Mary Jo Miller's 1st Interview

TROY, MONTANA, USA

 [This neighborhood is, according to the brochure, the “New Community”
for the “New America.” Based on the Israeli “Masada” model, it is clear
just from first glance that this neighborhood was built with one goal in
 mind. The houses all rest on stilts, so high as to afford each a
perfect view over the twenty-foot-high, reinforced concrete wall. Each
house is accessed by a retractable staircase and can connect to its
neighbor by a similarly retractable walkway. The solar cell roofs, the
shielded wells, the gardens, lookout towers, and thick, sliding,
steel-reinforced gate have all served to make Troy an instant success
with its inhabitants, so much so that its developer has already received
 seven more orders across the continental United States. Troy’s
developer, chief architect, and first mayor is Mary Jo Miller.]

 Oh yeah, I was worried, I was worried about my car payments and Tim’s
business loan. I was worried about that widening crack in the pool and
the new nonchlorinated filter that still left an algae film. I was
worried about our portfolio, even though my e-broker assured me this was
 just first-time investor jitters and that it was much more profitable
than a standard 401(k). Aiden needed a math tutor, Jenna needed just the
 right Jamie Lynn Spears cleats for soccer camp. Tim’s parents were
thinking of coming to stay with us for Christmas. My brother was back in
 rehab. Finley had worms, one of the fish had some kind of fungus
growing out of its left eye. These were just some of my worries. I had
more than enough to keep me busy.

 Did you watch the news?

 Yeah, for about five minutes every day: local headlines, sports,
celebrity gossip. Why would I want to get depressed by watching TV? I
could do that just by stepping on the scale every morning.

 What about other sources? Radio?

 Morning drive time? That was my Zen hour. After the kids were dropped
off, I’d listen to [name withheld for legal reasons]. His jokes helped
me get through the day.

 What about the Internet?

 What about it? For me, it was shopping; for Jenna, it was homework; for
 Tim, it was…stuff he kept swearing he’d never look at again. The only
news I ever saw was what popped up on my AOL welcome page.

 At work, there must have been some discussion…

 Oh yeah, at first. It was kinda scary, kinda weird, “you know I hear
it’s not really rabies” and stuff like that. But then that first winter
things died down, remember, and anyway, it was a lot more fun to rehash
last night’s episode of Celebrity Fat Camp or totally bitch out whoever
wasn’t in the break room at that moment.

 One time, around March or April, I came into work and found Mrs. Ruiz
clearing out her desk. I thought she was being downsized or maybe
outsourced, you know, something I considered a real threat. She
explained that it was “them,” that’s how she always referred to it,
“them” or “everything that’s happening.” She said that her family’d
already sold their house and were buying a cabin up near Fort Yukon,
Alaska. I thought that was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard,
especially from someone like Inez. She wasn’t one of the ignorant ones,
she was a “clean” Mexican. I’m sorry to use that term, but that was how I
 thought back then, that was who I was.

 Did your husband ever show any concern?

 No, but the kids did, not verbally, or consciously, I think. Jenna
started getting into fights. Aiden wouldn’t go to sleep unless we left
the lights on. Little things like that. I don’t think they were exposed
to any more information than Tim, or I, but maybe they didn’t have the
adult distractions to shut it out.

 How did you and your husband respond?

 Zoloft and Ritalin SR for Aiden, and Adderall XR for Jenna. It did the
trick for a while. The only thing that pissed me off was that our
insurance didn’t cover it because the kids were already on Phalanx.

 How long had they been on Phalanx?

 Since it became available. We were all on Phalanx, “Piece of Phalanx,
Peace of Mind.” That was our way of being prepared…and Tim buying a gun.
 He kept promising to take me to the range to learn how to shoot.
“Sunday,” he’d always say, “we’re goin’ this Sunday.” I knew he was full
 of it. Sundays were reserved for his mistress, that eighteen-footer,
twin-engine bitch he seemed to sink all his love into. I didn’t really
care. We had our pills, and at least he knew how to use the Glock. It
was part of life, like smoke alarms or airbags. Maybe you think about it
 once in a while, it was always just…“just in case.” And besides,
really, there was already so much out there to worry about, every month,
 it seemed, a new nail-biter. How can you keep track of all of it? How
do you know which one is really real?

 How did you know?

 It had just gotten dark. The game was on. Tim was in the BarcaLounger
with a Corona. Aiden was on the floor playing with his Ultimate
Soldiers. Jenna was in her room doing homework. I was unloading the
Maytag so I didn’t hear Finley barking. Well, maybe I did, but I never
gave it any thought. Our house was in the community’s last row, right at
 the foot of the hills. We lived in a quiet, just developed part of
North County near San Diego. There was always a rabbit, sometimes a
deer, running across the lawn, so Finley was always throwing some kind
of a shit fit. I think I glanced at the Post-it to get him one of those
citronella bark collars. I’m not sure when the other dogs started
barking, or when I heard the car alarm down the street. It was when I
heard something that sounded like a gunshot that I went into the den.
Tim hadn’t heard anything. He had the volume jacked up too high. I kept
telling him he had to get his hearing checked, you just don’t spend your
 twenties in a speed metal band without…[sighs]. Aiden’d heard
something. He asked me what it was. I was about to say I didn’t know
when I saw his eyes go wide. He was looking past me, at the glass
sliding door that led to the backyard. I turned just in time to see it
shatter.

 It was about five foot ten, slumped, narrow shoulders with this puffy,
wagging belly. It wasn’t wearing a shirt and its mottled gray flesh was
all torn and pockmarked. It smelled like the beach, like rotten kelp and
 saltwater. Aiden jumped up and ran behind me. Tim was out of the chair,
 standing between us and that thing. In a split second, it was like all
the lies fell away. Tim looked frantically around the room for a weapon
just as it grabbed him by the shirt. They fell on the carpet, wrestling.
 He shouted for us to get in the bedroom, for me to get the gun. We were
 in the hallway when I heard Jenna scream. I ran to her room, threw open
 the door. Another one, big, I’d say six and a half feet with giant
shoulders and bulging arms. The window was broken and it had Jenna by
the hair. She was screaming “Mommymommymommy!”

 What did you do?

 I…I’m not totally sure. When I try to remember, everything goes by too
fast. I had it by the neck. It pulled Jenna toward its open mouth. I
squeezed hard…pulled…The kids say I tore the thing’s head off, just
ripped it right out with all the flesh and muscle and whatever else
hanging in tatters. I don’t think that’s possible. Maybe with all your
adrenaline pumping…I think the kids just have built it up in their
memories over the years, making me into SheHulk or something. I know I
freed Jenna. I remember that, and just a second later, Tim came in the
room, with this thick, black goo all over his shirt. He had the gun in
one hand and Finley’s leash in the other. He threw me the car keys and
told me to get the kids in the Suburban. He ran into the backyard as we
headed for the garage. I heard his gun go off as I started the engine.