The Later Journeys - 20. Oh My

           

Previous chapter

The story starts here...

November 18, 2030, 11:00 p.m.

Here I go again, journaling in the night... Just glad I don’t have to sneak now.

God, what a day. It’s all I can do to just breathe. Because beyond that, there’s just nothing that will calm my mind.

I keep telling myself to grow up. If things were reversed, and I woke up in Ben’s time, and this thing happened, I would have to deal. Getting hysterical would make me look, well, hysterical. Every living person during that time dealt with this, and they survived. Ben dealt with it his entire life. We really are a bunch of wimps here in the 21st century.

This is my journal, and no one else will see it, so I don’t even have to go into detail. But I’m thinking that writing it out, wringing out all the horror onto the page will help me to feel better. Maybe even to sleep. I’ll bet the guys are tossing and turning. Trevor will be at the drugstore tomorrow morning, probably waiting for the doors to open!

So... what happened? Well, at the end of dinner, I got up to clear; walked behind where Ben was sitting at our kitchen table and looked down at him. I guess the light was just right. Now that the power is being used again instead of candles and oil lamps, things are showing up that we just didn’t see before.

I looked down at Ben and saw something moving. On his head. And then I saw something else moving. On his head. I was just about to say something -- sometimes if I see a fly has landed on someone I’ll mime shooing it off my head and tell the person “Go like this.” I was just about to do that when I realized what I was seeing. Actually, I think my knees saw it before my eyes did, because they felt like they’d turned to water. I started to look at Warren and Trevor but then thought better of it. Knowing them -- Trevor in particular -- it could cause a panic. And of course I didn’t want to embarrass Ben! I had a second or two to process a lot of thoughts, and instantly realized that Ben was probably quite aware that he had a problem with head lice. Everyone in that time period did. Hair, clothes, bedding, you name it.

But Ben’s in our century now. Lice don’t fly. So to speak. Good God, I hope they don’t fly!

That just made me laugh. I stuck my face in the pillow so no one would hear me.

No, but seriously, I calmly asked Ben if he minded Trevor, Warren and me going outside to talk privately. Ben had no objection -- he’s used to us doing that, I think. We just haven’t really had to do it lately.

So we went out to the barn. I must have looked really upset. I told the guys I didn’t know if they knew, if I was the last to discover this... I didn’t know which was worse. Me not knowing until now or none of us knowing until now.

“Um, is it just me, or did either of you two notice that Ben’s got a certain little hygiene problem?” I asked.

They looked at each other and shrugged. They didn’t know. They thought I was talking about his non-deodorized state. They knew from conversations that Ben didn’t bathe very often, even though he’d praised the idea of a hot bath after a day of labor. Wasn’t sure if he’d used the shower yet, either. It just wasn’t a thing in his day -- people were afraid of catching diseases from being wet. And forget about shampoo. He didn’t exactly smell, but I guess he was sorta “earthy.” We’d been meaning to talk to him about some of our everyday habits but we weren’t sure if we just sounded like typical neurotic first-world sissies who obsessed over soap, deodorant and “manageable” hair.

But now...

I took a deep breath. “Guys, he’s got lice. In his hair.”

The reactions were identical. Both of them flinched backward like I’d thrown acid at them. They looked at me in horror and I said “Don’t shoot the messenger -- I didn’t put them there!”

“Are you sure?”
"How many?”
“Oh my god, that means we probably have ‘em too!”
“And his clothes!”
“And his bedding!”
“Those things carry diseases!”
“Typhus!”
“No, that’s fleas.”
“Still!”

It went on like that for a minute or two; we were all talking at once, all the while keeping our voices low.  Once we’d gotten all of that out of our system, we could move onto the “what do we do now?” phase.

Warren looked back toward the house in horror, clearly not wanting to go back there until it had been fumigated. Trevor and I were handling it a little better. I had one daughter; he had co-parented his former partner's child. Both of us understood the relative commonness of this problem. I guess we just thought those days were behind us.

“We’re gonna have to lay in a big supply of Kwell...”

“And a bunch of those little combs.”

“The comb is the worst thing about it.”

“Oh hell yeah...”

“Me too. Mom lied and said I had sand in my hair so I wouldn’t panic.”

By that time, we were all scratching our heads; we couldn’t help it. And we looked down at our clothes, half-expecting a full infestation.

I tried to restore some kind of equilibrium. “Okay. So we’ve all had to deal with it. Not for a really long time, but the point is, we survived. Even if we do get it, we can get rid of it, and I’ll bet Ben will be pretty grateful to live out his last years without that. So tomorrow morning, bright and early, we’ll have a little talk with him, then get started on the bedding, and the clothes, and the hair.”

“Ha,” said Trevor. “Tomorrow morning? Why not right now? I don’t even want to go back there. I’d rather go to a hotel...but that would be a lousy thing to do --” He realized what he’d said when Warren and I cracked up laughing. Little by little, we were recovering.

“The sun is nearly down,” I said. “Let’s wait until tomorrow. That way we’ll have all day to tackle this thing. Hopefully we’ll be able to see better. We were gonna do a lot of cleaning for Gerry anyway. So when he comes Friday, everything will be in order. Gerry’ll have some fresh clothes for Ben and we can figure out what to do with the ones he’s been wearing. Damn, I hope we don’t have to burn them.”

“Well,” said Warren, “he’s a big boy, I’m sure he won’t be shocked when we talk to him about this. Maybe he knows a good way to get them out of clothing. If not, too bad. I’m not having creepy-crawlies in the house. I’m not bringing them home with me, either. Just no way.”

“And I don’t care if he doesn’t want to wash his hair,” said Trevor. “I will physically persuade him into the shower if need be. Damn.”

“Okay. Trevor, you need me to get on my phone and do some research for your trip to the drugstore tomorrow?”

“No. I’ll just ask the pharmacist. But Hop, that was a good idea, about seeing if he knows any old-fashioned remedies. We have plenty of essential oils and shit from when we first set up -- there might be something in the house that’ll do the trick.”

Warren said “Sure, but I’ll really feel more comfortable bringing in the heavy artillery from the Lice Department at Walgreens.”

We cracked up all over again. “The Lice Department!” But then we looked back at the house together and our smiles disappeared.

“This is going to be one helluva night,” said Warren.

“Yeah,” I said. “In fact, the only person who won’t lose any sleep is Ben.”

Trevor asked “Should we sit down and check each other’s hair before we go to bed?”

I threw my hands up and dropped them to my sides. “What good would that do, really? Especially if we find something. We don’t have anything from the store yet. Let’s just keep living in blissful ignorance one more night. We’ve been doing it for nearly two weeks anyway. Have either of you felt itchy?”

They shook their heads. “Probably because we shower every day like civilized human beings!” said Warren. We all remembered how good it felt to hit the shower in the days following the Great Plumbing Unveiling, as we jokingly referred to it.

“Courage,” I said, squeezing both their arms. We couldn’t help but mutter under our breath just a bit as we returned to the house. I felt bad -- it was the first time since Ben had arrived that any of us had entertained even the slightest negative sentiment toward him.

As we walked into the kitchen, we saw him at the sink, courteously washing the dishes and stacking them in the rack to dry. The table was cleared and the leftovers put away in the fridge. He turned to us with his usual mild expression but could easily see that we were distressed about something.

“Might I be of some assistance?” he asked. Trevor, Warren and I generally were on the same wavelength emotionally. We all felt compassion toward Ben, who was in a strange time and place, and wanted only to deepen his friendship with us and learn more about his history and ours. And it came to me afresh that no actor, no matter how talented, could fake head lice! We had nothing to contradict the impression that this was the genuine article, and had already begun taking that for granted.

So Ben didn’t have the slightest inkling of what we’d been discussing out there. And we also knew that in the morning, when we broached this somewhat delicate subject, he would be one hundred percent in our corner, doing everything he could to help.

We all mustered smiles for him. “No,” said Trevor. “It’s all good. Um, do you want to sit down and look at some more books?” he asked.

“You need never ask,” replied Ben. We went about our business as best we could but called it kind of an early night. Ben never questioned that; early to bed was still one of his maxims, and even when he occasionally kept later hours, he now had light to read and write by.

I’ve already tried to check myself in the mirror. Didn’t see anything, there or on the bed, but I swear I feel itchy. So, so, so glad I have nice short hair.

Breathe.

Thank you as always for reading! Comments welcome. Here's the next chapter. .