The Nature of Change

Troubled Waters 'Neath the Bridge (Terry 11)

TWO DAYS LATER

I idly check the work orders for the afternoon as I stride into the mess hall, swerving instinctively to avoid a cluster of chattering engineers. Their talk runs thick with jargon; I might be able to pick out most of the words on a good day and in a quiet room, but it spews forth at a rate incomprehensible to anyone lacking the years of experience in their various fields that they have.

Not needing a mask in the bunker is a strange feeling, but somewhat liberating. I know I'll get used to it again, just like I did going the other way when COVID first hit, but these first few days it's uncanny. The rigorous pre-screening and frequent supplemental antibody injections aren't enough to soothe my instincts built up over more than a year and a half of pandemic.

I swipe my tray from the table, nodding and flicking an informal salute to one of the cooks, then beginning a brisk walk towards an empty table. Swinging into my seat, I prod the beef with my fork, peeling off a slice of the lean meat. It almost falls apart under the pressure, cleanly splitting, and I scoop it into my mouth. Chew, chew, let the flavours mix and sizzle... Amazing, how even in the midst of all this bustle and fear there's room for such moments of simple enjoyment.

And, lo and behold, more moments on the horizon! I pick out Gerry's waddling sprint from the crowd. I stand up as he weaves between the legs of various experts and tradespeople and dashes towards me.

"Gerry!" I exclaim as he leaps into my arms. I heft him into the air and pull him into a tighter embrace, feeling the subtle warmth and comfort of him against me, a moment of deeper joy to contrast with the pleasure of the food. He squirms around, trying to get onto my back, and I grab his legs to balance him as Bea and Harry approach.

"Hey," Bea says, planting one foot angled slightly to one side. I pull her into a one-armed embrace with two firm pats on the back, then release. Harry comes on for his typical bearish hug, almost knocking the air out of my lungs.

"Come sit down!" I say, hefting Gerry off my back - he's heavier than I remember - and gesturing to the table. Bea slips gracefully onto the attached bench, sliding over to give Harry space to lankily clamber in. I'm amazed that he's still this awkward with his limbs, given that he's been past the peak of his growth for several years. But I suppose it fits - he's not very active, quite reclusive in his job, and doesn't have much need to move around.

Bea snaps her fingers halfway through setting down her bag. "I'll grab our trays," she says, gesturing to the mess hall serving table and hopping out backwards. Reaching the table in four swift steps, she flashes her card, pointing to Harry and Gerry, and utters a few soft words that I can't quite make out. The server whips out steaming trays from the warm-keeping oven below his post. He passes them through the gap in the glass, and Bea waves farewell as the server types a few notes into a tablet mounted behind the barrier.

I glance at Harry as Bea returns, handing out the trays. We only lock eyes for a second, but I see a depth of repressed anguish behind his veneer of reclusion and monotonous apathy.

He doesn't understand any of this.

"Neither do I," I whisper impulsively as he centers his tray, placing my hand on his.

He nods, choking back tears.

I know I've been distant from him, and so does he... and I can tell it means a lot to him to be here.

We dig into our meals in silence. Harry's slow and contemplative. Gerry is voracious as ever, as if he's trying to forget all the chaos and all the loss around him, losing himself in the food. Bea eats just as fast as she normally does, but I can see a shakiness in her hands that betrays a load of hurt.