Page 1 of Generation Lost

CHAPTER ONE

With the coffee poured and the pound cake sliced thinly so that each person could have a piece, the older woman took a seat and stared at her friends of thirty-plus years. They’d raised children together, grandchildren, muddled through recessions, measles, flu, job loss, job success, and yet here they were.

They were all in the same predicament. The same dim, no light at the end of the tunnel predicament. Every last one of them was barely able to feed themselves, let alone make their mortgage, pay their utilities, insurance, or even put gas in their cars.

“Ellen? What are y’all gonna do?” asked her friend Marion. Ellen looked at her husband Jim, and he nodded.

“Tonight, there will be a fire,” whispered Ellen. “We’ll race out, wait a few moments in confusion and panic, then call 911 and wait for the fire department to get here.”

“No!” gasped Marion.

“You can’t,” said Henry.

“We have no choice,” said Jim. “I won’t watch the bank take my house when I know they’ve been cheating us, raising our interest rates beyond what’s reasonable. We can’t afford the insurance any longer, and it’s only paid up until the end of the month. We’ve got nothing left. No options. We’ve tried everything. We’ve called any authorities that we thought might help. Hell, we even called a lawyer, and he laughed at us when we said we couldn’t pay him.”

Their friends shook their heads, tears in their eyes, knowing exactly how they felt.

“Let us help you get your things out of here,” said Marion, looking around at the memories of her friends’ lives.

“No. No, you can’t,” said Ellen with tears rolling down her face. “If we take out our prized possessions, they’ll know that something was up. We’ve put a few things in the trunk. A suitcase each of clothes, a few photos, but that’s it. We can’t touch anything else. It will all have to go when the house catches fire.”

“With the insurance money, we’ll at least be able to afford a small trailer or apartment for a while,” said Jim. “Everything is so much more expensive, and my medications don’t help. I wanted to take an overdose, but Ellen wouldn’t let me.”

“Don’t talk like that,” sniffed Ellen. “I need you to be healthy, and the medications are keeping you alive. Besides, our insurance won’t pay on a suicide.” They all chuckled, nodding their heads.

“It’s everything, not just medications,” she said. “Milk costing more, eggs costing more, heck, we started buying powdered eggs and milk because it’s so much cheaper. Tastes awful, but there’s nothing else to do. We’ve been buying the store brands only, cutting back on anything not necessary, and believe me, the cheaper toilet paper is making my bottom very aware of the issues.” Again, they laughed with their friends to prevent them from crying.

“We haven’t had red meat in I can’t tell you how long. Usually, I catch some fish, and that’s what we have.”

“We’re all in the same boat,” said Marion, looking at their other friends. Greta and Joan were widows. Tom, Phil, and Boris were widowers. Then there was Grace and Herb, Otto and Patricia, and Clinton and Lila. The group had lived in the same neighborhood for almost their entire adult lives. Peacefully raising children, burying a few children and spouses, and now they were all about to be homeless.

“There just has to be something we can do,” said Joan.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing,” said Ellen. “The bank is threatening to take the house. We can’t afford the repairs to make it worth selling, which, as it turns out, is a good excuse for the fire.” Her sad expression made the others sad.

“You can stay with us,” said Clinton. “We’ve got an extra room.”

“We appreciate that,” nodded Jim. “But for how long? You’re in the same boat we are. Since that mortgage company came in and took over all our mortgages, we’re all in the same rotten situation.”

“How will the fire start?” whispered Clinton.

“That old fuse box is about to blow any minute. We’ll just speed up the process,” he said, nodding.

“Do it now,” said Joan. They all stared at her, their faces showing shock and surprise. “Do it now, and it will look more believable with all these people as our witnesses. We were all just having coffee and cake, and suddenly, we smelled smoke. We got out, but that was it.”

“No,” said Jim. “No, I won’t risk your lives!”

“It’s no more risk than your own life,” said Otto. “I agree. It’s a good idea. Let’s go make sure it sparks soon, and we’ll wipe our prints from the fuse box.”

The two old men made their way to the utility room, opening the ancient fuse box. There were loose wires everywhere, and given time, it would have started all by itself. They were just going to speed up the process a bit.

Wiping the area around the box, they looked at one another and nodded.

“It’s been a good old house,” said Jim, wiping his eyes. “I built that back porch for her so she could watch the kids play in the summer. And that walkway out there, I paved that myself. All the paint and wallpaper…”

“We’ll find a way, buddy. Come on.”

Back upstairs, they drank their coffee in silence until someone said they smelled something burning. When flames began coming from the utility room, they rose slowly and headed toward the door. With one final look back, Jim and Marion stepped off their porch and into the street. They waited about five minutes, then nervously making a call to the fire department.

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