GV9

Avery Multer

8th Grade • Lycée Français de Chicago

Sometimes, I look at the streets, the sky, the desolate little shops with their boarded-up windows and ‘out of business’ signs, and wonder what the hell happened. We weren’t ready. The world wasn’t ready. We had been forced into an inescapable situation, caught tight in the jaws of a global pandemic. And now, the human world was as good as dead.

GV9 had been at its prime a little over a year ago, but everyone remaining knew that there would be no recovery this time. This hadn’t been like COVID-19 back in 2020, or even like the Black Plague which I vaguely remember learning about in the sixth grade. Our pandemic had killed two thirds of the world’s population, leaving everyone who was left scrambling to drag themselves together.

In 2043 I had lost my mother, father, and little sister to GV9. I had only been 13. Now, I’m 17, living with my aunt in what remains of Seattle. The previously comforting rain, the smell of which I remember from my childhood, now just makes me feel cold.

If there was one good thing to come of this, it would be nature’s recovery. I can recall my history teacher telling us about the brief surge in the wildlife’s success during COVID-19’s quarantine, but it seemed like people never learned their lessons. Soon the oceans were once again filled with plastic, and the animals were once again suffering for mankind’s stupidity. But

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now, the forests are thriving, and they’re one of the only places that still really feels like home.

Today would have been my mom’s birthday, had she still been alive. September 18. I always feel worse when it’s Mom’s or Dad’s or Sis’s birthday, but then again, it isn’t hard to feel alone and isolated these days.

The sight from the top of the once busy Space Needle, Seattle’s most remarkable landmark, is a familiar comfort despite its view of our forgotten city. I can still recognize the little cafes I would eat at with Mom, and if I look far enough through the haze of melancholic silence I can make out the park where I would play ball with Dad. It’s empty today, but that isn’t new. GV9 had been enough to pretty much permanently scare anyone into staying home. We knew the world couldn’t survive a repeat.

There were a few things that had made this new pandemic so frightening; the first of which was its alarming swiftness. Some people didn’t even know they had it, but in a matter of a few days they would be dead. The second was its ability to travel by air instead of simple physical contact. This was the reason for the government-issued masks that everyone was required to wear.

My heavy sigh breaks the silence. Days like today, where the sky is particularly grey and lifeless, I just feel weighed down by the world, and my mind won’t give me a break. It’s as if my brain is an old tape, replaying all of my childhood memories and forcing me to acknowledge the fact that I can never have that again. I can feel the sharp sting of tears prick my eyes, but I don’t let myself cry. I haven’t done that in a long time.

“I know what today is, man. Don’t spend it alone.”

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I finally turn at the familiar voice of Elijah Novak, my childhood best friend. I can hear the usual comforting lilt to his voice and his eyebrows are drawn together in hesitant concern, like he’s talking to a scared animal.

Eli has always been effortlessly optimistic, almost annoyingly glass-half full. Always finding a silver lining in the worst situations and trying to lighten everyone else’s mood. He’s always the one people turn to when they’re lost. He lost his mom too, lives with a drunk dad, but manages to remain strong and positive for everyone else’s benefit. I thank anyone who’s listening everyday that the virus didn’t take him, too, because without him I honestly would have given up and ended everything pretty quickly.

“C’mon, Sammy,” he repeats softly, “how about we go do something, huh?” He tousles my floppy brown hair (which is getting a bit long, due to the obvious lack of salons), and gives me his brightest smile. I think he disregards the governmentissued masks just so that everyone else can see that grin. People are also required to remain at least two feet apart at all times. Of course, we pay no attention to that one either.

He finds me every year, on my mom’s birthday and then later my dad’s and sister’s, (both in December) and I guess it’s something else that I can be grateful for. I return the smile, if a little pinched. “The park?”

“Sure, Sam. Anything you want.” He plays it off nonchalantly, but I can clearly see the top of a baseball bat sticking out of his backpack. After so many years he’s learned exactly what to do to make me feel better.

The silence as we walked to the old ball park was a

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comfortable and safe one. Sometimes, when I’m with Eli, I catch myself genuinely smiling — a rare occurrence. It’s easy to fall into old habits with him, back when things were normal and children could grow up thinking about their futures. When their biggest concerns were good grades and dating.

Anyone else might see the old ball park where the Mariners used to play and think of it as eerie and unsettling. The sheet of green grass blanketing the earth had long since died away, uncared for, leaving nothing but dirt, loose from neglect. The rows upon rows of seats in these stadiums were meant to be filled with people chattering, bright and alive with noise and color. Anyone else might say that seeing it empty was just wrong.

I’m not anyone else. Of course, I had been a normal boy, with a pretty normal life. My Dad would take me out to see the Mariners if they were playing. We would get hotdogs and nachos and, if I was lucky, Dad would let me drink some of his beer.

I feel guilty when I realize that that nostalgia doesn’t mean as much to me as it should. From an outside perspective it would make sense that something in my head had flipped, hardening me against things like that after all that I had witnessed, but it all still felt...wrong. In place of desolate longing, the ballpark made me feel secure. Especially if I could be there with someone I loved and trusted.

Eli grinned at me again, warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners, and dragged the bat out of his tattered backpack. He tossed it to me before slipping on the glove and marching over to the other side of the park with the ball.

“You ready, Sammy?” he called out, and I can hear the smile in his voice. Despite myself and despite every other factor in my life, I smile back.

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“It’s Sam, jerk. Bring it on!”

We fall into a rhythmic pattern. He throws. I swing. He catches. Throws again. As time progresses and the sun creeps lower to the horizon, I would swear that its light broke the clouds, if only for a moment, bathing us in soft yellow light.

It doesn’t matter how bad things have been. Lots of people lost family, and that’s horrible, and we didn’t deserve it. But at the end of the day, maybe we were better for it. Maybe this was our planet’s chance to heal its scars, and start over. I look at Eli, all around me, up to the sky, and laugh.

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