Secure Your Own Mask, Before Helping Others
…If there is a drop in cabin pressure, panels above your seat will open, revealing oxygen masks. If this happens, pull a mask toward you until the tube is fully extended, place the mask over your nose and mouth, slip the elastic strap over your head, and adjust the mask if necessary. Breathe normally and note that oxygen is flowing, even if the bag doesn’t inflate. Be sure to secure your own mask, before helping others…
“So, are you leaving or going?”
Confusion written on his face, Alaba looked up from his notes at the man beaming widely through his salted beard. “I’m sorry I don’t understand.”
The bearded man continued, “Are you leaving home or going home?” As a charitable sign he shared, “me and my wife are originally from Atlanta, but we moved to LA for the weather.”
Alaba smiled politely. The purse-lipped smile signaling social discomfort rather than inner joy. “Neither, I travel a lot for work,” he responded.
The bearded man continued undeterred by Alaba’s terseness, “Oh! You must be a doctor! I couldn’t help but notice your copy of JAMA tucked into the seat pocket. I used to teach high school biology and my daughter is a doctor at Emory.”
“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Alaba responded, “I study population health.”
“What do you make of the virus rumors coming out of Europe?”
“It’s too early to say anything useful, but I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Besides, it’s not here in America anyway.”
“Sir,” a flight attendant interrupted, “Sir would you put your tray table up before takeoff.”
Alaba complied and took the opportunity to rest his head against the wall of the cabin as he closed his eyes for the five hour flight.
The two newly weds stared at the golden death Mask of Agamemnon. They had met in graduate school at the University of California Berkeley. He was writing his thesis on exile and familial duty in ancient Greek mythology. She was a physicist turned quant working for the hounds of Wall Street, Cerberus Capital Management.
She said, “it’s actually beautiful how peaceful he looks considering he was murdered by his wife and her lover.” She traced a straight line along the protective display case tracking the mask’s eyebrows. “But, I guess when you’re dead, you don’t have to wear your emotional mask anymore.”
Their honeymoon had been a whirlwind of the great cities of antiquity. They had floated through Venice on a Gondola. They had been reverent in Rome even though the only God they worshipped was academia. And now they were here in Athens, the birthplace of Western Civilization.
He responded, “Archaeologists don’t think Agamemnon actually wore this mask since it seems to have been around 400 years before the Trojan War.”
She analyzed the new piece of information, “Interesting, so it wasn’t really his mask. What do you think his face was like when he died?”
He began coughing violently. She whipped around with concern all over her face, “Baby are you ok? Do you need water?”
He stumbled, backwards as she guided him to a bench. He tried to comfort her, “I’m ok. I think I’m still hung over from partying with those Russians last night. I need some water, my throat feels dry.”
She sat beside him to rub his back, “Baby your shirt is soaked. Should we go back to the hotel?”
He began, “no, I should be good. I just need to sit for a second.” Then he doubled over convulsing and coughing even more violently.
Alaba was already sweating in the fullbody hazmat suit. He adjusted his gas mask and asked, “Is she ready?” The guard nodded and pressed the button controlling the door. As the door buzzed open, Alaba marched forward into the cell. He called out: “Mrs. Smith?”
She was sitting on the bed curled up crying into her knees as she had the past three days since her husband collapsed and died in a museum in Greece. She couldn’t stop thinking about the the look of pain on his face when he died. She was now quarantined somewhere near Washington, D.C. She’d spoken to her parents, but the authorities at the facility told her that she would have no visitors until the situation had been properly assessed.
“Mrs. Smith. We have the results back and I wanted to speak with you for a few minutes.”
She wiped her eyes and furrowed her brow at Alaba in his yellow hazmat.
“Mrs. Smith, it seems you are also infected with the same viral strain that killed your husband. The good news is that you’re not symptomatic as you already know. The bad news is that we’re going to have to keep you here for a while longer.” Alaba said.
She let out a defeated sigh and curled up once more into her knees to cry.
“THIS IS A GOTDAMN WAR.” General Thomas slammed the table to emphasize his point. He continued stabbing his index finger into the air as if he were poking the enemy, “It’s been 3 months and we’ve lost 1,000 American civilians. We need to implement martial law now.”
Alaba chimed in, “I think martial law is the right short term step, so people can be quarantined and stop the spread. But we need a longer term solution since we believe this may be a Red Queen Scenario.”
The President spoke up, “What are you talking about?”
“We believe this virus was genetically engineered. When we sequenced the genetic material we were surprised at how efficient the genetic code was. Usually natural genetic code is redundant due to evolution, so we believe patient zero and his wife were specifically infected with this strand.”
The President sighed, “Ok, so it’s the cold war all over again.” He looked around the room at the nodding heads. “Ok let’s do martial law, and I want to triple the investment in Alaba’s research so we can crack this thing.”
Later that night had trouble sleeping he ripped off his face mask in frustration. As he lay there trying to will himself back to sleep he thought of the Lewis Carroll quote: “Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.”
