It was a prize possession. He found it at Country Antiques almost two decades ago. A 1940's Philco record player. It was a little busted up, and it took him several months to get it restored. When it was fixed up though, my could it play sweet music.
Around the same time, he added an electrical outlet to the screened-in porch. He would set up the player on a Harvest Work Table, in the most protected spot of the porch, one where the worst storms would not get it wet. Still, he took no chances with the record player, only setting it out when he was actually using it.
He loved that he could play music while he read and drank coffee. He had been collecting over the years; an esoteric, electric collection, albums featuring music from many eras. This morning he put on his most cherished album, one by Australian country/folk singer, Slim Dusty.
Ronnie Smith settled into a rocking chair, one of two that he was on the porch. He set his coffee by his chair, on a large, rectangular vintage trunk, one with a faded map of the world (circa the 1890s), careful to use the Dewey for President coaster. He had earlier placed a second cup of coffee near the second rocker.
He picked up his current read, the latest in the Bill O'Reilly killing series, Killing Crazy Horse, fresh off the presses. Ronnie was not one of those teachers who liked to let their own scholarship slide. He liked to keep up with the latest academic works in his field. Ronnie teaches Civics and US History at Dizon High School.
Ronnie prided himself in making sure his students got the truth about their government and American History. Somebody had to stand up to the liberal propaganda that even the best students found themselves exposed to in the lying "woke" media. He made sure they knew that America was founded as a Christian nation, that the Civil War was about state's rights, that the New Deal and the Great Society created the Welfare State and the 47% living off the government's teat. In civics, just before he had to leave, he had started in his Civics class a crash course in why mail-in voting was fraudulent evil, and the only way the Democrats could beat Trump.
Not that Ronnie was working today, or any day for at least not the next two weeks, if not longer. He tested positive. The case seemed mild, but he still would be home at least another two weeks. It might be longer because in-person school had been suspended.
Ronald tries to get into the new book. He can't. His mind was whirring too fast. It should have worked. School should have been okay. But it didn't work out that way. Not at all.
From the first day, a student tested positive. They were promptly sent home. The Superintendent urged students to not send their kids home if they weren't well. Grace Scope, the biology teacher, said that wouldn't do any good; the kids were coming to school asymptomatic and no one would know they were spreading it until it was too late. Grace wore a mask and thought everyone else should too. She wanted all the students in her classroom to wear masks, but the administration told her she could not require that. Ronnie didn't wear a mask, nor did his wife Matilda, a third-grade teacher at Crowley Elementary.
He tried to pick up his coffee cup, lifted it towards his face, but his hand shook and he had to put it back down.
Grace Scope. She's a lesbian. Everyone knew that. Why the administration didn't do anything about it, Ronnie couldn't fathom. Why would anyone listen to her?
Why didn't he listen to her? Doubt filled his soul.
They said it wouldn't affect children. They didn't say how effective they were in spreading it to others. They didn't factor in Melissa Hartwood, a middle school girl with juvenile diabetes. That one made state news.
How could he have been so wrong?
The number of cases in Dixon had doubled since school started. The Covid-19 deaths had risen from 9 to 15. Not dramatic numbers, maybe, but dramatic enough if it was somebody you knew, especially if it was someone you loved.
Slim Dusty started a new song. Ronnie couldn't take it. He put his hands on his face, tears flowing freely.
He glanced over at the empty rocker, barely able to see it. The coffee cup set there, a faint trail of steam rising from it.
Why had he set it out? Was he losing his mind?
Slim Dusty played the song. He thought he could handle it, but he couldn't.
Waltzing Matilda.
She had caught Covid-19 and had waltzed out of his life.
Nothing would ever be the same.
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