Page 37 of The Man I Hate

I cringed at the thought. “I know enough about him to know staying away is the only answer.”

“Did something happen?”

“The hate fuck.” I exhaled breath of frustration. “It didn’t work.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite,” I replied. “Why?”

“It takes time.”

“Well,” I said with a laugh. “It looks like time is on my side.”

She chuckled. “I’ll be in touch. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you.”

“Be safe.”

“Same to you,” I said. “Again, thanks.”

I hung up the call and pushed the phone to the center of the table. I glanced at the television. The news segment continued, warning viewers of spreading the virus from one person to another.

To slow the rate of infection, the Center of Disease Control is urging people to practice what is described as social distancing. Maintaining a six-foot distance between other people, while in public, is crucial to slow the spread of COVID-19.

Residents of the state should wear protective masks or respirators, if possible, when outdoors. Publicly accessed grocery carts, fuel pumps, and other hard surfaces should be handled with gloves or sanitized before touching with bare hands. Proper hand washing is critical, as is sanitizing one’s hands after touching anything in public.

If a resident is having groceries delivered by one of the many companies who offer such services, they should be cleaned and disinfected prior to…

I lowered my head into my hands. What was happening was incomprehensible.

For the next several hours I wandered throughout the home, taking inventory of what I had. Short of wine, there wasn’t enough groceries in the home to feed a mouse.

There was no hand sanitizer, Lysol, or any other bacteria-killing cleanser. Although there was a reasonable supply of toilet paper, I’d need more if the order to stay at home was extended beyond a month.

I downloaded the Instacart application on my phone. After placing a quick order for what I felt was essential, I tried to embrace the idea of being locked in a home that I didn’t want to be in, which, consequently, was next door to a man who I’d quickly grown to despise.

For an entire month.

It dawned on me that he, too, would be locked in his home. There was one upside, though.

We’d be in separate homes.

Braxton

I couldn’t fucking believe it. In addition to dodging thousands of bullets, I’d managed to live through the threat of sarin gas, anthrax, and the countless chemical weapons that we exposed ourselves to throughout my tenure as a US Marine. Having survived those real-life threats, I was now being forced to stay home and safeguard myself from a disease that had symptoms mimicking the seasonal flu.

The governor of California was an utter and complete idiot.

Although my research on the matter was far from thorough, the information was readily available, and the consensus was obvious. It was apparent that the deaths associated with the common flu were far in excess of the deaths associated with COVID-19.

Men over the age of eighty with underlying health issues were those who should be concerned. A middle-aged male in perfect health wasn’t a candidate for complications. Frustrated beyond comprehension, I picked up my phone and called Pratt.

He answered on the first ring. “Pratt’s soon-to-be sanitary supply warehouse, how can I help you?”

“Sanitary supplies,” I said with a laugh. “I’m guessing you saw governor’s press conference?”

“Hate to say I told you so,” he sang in a sarcastic tone. “But I told you so.”