Summer Hiding Spaces

Sometimes I wear it like a necklace like a regular person. But today I alternate between putting in the left side pocket on my shorts or tie the chain on my left hand. I used to wear one of those fitness watches but then I started running – not the fitness kind but the running away from something kind. And during one of those emergency runs I lost it. I always lose it and run back to get it but not this time.

So now my hand feels naked without putting something on it. My wrist if you wanna feel like being pedantic today of all days. I replaced that watch with one of those kitschy heart shaped lockets that I bought in a store when stores were still open. I had enough money to spend on bullshit. I planned on putting someone’s picture inside it, like my mom or something, which would have been handy since now I don’t remember what she looks like.

I hear rumbling noises and I closed my laptop, gently laid it down the bed, rolled off the side of the bed and hid under it. It’s the worst place to hide, I know, but it’s either that or my book closet – former book closet – and my actual closet that was far away and had squeaky doors.

It's strange that I lose a watch with a big strap but not this locket with the flimsiest chain. It’s draped on the floor, slightly away from me, catching enough light for it to be detected by them. I fish it back into my palm and hold my breath. Then I hear an opening of a pop can or a beer can and some clinking utensils. I can’t believe I’m petty enough that I’m risking my life, leaving my bedroom so I can see if they’re stealing my food.

I gently open my door and tiptoe to the kitchen. It’s just Francis.

“Gotta keep the place clean even though this shit’s been happening.”

“I love your operatic voice.” Here’s to hoping that I projected enough sarcasm his way. Roommates.

“I feel like you like this.”

“Yeah, stress is my natural phase. I wish I can still see my family though. I’m sure you wish to see yours.”

I’m kind of jealous of him and how even if he’s a man’s man he’s still a mama’s boy and he would Facebook chat with his family, which is impossible now. They’ve cut all the phone lines. I don’t even know why I still compulsively look at my laptop or write something on it. I also wonder which of our families they’re gonna hit first, or which one of us.

“And don’t worry,” he says. “I washed before I touched anything.”

As far as we know, people contract the virus through liquids, like most viruses do. The virus is enough to change someone’s genetics and make someone’s violent tendencies more prominent, prominent enough to kill. People have killed each other since cavemen, duh, but it’s never been this bad. Weekly raids, people dying on the street. The people who contract somehow are able to find each other and band together and do all of this.

---

Thank God they haven’t cut the electrical lines yet. I turn my TV on and see pictures of Thailand, a Berlin memorial, a wooded area in autumn. That’s the only thing that the TV is good for now. It’s a device that shows me one wallpaper picture after another of places that I’ve always wanted to go to. Places I’ll never go to now.

I wipe my brow. Autumn weather would be great, or just a breeze. This outbreak chose to manifest itself during the summer. Or maybe everybody who got the virus got it months ago when we were all cooped up, and the symptoms are just showing now. A shower would be great too, but it makes too much noise. One bath a day, filling up a bucket quietly and pouring the contents out on our bodi es pail by pail, like in the old country. I moved here for a better life only for this shit to happen.

I can hear kids outside, playing, shouting in their own languages. I get it, being cramped up is scary but you can only be scared for so long. Kids shouldn’t have to know about stuff like this. They have to go out and play once in a while. Eventually I hear a parent or two, softly commanding their kids in the same languages. Living next to a playground was never a good idea before all of this happened, but you get used to it.

“Leave me alone! Go away,” I hear from downstairs in English. Then it goes quiet.

I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s one of those hot lazy summer days when getting out of the couch feels Herculean. And besides if that kid was in danger, I can’t see it because they’ll see me. Or even if they don’t, I can’t be a witness to dying kids anymore.

Yunus comes out of his bedroom.

“They’re in Francis’ room now.”

“I don’t care,” he says as he fills his silver water bottle using the tap and goes back.

Francis got a new girlfriend and it’s our second time seeing her. How the fuck he found a girlfriend in this neighborhood after everything that’s happened. Good for him. I wish he could have said something or had means to say something before inviting strangers to the apartment with the lease under my name.

I hear a cat meowing. It’s probably Francis’ cat Bellow. Did he see anything, anything I need to see even if I don’t want to?

I touch the locket chained on my wrist. Instinctively I open it on some days, knowing that no one’s picture is inside.

Bellow walks from the balcony to the hallway. He probably wants to get out and walk around but instead he’s lying down on my wooden tiles. And he gets up again.

I look at him and wonder how I’ll be able to get him before they snatch him away.

---

I wake up with a layer of sweat all over my face. Today I wake up from under my bed, tomorrow it will be from my book closet, the day after from my actual closet. You can only imagine what that does to my sleep.

When the raids started happening, at least one of my neighbors decided to get out of dodge, but everybody else decided out of stubbornness to stay. We all had to create hiding spaces and make those spaces empty. Imagine one day just walking next to a building and people intermittently throwing shit out of their windows. The locket got stuck on a balcony railing, but I fought to keep it, to keep as much of what I had before.

I hear trucks, and after that the sound of saws, and then the voices resisting those saws.

During the early days, they would just come up and kill people in their apartments, like they did in the unit next to the elevator. Bellow likes to go for walks in the hallway when I saw it. I grabbed him and ran. I almost didn’t make it to my bedroom. Shutting him up was a chore.

Nowadays what they do is choose an apartment, kidnap the people there. When everyone is downstairs that‘s when they do the killing. We still have to deal with the mess and putting the bodies in makeshift, shallow graves. That’s if we end up doing it. Half of the bodies are still where they left them. At least they’re not stinking up the buildings.

When will the saws stop?

Everything’s a little bit harder. Clean water is harder. We have to boil water before our nights end, then wait until we can put that water in a container for room temperature. Plumbing’s also harder.

I go to the bathroom. I stink. I can hear Francis laughing at something on his phone. I rush back to my bedroom to turn on my laptop and my phone. Laptop’s got 50% of power, phone has 30. Tumblr – yes I still have an account – still has the same posts of old movie stars. I don’t want to hit refresh just in case all of it disappears. There are no notifications anywhere else.

He's probably laughing at one of those videos he saved. It’s strange how someone can laugh at the same jokes, if at all during these days. I turn both devices off and charge them, even though doing that only works for one device.

The saws start and stop and start again. I’m starting to notice that it’s their morning ritual. It stops again, as well as the screams that go with it. I hear a noise, but one that dissipates every second, as if marking a departure. The saws start up again somewhere else in the neighborhood.

As dangerous as it is, I’m going out on this ironically sunny day to get food.

---

I’m getting sloppy. Instead of switching things around I slept at the same hiding place today. Still alive though, thank God. I have less to thank him for the daily layer of sweat that I have to wring out of my face.

And now, to perform the daily tasks. Bathroom. The toilet flushed properly, and it was easier to wash my hands. The water came out clear. I drink my water and check both hot and cold. Hot came out cloudy as usual but the cold water was clear too. Whatever, I boil another batch just in case.

I check my laptop instead of it holding on to whatever energy it has left it’s fully juiced. Thirty messages on Reddit, and thirty messages on my inbox about those thirty messages on Reddit. Well, 32 messages. The 31st is an e-mail following up about a message I sent concerning my side hustle. The 32nd is job applications from the place where I already work. Delete all but the side hustle one.

I wipe my sweat only for my body to make more. My work CPU starts whirring, like it’s coming back to life. My Squad app starts blowing up too, mostly from one of my bosses, Moira. I answer the call.

“Moira, your camera’s on.” It’s not the firs time she’s done this by accident, revealing a face that looks nothing like her Facebook profile pic. “I think it’s fair I put my camera on.”

“No need. Just sign on to your CPU.”

The password on my CPU works, so does the VPN. She calls again and I answer again. I set my laptop beside the monitor.

“Can I take a second to just message my family before we talk shop? I swear all they need is a message on our Facebook group chat.” I try to hide my feelings, but I feel happy talking to people again.

“Ok.”

This takes a few seconds, and I tell them that I can talk an hour later.

“Done.”

For context, I work for Q&A, an outsourcing company that works with telecom companies that want to upsell their customers for more services.

“Moira, with all due respect, most of us just survived the apocalypse.” I switch from slight elation to slight annoyance, the blood pressure reaching my wrist where my locket is.

“Oh God, no, we’re not hawking shit to people today. We’re working with the Canadian government to basically call everyone if they’re ok, then find out if the banks are stable, then sell them shit. We just have to figure out how to train everyone while we’re calling.”

“Makes sense, but I don’t feel qualified for this.”

No response. It could be that this was a false alarm or it’s just another day working from home where all the software sucks.

I hear the trucks and the saws again, boots coming up the stairs and elevator doors open.