an old-timey television in the house, let alone the SenseSurround channels that everyone else had. They had two cats, Missy and Prissy, and that was enough, almost.

Something was missing and they both knew what it was, neither wanted to talk about it. Their friends knew, and during an evening gaggle with the group, one of the women mentioned that her she and her husband were making arrangements for “just in case”, just in case, post-vasectomy, they changed their minds.

Margaret, without being aware of it, thought out loud, “Ummm.” Mary Alice grew quiet and thoughtful. Jim, the group clown, volunteered his services. They had heard him.

Now, two years later little Neonate is teething and turning restlessly in his crib of willow branches.

Mary Alice and Margaret had been able to push the past to a quieter corner of their minds, had accepted the new set of circumstances and were moving on. They had been working in the cellar of the old house when it came. The house collapsed around them and Mary Alice had been pinned beneath the rubble for several days while Margaret carefully worked her loose. They witnessed the looting and senseless hystrerical violence that went on for days, then it all grew calm. They were alive and in fair shape. They stayed out of sight until the day they saw no one, carefully worked their way back over to the school, searched for, found and retreived the package they sought from the lab in the basement of the bombed out and shattered old building then worked their way slowly and carefully down the ravines, along the creek beds and riverbanks. From time to time they passed others, grief stricken, in shock, injured, or out of their minds. Head down and moving slowly and avoiding the other’s eyes, they passed, and moved on. Mary Alice had her hands in her pockets, hands wrapped around the grips and index finger on the triggers in both pockets, trying to gauge if this was going to be another dangerous passing, or they would be able to pass unimpeded.

Margaret kept her hand on the thermos.

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