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Broke Wife, Big City
The Unprecedented
By Aprill Brandon
Salutations, precious scions.
I am writing this to you from the distant past. My greatest wish is
that it reaches you one day. That the Internet, for all its
immeasurable beauty and hideous flaws, still exists. Although only
Amazon knows what will happen between now and then.
Where to start? Perhaps the beginning.
Another morning dawns. Gentle purple receding from the open wound of
pink as tides of orange begin flowing in on a sea of puffy pillows. If
there is one thing in The Unprecedented that hasn’t changed it’s how
beautifully a day can start. It’s almost enough to make up for the fact
that the rest of the day will be just like all the others.
Almost.
In our Quadrant, the disease threat has lowered significantly but is
ever looming. We are still in the earliest stages of Limited Phase 3.
Restrictions abound. Face Coverings are still required. Droplet has
become a dirty word.
We try to make the best of it, however. My mask is flamboyant and
covered in sequins. On the Hard Days, I secretly pretend I am a
superhero. Captain Extra. Why not? Fun is in short supply here in The
Unprecedented. It’s important to steal joy whenever we can.
They have finally allowed us to consume some of our rations at the
Eating Houses, although only in the Outside Zone. Many have rejoiced at
this development but this has slowed down the neighborhood Banana Bread
and Sourdough Black Market. No one has dropped off an extra loaf on the
porch in weeks. I suppose it was inevitable. After all these months,
baking can no longer compete with the allure of Doom Scrolling on our
devices.
The Libraries have also opened albeit in Limited Capacity. If you stand
in the Outside Zone, the Blessed Ones will gather the books you desire
and place your Bag of Knowledge within the appropriate Social Distance
Sector for you to pick up once they have retreated back within the
safety of the doors. This small gift from the Re-Opening Committee is
like a breath of fresh air when one is drowning.
The Remote Learning begins soon. The Educators have exhausted
themselves preparing, faced with an impossible task. They are most
noble, rising above and beyond and then beyond some more. Although I
confess if I never come across the phrase “student log-in information”
again it will be too soon. Cursed be thy passwords.
Those of us tasked with the homeside of Remote Learning have made a
silent pact that Happy Hour will be whenever it is needed. We shall let
the boxed wine flow unimpeded by the morality of who we were in the
year of Two Thousand And Nineteen. Time and Units of Alcohol have
become utterly meaningless in The Unprecedented.
Some of the people have begun forming Pods. Humans, now and forever
more, are social animals. It is much needed, especially for The Small
Ones, who have turned feral.
And, certainly, when all seems much too bleak, we turn to the Narrative Visual Arts. All hail the Streaming Services!
We do not know if we shall ever return to living in precedented times,
but, lo, through the swirling maelstrom of this accursed New Normal, we
humans still manage to adjust. Adapt. Evolve. Just like we always have.
It is this thought, late at night, when the Insomnia strikes again,
that brings a small measure of comfort. The thought I cling to as
though to a dream, while images hazy with the mists of nostalgia begin
wafting up from my subconscious.
Of the Before Times.
Back when Personal Space was something one took for granted, not
something that was bitterly fought for and doled out like currency
among one’s family. Back when we worshipped such frivolous things as
precious metals, instead of the life-giving force of Alone Time. The
utter bliss of an Empty House. Only in The Unprecedented could Working
Remotely be both a blessing and a curse.
Such fools we mortals are. To not appreciate what we had while we had
it. In another timeline, one that had not descended into its darkest
depths, I would be forcing my children to brush their teeth right now
and stuffing them into their Before Times clothes. Ones with actual
buttons and zippers, instead of the ill-fitting mixed textile sacks we
have grown accustomed to. My Quarantine Partner would be heading to
work in the Away From Here while I walked the offspring to School. Then
I would head to the Local Coffeeshop up the hill, for a pastry and a
giant coffee and cloth-free conversations with friends.
But now.
Now.
There is no danish. Only Zoom.
Alas I regret nothing. It has to be done. To protect the Vulnerable Ones.
In the end, let it be known there is still hope. There is always hope.
If there wasn’t, I would not be writing this to you now. Humor is our
preservation and compassion is our weapon. After so much Destruction, I
only desire, above all, that We can get our Crap together enough so
that You, the future generations, may thrive.
Pandemically yours,
Your Great Elder,
A’rill Brandolor
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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