I picked up some cookies made by my daughter-in-law today. I called ahead and let her know I’d be there in a few minutes. When I arrived, I sat in my car while she placed the cookies in the front seat of her car that was parked in her driveway. She waved and ran back into the house. I got out of my car, grabbed the cookies and notes from two of my granddaughters. One will turn seven in two weeks, I’ve never missed the birthday parties she’s had every year of life. This year’s party has been rescheduled, at a time and place yet to be determined.
I babysit them regularly, I did anyway until COVID-19 changed all of our lives. One of the things we did occasionally was walk to a nearby service station and get Slurpees. They were proud of their blue and red tongues respectively. Sticking them out from time to time to ensure the color hadn’t faded away. The older of the two was afraid to make the walk because of “the virus.” Knowing what I had been told then, I assured her they would be okay at their age, only I needed to be concerned. She decided to go because her younger sister wanted to go so badly. They got their last Slurpee’s over a month ago while I waited outside with the dog.
They have the worst taste in television shows. They’d watch “Fuller House” episodes over and over. They recently discovered something starring a young Ariana Grande (Sam & Cat) which demonstrated nothing of the talent she would one day demonstrate. No episode could simply run to its competition without the “best parts” being rewound and played again and again. We’d make popcorn, and play, “monsters,” which involves me chasing them around the house, only threatening to chase them upstairs where they considered themselves safe. We walked the dog once or twice, and I eventually send them to bed, mostly to gain control of the television so I can watch murder and mayhem not quite appropriate for young minds.
The oldest one turned eight in November. In her letter, she said she missed me so much I could watch one of my shows they hated. When I picked up the cookies, the closest I got was seeing waving hands from a second-story window. This is dystopia to me, being separated from family and loved ones, not by distance but by the disease that is taking lives from those who get too close to others whether friend or foe.
I’ve tried to read dystopian fiction but it never seemed real to me. The “Parable of the Sower,” by Octavia Butler was the best I’ve read, but it was the characters I identified with not so much the story. The reality that exists today brought dystopia home in a way nothing else ever has. It doesn’t help that I’m of an age and have some of those underlying conditions that make me a candidate for the worst outcome should I be claimed. I look at everyone that nears as a potential enemy. I’m hoping as time passes to see a bit more variety in masks. There’s room for humor even in times like these.
I don’t think in terms of my own demise, but of what I have yet to do. I have a different granddaughter who needs prodding to become the reader she’s destined to become, a great-granddaughter I’ve yet to meet. I would have by now if not for Corona, damn virus.
Most dystopian novels feature a government in tatters or gone terribly awry. The current situation is no different. I don’t know what time the current leader would be best suited for but this one definitely isn’t it. He brags of his ratings while people are literally dropping all around. At least Nero could play a fiddle.
Unlike most dystopian situations, this will ultimately pass although assuming a return to normal might be presuming too much. One blessing is a reminder of what is important; my three children, the gang of all-girl grandchildren that will one day rule the world, the great-grandchild I haven’t met yet, my yet to be published novel, stories yet written, love. I presume I will survive and am doing what I must to ensure the same.
While I’m now enlightened as to what dystopia looks like, I choose to look past it into a better future, There are too many things yet to be accomplished. Until then…
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Previously Published on Medium
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