A View with a Room

And then one day it actually happened. He had mused over the thought from time to time since childhood. He had seen it dramatized in the film "The Omega Man" and later the series "Last Man on Earth". But this was real. The day came when Vincent found himself to be the only human being inhabiting the earth. Everything else was much the same, the physical infrastructure was mostly intact, but there was a seemingly total absence of other people. The reason was unknown to him - was it a plague, as in the "Omega Man", or was it like the mysterious disappearance of the Anasazi people, who he always fancied were picked up by alien spacecraft and taken to another planet?

No matter - the situation on earth had changed radically and there was some adjusting to do.

It just so happened that he was visiting his parents in suburban New York when this happened. His residence was in California. The phones seemed to work, both locally and long-distance, but no one picked up on the other end.

It took hours of feverishly searching the house and every nook and cranny of the area to establish that his parents were gone, along with the neighbors and everyone else in the neighborhood.

He was convinced his predicament was real when he entered the local police station only to find lights on, doors ajar, and computers humming, but not a soul to report the incident to. In lieu of that he left a detailed note with his name, phone number and parents' address.

He knew he would have to venture out in an effort to find people or explanations for what had happened. Trees looked the same, air smelled the same, and birds still sang their same songs. It was just people that were missing.

So the next morning he set out in his parents' station wagon. Luckily, when he stopped at a local gas station, the pump took his credit card and dispensed a full tank of gas without a hitch. The power grid was functioning on some sort of auto-pilot, but for how long Vincent could only wonder.

After several hours of driving in different directions and finding neither people nor answers, he realized he was hungry. Stopping at a supermarket in a densely developed area, he told himself that under such extenuating circumstances it was ok to take food, and he proceeded to stock the wagon with a few staples - nuts, bananas, water, coffee.

The situation also started to take a toll on him emotionally. He knew he needed to drive somewhere pleasant, so as to ground himself spiritually in such strange circumstances.

He wasn't completely in love with the county he grew up in, but there were pockets and corners that were near and dear to his heart, such as his grandparents' old house near the coast. Although they had long ago passed away and the house had long since changed hands, he had a cache of fond memories that he had ever since carried around with him.

Those grandparents seemed to have lived a charmed life. They were affluent and travelled regularly. They had impeccable taste in real estate. They had a swimming pool.

When you are a child, and your parents drive you to your grandparents' house, the ride leaves a deep impression on your young mind. Because you aren't driving, but instead directing your attention out the windows, all the features and details of the ride - the roads, the houses, the trees, the fences, the ponds, the shrubbery etc. - are indelibly inscribed on your psyche.

It just so happened that in this case it was a very pleasant ride, going down curvy tree-lined country roads, interesting, beautiful homes, and - near the end - ponds and waterways that any but the most depraved human being would find spiritually uplifting.

It was one thing to experience such a ride as a child, and another to go back as an adult and see it through more mature eyes. There was no question that his grandparents had chosen a superb piece of real estate in an area that was protected - through both natural and cultural features - from the ravages of sprawl that had rendered other formerly decent areas unrecognizable. It was too bad that when his grandfather died, his grandmother needed to sell the property, so as to purchase a smaller house. It was too bad that the property was no longer in the family. Among other things, the value of the home had appreciated ten times since they purchased it in the 1950s.

But now that every human being on earth had apparently disappeared, there was an opportunity to reclaim it.

So Vincent retraced that ride from his youth, gliding down the same country lanes that astonishingly had lost none of their beauty. It was spring and the roads were green and leafy. Near the end of the drive he crossed a small isthmus that separated a pond from an inlet that accessed the open sea, and noticed a black crowned night heron perched along the edge.

The natural topography of the area was ideal. The road his grandparents lived on paralleled the shore of the inlet. The land east of the road sloped gently down to the shore. The homes on that side had views of the water framed by grass, trees, and marshland. One of these was his grandparents'. It was perched on higher ground that afforded a perfect view of the water, but interestingly was lower than the road. There was another tier between the house and the marshland where the pool was situated.

From the road the house looked almost humble and ordinary. It was essentially a long ranch-style house built in the 1940s. But to Vincent, it was not only ideally situated on the perfect piece of land, but steeped in all the mystery, promise and hope of his childhood - a palpable piece of his past that was connected to other pieces of his family's past. From this property he could access deep wells of energy, identity and purpose.

After establishing that there was no one home, he then toured the property for the first time in decades. The family that purchased the home from his grandmother had made a few small changes, but for the most part it was the same house emanating the same spirit.

For years he had a recurring dream about the house in which the long hallway that ran the length of it got longer, so that he would discover new rooms that he hadn't even known existed. Sometimes it would shift from a single story house to a multi-story house and even more rooms would materialize - more than he could comprehend or keep track of.

In real life, much of the interior had limited natural light, giving it a generally dark effect. The exception was the glassed-in sitting room where his grandparents seemed to spend 99% of their time. It was a wonderful room that had everything -  natural light, a view of the water, comfortable seating, a strategically placed television, and a wet bar.

As a child he was not familiar with the term "wet bar", but upon reflection this one was a fine example. His grandparents were drinkers who socialized with other drinkers and no doubt put it to good use.

Vincent did not share their taste for liquor, but he did like a good glass of wine now and then, usually red but sometimes white. He noticed that the wet bar was well stocked with the whole gamut of spirits as well as beer and wine.

He found a familiar bottle of California Cabernet that had been opened and corked; there was about half a bottle left. He poured some into a cocktail glass and wandered around the room, absorbing its specific energy. There was a comfortable chair that faced the view; he plunked himself there gazed out at it.

He remembered that his grandfather would sit in a chair facing away from the view. Maybe the light was better for reading that way, and maybe it was a better position for socializing. Now that Vincent was the only person on earth it made more sense to face the view. The sight of the water beyond the marshland had a calming effect. The familiar old vista made him feel grounded and happy.

Gone was the very distinct smell of the house as he remembered it - a smell that was allegedly a blend of gin and cigarettes, but he wasn't quite sure. Since he had spent his life avoiding gin and cigarettes, he could not confirm or deny that allegation. Besides, the smell seemed more complex than that, with notes of perfume and tropical mildew. It wasn't a bad smell at all, just extremely distinct.

Vincent decided that sitting in the glass sitting room and staring at the view was as good as it got, and so he set up camp there. There, in the same room where the cook had served him Chicken in a Basket while the Wonderful World of Disney came on the television half a century earlier, he passed several pleasant weeks.

There, staring at the view, he recollected how boats occasionally passed by. He also remembered how his grandfather would have a golf tournament on the television with the sound turned down, and that too was peaceful, in an unusual way.

Vincent turned on the new owner's television and every station was gone except for one. The exception was a Spanish station showing reruns of telenovelas. This was very curious, Vincent thought. But to liven things up, he let the telenovelas run with the sound down.

                                                     

*          *          *

He knew had to get back to California, to see what the situation was like there. First he wanted to see if the trains were still running. Astonishingly, they were, despite being unmanned. Even more shocking, all the Amtrak trains that he was accustomed to taking were running perfectly on time. It must have been that the absence of freight trains allowed some sort of autopilot to kick in.

So he packed a bunch of food and books and hit the rails. He especially liked camping out in the observation car of the Southwest Chief, gazing at the scenery until it reached Los Angeles.

Once there, he confirmed that there was nobody around on the West Coast either.

So he did what any sane person would do in that situation. He found a car and drove up to Santa Barbara.

There, he spent every night in a different house. There were so many fine homes to choose from, with so many fine views. He started a list, to help keep track of them all. He liked looking at the family photos so as to form an idea of the former owners. Sometimes, for fun, he would read their mail, rifle through drawers, or explore closets. It never got boring.

And because he was raised to be a gentleman, he would always leave a thank you note, apologizing for entering and explaining his situation. He included his name and phone number and implored them not to hesitate to contact him for any reason whatsoever.

- Copyright 2017 by P.T. Gachot