Refugees: A Short Story of Survival Page 2
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“Rationing? Are you kidding me? I have a family of six to feed!”
Then you should have closed your legs at some point, you dumb bitch, Carly thought with a smile. She stood at the head of a long line of Bostonians in City Hall Plaza, who came out to complain – loudly – about the refugees looking to make the great northeastern city their home.
“Ma’am, the government feels this is the best way to handle the crisis we’re under. The government is taking control of the situation, and we expect to feed everyone.”
“The government is taking control?!” one man protesting, his accent thick and heavy. “They took over our health care,” he said, “and now they’re going to tell us when to eat and how much to eat? Are they going to tell us when we can take a piss, too?”
“That’s what you get when you elect a liberal candidate for president,” Carly retorted, her tongue dripping with irony.
The crowd quieted.
“This will be orderly, and it will be a great time to teach your children self-control.”
“Now the government wants to teach us self-control,” the man said. “Where will it end?”
“It’ll end when we get through this crisis,” Carly snapped back. Her eyebrows crinkled in anger. “We need to work together, regardless of what we believe in.” Sprinkles of ash began falling on the crowd. Many people cried as the ash accumulated lightly. “For all we know, we won’t get many refugees here. And besides, the east coast is a very large place; stations like this have been set up along the coast so many cities will see refugees, not just Boston.”
The crowd’s voice rose again, but Carly lifted her hands in a quest for silence.
“Folks, I know this is difficult for all of you, but please, let’s not think about ourselves. We’re going to see many tired, cold, hungry and scared people coming here. These are people who have lost their homes, relatives, friends, pets. In short, they’ve lost everything. You folks still have homes and food in your refrigerators. These people have nothing except the clothes on their backs: We’re standing here at the precipice of a crisis, and all you can bitch about is the government taking control? Please, this is no time to turn conservative. Grow the fuck up and show some consideration for your fellow man.”
One by one, the crowd silenced itself, as if deep in thought. Carly could see her words pinballing inside their minds, striking a resonant chord.
Carly looked out and saw many ashamed faces staring at the ground.
She choked for a second, then recovered.
“Folks, if you have any clothes you can donate, old clothes that you don’t wear any longer, please consider dropping it off at one of our drop-off stations. These people are going to need some things to wear, and if you could help them out, the government would appreciate it.” She looked down at her clipboard. “I think that covers it.”
Carly gave no closing salutation. She turned and walked away from the podium while the murmurs of the crowd chased after her. She did not look to see if any of the people stayed; she had bigger worries to deal with at the moment.
She pulled out her BlackBerry and dialed the number again.
“What’s the situation? Where are the people coming to Boston?” She listened for a second. “The State Police set up traffic boards to direct people to Government Center, so they should be here soon. Thankfully the parking garage at Haymarket is pretty empty; it’s going to be a permanent lot now.” She looked up as the ash fell like gray snow. “If their cars can make it.”
Carly hung up and looked out toward Congress Street.
Soon there will be ash-covered cars with out of state plates lining up along the sidewalks, she thought. They will wonder about their new home and where they will stay. They will ask me questions, more so than the people of Boston asked.
God, I only hope I’m strong enough not to tell these people the truth. There is barely a hope – for any of us.
When she saw the tank rolling on Congress, she realized the national guard had been activated.
She hoped the situation would not get out of hand.