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Wiping away tears, she chops up fresh onions while the vinegar attacks her nose. "Remember thick, thick tapering off, so the sandwich looks bigger." Summer vacations working on a production assembly line dreaming about the journeys after I turn eighteen.
By mid-morning, we take five. Every gray folding chair wobbly as we sit rubbing our sore feet while eating gooey jelly donuts in the breakroom. After our shift, some of us stop by the mouthwatering lake jumping in with a big splash. The oniony mustard smell fades. Afterward, we eat our chocolate sandwich cookies, slurping strawberry sodas through straws. There is more time to think now. The wider sky seems less forgiving. It’s time to write. The sound of my fingers tapping a keyboard is comforting. Point and reach. Pull back. I curl my thumb around the space bar for leverage. This is not the time to hunt and peck. I pick letters lovingly. Click-clack. The sound of creating prose is not unlike the sound of a steady rain beating down on the pavement. I am well-versed in the language of pain. And no matter what anyone says, raw feelings are often invigorating.
We had great fun as kids, wearing masks, and playing outlaws. We were Zorro, The Phantom, and Green Hornet, and jumped out of bushes to scare girls. I tried to be The Shadow but couldn’t “cloud men’s minds.”
Now, many decades later, we wear respiratory masks to save lives. Our own and those of others. We don’t leave our homes and live in fear. We watch the numbers climb and wait for the promised help and hope from a government short on truth. I’m reading Poe’s Masque of the Red Death and wait anxiously for the Ebony Clock to chime. "Hi...this is Andrew. Sorry I missed your call. Please leave me a message."
She hung up the phone. Tears began to run down her cheeks. Maybe next time she called she would leave a message. No one would hear it, of course. She wondered how much longer it would be before the voice mail message would disappear altogether, leaving her with no way to hear her son's voice. The hundreds of family photos in her picture album were not as comforting as the sound of his voice. She pressed the green button again on her cell phone. "Hi...this is Andrew...." “Excuse me, Mam. You should wear a mask to enter.”
“Oh...alright.” I strode back from my intention to seek a mask in that one of the famous supermarkets in town. What one was never done before, now has become normal, even more, accepted. “Hi...when you come to my place tomorrow, can you just have your shower here?” “Sure!” said I accepting the surprise in a smile. I took a bath twice that morning. Standing by the window, looking at the sky, I pictured that world's viral enemy boasting. Don’t worry, your time will come to leave the world. I smiled. Perkadee, perkadee, perkadee. Doo, doo, doo! I shrill out the exuberant call, in response to my favorite bird. We perform call-and-response music every morning, when I take my dog Carmen out for her walk. I’ve actually gotten pretty good at imitating the call. Of course, everyone knows musicians must practice to become skilled at their art. Perkadee, perkadee, perkadee. Doo, doo, doo! I wonder why everything comes in threes. And I wonder what I am saying! The call is lusty, as if to proclaim, “Wake up, everybody, and enjoy this beautiful day with me!” I think I will.
By the numbers there’s my driver’s license, car registration, license plate, street address, zip code, wife’s birthday, kids’ birthdays, grandkids’ birthdays, dog’s birthday, anniversary, home phone, work phone, cellphone, wife’s phone, kids’ phones, professional license, Triple A, passport, checking account, credit union, credit card, debit card, PINs, social security, payroll, frequent flier, computer passwords, lots of passwords, stocks, bonds, certificates of deposit, IRA, loans, HMO, museum memberships, club memberships, library, Wifi, storage locker, combination locks, enneagram, and the number of times I’ve been married. It’s a lot to remember, I know, but thank god I finally know who I am.
Your bumping into me and spilling coffee over my brand new dress, gave me just enough pause to gaze into your dreamy blue eyes.
Nothing before that incident ever mattered again. Priorities ceased to exist, problems faded away, and promises I made to myself were broken without regret. A date, an embrace, a kiss lead to a lifetime of laughter and love. Well that was a moment of wishful thinking on my part. None of that happened other than your ruining my dress and your offering me a feeble apology. Chelwon, an inhabitant of Planet Zorg, stretched his six arms and four legs, all orange like his skin. Then he set out on his daily run.
He passed by the orientation center, where new prisoners were teleported before beginning slavery. “Hmm ... wonder if anyone new is here?” He slowed to peek inside, and saw four new captives. “Where are we? How’d we get here?” a woman stuttered. Chelwon smiled as he listened to the usual spiel about traveling through space. The slaves’ shocked expressions never got old. The Zorgs had business to conduct, with the new inhabitants. A promising start. No question Vanessa was brilliant. She went to the best university and was a true alpha female who everyone respected and admired.
Only a few years after graduation, Vanessa became the CEO of a major corporation of over twenty thousand employees. She controlled every aspect of the company. She bought a large house in an upscale community with fifty acres of land and put up a massive fence to assure her safety. She controlled every aspect of her life, except for one thing—her cat. Her cat was an alpha feline who had a much stronger need to control than Vanessa. She’s gone. Forever. Suddenly, though we had been warned that it could be any moment.
Amid intermittent flashes of hope, her fight against cancer was a losing one. How do I console myself? Or the young boy, adopted despite my silent dissent when she realized she couldn’t bear one? That death is the only certainty in life? Would that wipe away the hot and cold memory of twenty-five years? Could the boy withstand another massive shock so early in life? I lie in the dark, watching the crescent moon being engulfed by dark clouds. “They’ve gone,” observed Timothy. “Disappeared overnight.”
“Huh-huh.” Gavin nodded. “Wocher reckon happened?” “Something cataclysmic.” Tim was known as the wise one of the group. “Reckon they’re extinct,” ventured Rosie. “Yeah, you’re right, Rose. Crawling all over the place one minute and now, nothing.” “Just as well,” muttered Gavin. “Vermin. We’re better off without them… Hey, look. Is that one down there? Just gone under Feather Bridge?” The other two peered down, but there was nothing other than an eerie silence. The three pigeons fluffed their feathers and flew off. “You’re right, Rose, the human race is extinct.” “I’m being truthful,” said Ken.
“Is it your truth or real truth?” asked Chris. Ken replied. “What’s the difference? Truth is truth." “Not necessarily,” the other voice sounded. “Lies can be truthful to someone who believes them as truth.” A sparrow landed on a nearby tree. Its chirping got Ken’s attention. “That bird sounds flustered,” he said. “Truth be, it sounds like sparrows always sound. There’s no knowing how it feels,” grumbled Chris. “Doesn’t it sound angry?” backfired Ken. “That’s your percepetion. Truthfully, it’s chirping like sparrows do,” Chris added. The conversation paused. Neither budged, and that was the truth. It is a confusing, anxious time. People distant from one another, wearing masks. People worried about their health and their livelihoods. People worried about the future.
You weren’t due for another eight weeks. That was the plan anyway. But you arrived when the time was right, and you were healthy and beautiful and perfect. Your name is Theo, which means God. We were waiting for you, and you came when we needed you most. You remind us God is with us. You remind us that, even in a chaotic and perilous time, life finds a way and joy abounds. Hand wash: nearly twenty times a day. Sanitizing doorknobs, countertops, faucets, remote controls, phones, car door handles, keys, steering wheel, gear shifts: at least three times a day. He and his family members did all that militantly every day during the lockdown period. That morning he returned from the market with a bagful of groceries. Pulling off his shirt, he spotted a cobweb clung to it. Instinctively, he shook it hard, flung it at the laundry bin and went for a bath. In the days that followed, all potted plants of the house slowly dried up and died.
At Writers’ Fest, non-writers are like a sore thumb. But I wanted to meet writers; know how they got started. Worse, I thought of doing a book on them.
There, I’d lie in wait. That day I was on the last row, when she, a mystery writer, sat beside me, waiting to go on stage. I whispered in her ears. She agreed. Talk-show over, at the organizer’s behest, she cut me abruptly: “I’m not in a mood to talk”, and walked away. Yet another cut-to-the-quick comment! My book appeared two years later. How I wish she was between the covers. In COVID-19, Simon saw opportunity: master Chopin's D flat "Minute" Waltz.
Even for concert pianists, the Minute Waltz requires nearly two minutes' performance. No virtuoso, Simon's record was over five. Now, trapped in lockdown, he set about practising non-stop each day from morning till night. Two weeks later, he could play the entire piece in under four minutes; by week six, in just three. During week twelve, Simon smashed the two minute barrier. Then... silence. Days later, police discovered Simon's decaying body slumped over the keys. No one had noticed: his neighbours had long ago self-isolated from his piano playing. Off the coast of Japan, in calm Pacific waters, the old fishing boat casts out worn nets to catch fish on this overcast day. The small crew of four are hungry as fishing has not been good lately. Their families are forced to make do with very little. The old captain wishes for just one big catch, to show their luck is changing. He prays devoutly.
At the bottom of the ocean, a giant monster shrugs in its radioactive slumber, no destructive menace to mankind today, and the resulting shake forces fish by the hundreds into the waiting nets above. The elevator in the hospital’s main lobby, the one caddy-corner the one I use to transport patients up to radiology is out of service for the third time this week. Of course I don’t know this when I leave the emergency room pushing an obese middle-aged man in a wheelchair, so by the time I get there and see the hastily scrawled note Do Not Use scotch-taped across the elevator door, I’m winded and annoyed.
“It’s as broken as I feel,” I mutter. “At least you ain’t fat,” the man snorts. When did my lowly job become a pissing contest? Mom was in a rare mood today. While having the pizza she brought for us, she said she is getting married again. My sister and I looked at each other. Does that mean she will send us away again?
She said she is running out of time and we offered to help. We are her little daughters, after all. Seeing her leave for the spa, we got to work. Starting with the stockings- Sister-” How big is the hole?” Me-”As small as a peanut.” Sister-”My finger is inside. Look now.” Me-”As small as a coin.” (Evil laugh) The shops were all closed, there was nowhere to go. She rode the bus for hours, getting on through the rear door. It was free due to the pandemic.
“Go home and stay home,” the prime minister said. “Do your part to keep us all safe.” “You have to get off,” the bus driver finally said. “No joy-riding allowed.” She walked fifteen blocks until there were blisters on her feet. The sun was setting and it was cold when she turned the key in the lock. “Where have you been, Liz?” he growled, as his hands closed into tight fists. My wife showed me her new basement apartment. It was in a three story building. It wasn’t nice but she was happy about it and the rent was only five-fifty a month. I didn’t know what to say so I helped move stuff. I was fully aware that she had died fives years ago but I don’t think she realized it. I couldn’t figure out why she needed her own place.
Once Lewis signed the divorce papers, an angel miraculously appeared and said, “That was a test.”
“You mean thirty years of a horrible marriage was a test?” “Yes, Lewis, you passed with flying colors. Now your life will be in perfect harmony. The universe will be your friend. No more shouting, suffering, or stomach ulcers. You’ll drink from the nectar of happiness.” “Is there a catch?” “Yes, Lewis.” “And what is it?” “You must pay support payments on time and make believe that you get along with your ex-wife for your children.” “Anything else?” “Yeah, don’t get married again.” The apple wasn’t poisoned, but it did make me a little nauseous. The old crone (really the evil queen; tacky makeup, a bad wig and old clothes didn’t disguise her at all) lacked skill in planning murder. Anyway, my seven really short miner/protectors still beat her severely with their tools while she ran frantically down the wrong forest path towards the gingerbread house where Hansel and Gretel (true murderers) will provide her a warm welcome (and end). So all I have to do now is wait for a rich prince to ride by. I hope he’s cute.
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