She was sitting on the curb across from my delivery spot.
She was looking down at her feet, covered in dirty socks.
Her clothes and other things were stuffed into an old grocery store cart parked next to her.
I made my drop off and walked over to her.
“Do you need some help?” I asked while holding out a ten dollar bill.
“Yes,” she said, smiling as she took my offering. Looking at me, she said “God Bless You.”
I bowed and walking back to the van, all I wanted was a blessing from her.
Need a ride?
I told him that was not what I needed, or wanted.
As the fates would have it, I was alone, on a dark street in the middle of the night.
I turned away and walked to the corner, looking back over my shoulder.
The car drove away, and he was gone.
I was alone again, except for the angry-looking man who was standing at the corner.
Alone, with me.
The tones from the mbiras combined with the rhythmic rattle of the hosco shakers was hypnotic. He had been in the dark rondavel hut for hours now watching the men dance on the hard-packed dirt floor. Their dance was more like a slow parade around the hut. The singing that accompanied the music and the dancing was almost a scream was still somehow melodic.
The hut as at the center of a small village named Epasur. He was part of a small group of exchange students who were spending a year studying in the small African country. They had been in the village for a couple of days on a field trip organized by one of their professors. He had told them that they were there to attend an important ceremony.
So far, the visit had been very interesting. They were welcomed to the village by the local headman who toasted them with a bowl of a tradition fermented beverage that was passed around the group for everyone to sip from. The beverage was very dense and grainy and did not taste like anything he knew from home.
Later, after the welcome, the professor translated the headman’s speech. He told them that the headman had welcomed them by telling them that the weekend’s ceremony commemorated a battle that took place in the village during the country’s war of independence. The Professor added that the battle was celebrated in order to honor the bravery of the nation’s independence fighters and their successful struggle for freedom and respect.
The first day of the visit had been very relaxed and interesting. The male students spent the mornings with the young men of the village. They walked to the surrounding fields, tended to the village cattle, ate a lunch of peanuts and fruit, and played a game of soccer using a taped up clump of cloth as a soccer ball. The females had collected water and tended gardens with the girls of the village. For the rest of the day, the students spent their time visiting with the residents of the village and just hanging out amongst themselves.
On the second day of the visit, he woke to the sound of chickens strolling in front of the “children’s hut” where they had been assigned to sleep. He stretched and crawled out of his sleeping bag quietly since some of the other students were still sleeping. He slipped on a tshirt and jeans, walked out of the hut, and headed over to the village bathroom. This was basically just a closet-size wooden structure that contained a deep hole in the ground and a stack of old newspapers. After using the facility, he went walked to the village standpipe to wash up and brush his teeth.
As he was finishing up, the Professor came up to the standpipe along with the village headman and two young men from the village. The professor told him that the two young men were headed to a nearby shop to pick up some supplies for the evening’s ceremony. He introduced them as Samuel and Theta and ask the student to join them on their chore.
Later that morning, he was sitting outside the hut when he saw the two village guys walking towards him. They stoped in front of him and told him they were leaving for the shop. As they began their walk, the two young men introduced themselves as brothers, While they talk and walk, he looked at the countryside around them. He saw a pretty sizable corn field and a worn foot path. To the right there appeared to be a dirt road and on the other side of the road a forest. The forest looked pretty deep and not a little foreboding. Every now and then, the small group of young men would cross in front of a small compound with a few rondavols or small square buildings made out of hard dried mud and maybe a bicycle or a cart in the yard. For a good while, they are followed by some stray dogs which his two companions chased away by throwing stones.
After a period of awkward silence, he asked them if up the nerve to ask them if they were going to see any wild animals. Not in the daytime, was their reply. In response to other questions he learns that they left school last year and that they learned their excellent English at school. Both of them stated that they planned to leave the village soon for the capital city where they hoped to get a job and live together in a house owned by an Uncle and his family. Laughing among themselves, the two guys mentioned that these plans made their mother very sad and their father very mad. But, they affirmed, they were going to leave the village - life was too hard and too boring there.
Then, they asked him about America. Was his family rich? No, he said, we are an ordinary family. But when he told them about the family house and their two cars, they shouted out loud that yes, yes he was a rich man! Samuel quickly started asking him about life in America and Theta stated that someday he wanted to go to a rich country.
Things were getting somewhat uncomfortable for the student, so he was glad to look up and see that they were closing in on the bottle shop. As the three young men entered the store, he looked around the small shop. It was very neat, containing mostly necessaries such as eggs, water, cooking oil, some vegetables, and chicken along with some little candies and plastic toys for children. His companions greeted the proprietor and asked for a bag of corn meal and a case of bottled water. The old fellow nodded and asked the two brother a question in the local language which made the brothers laugh and point at him. Nodding, the old man gave them their goods in return for a handful of money. On the walk back to village, the exchange student kept wondering why he had been laughed at in the store. Finally, he asked.
Do not worry, Samuel said, Mr. Apoczem wanted to know why we were buying water and we pointed at you and told him that we had a group of white people staying in the village for our ceremony. Nothing to worry about. In fact, he told us to take good care of you. And, with that, both boys laughed some more.
The rest of the walk was quiet and not a little difficult. The bag of meal and the crate of water bottles were pretty heavy, so they stopped often to rest and switch loads. He was very glad to see the village when they came back to it. When they arrived at the hut where he was staying, Samuel and Theta said goodbye and started to walk away.
Theta, Samuel, he shouted, will I be seeing you tonight? No, they replied, the youth are not invited tonight. He was pretty tired from the walk so he went into the hut, laid down, and fell fast asleep.
At about 6 that evening, the Professor stuck his head in the hut and shouted “rise and shine,” time for dinner. Hustle up, the ceremony starts at 7 or so. So he got up and walked outside where all his fellow students were gathered around a small fire eating dinner. When he arrived the village headman handed him a bowel of corn meal porridge and a cup of that local beverage. The professor spooned into the porridge a little vegetable and spice relish and told them not to drink the local beverage if they didn’t want to, warning them that is was made from fermented grain and was pretty strong. Still, he ate all his porridge and washed it down with two cups of the local drink.
Soon they were called into a large rondavol with a thatch roof near the center of the village. It was the largest structure in the village. When they walked into the hut, they saw a group of 6 or 7 men singing and playing thumb pianos and shakers over on the far side of the building. In the middle there was a small fire and a large group of villagers were tramping around the fire with bowed heads and bare feet. The students and their professor were seated beside others of the villagers on mud benches built into the walls of the rondavol. As they listened and watched, the musicians played, the dancers danced, and every now and then people would join or leave the dance. This went on for hours. Maybe it had to do with the walk or the drinks he had, but he began to feel sleepy. Sometimes he dozed off but soon a dancer would yell or scream or someone would come in or go out of the hut and he would startle back awake. As the night wore on, the fire died down and the musicians and dancers began to seem like shadows moving about the hut. Eventually, many of the players and dancers left the hut and so did a lot of his fellow students. And, finally, he himself fell asleep.
The sound of the hut door slamming shut woke him up. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that there were now only two mbira players alongside one honcho player. The fire had died down to just red glowing embers and the inside of the hut was very dark. He also saw that he was the only person sitting along the wall. Then he remember the slamming door and looked to his left. There, standing in front of the rondaval’s only door was a very large women in a ragged dress and apron with a red scarf wrapped around her head. In her left hand was an axe. She closed the door and began to tramp around the hut, swinging the axe over head and down by her side as she danced. Every so often she would moan and growl.
He thought to himself that this was a scary situation. Where was everyone else? Where was his professor? Who was this women. Why did she have an axe and what was she going to do with it? He felt sure that he should not be there alone, the only white person in a very dark hut with a large African woman swinging an axe. Just then, the woman seen to notice him. She began to swing the axe wildly, screaming and yelling in a deep voice. Then she approached him, still shouting and swinging the axe. She stopped right in front of him and stared at him. Suddenly, she took the axe in both hands and lifted it above her head. The music stopped and the woman became quiet. She smiled at him a little and brought the axe down fast and hard. It hit the bench next to where he was sitting and bounced onto the hard mud floor. The woman turned and opened the door of the hut.
As the woman was she running out of the door, his professor came running into the hut. What the hell are you doing here, the professor shouted. You are not supposed to be here. Do you realize you could jeopardize the whole ceremony? Go back to your hut now! I guess it was a mistake to invite a bunch of selfish and self-important students to this village. Damn it! Get out!
Still a little frightened and now very ashamed, he walked back to his hut. He laid down in his sleeping bad on the hard mud floor and tried not to think of the woman and the axe. After a while he managed to fall asleep.
The next morning he woke up when another student came into the hut saying that the professor wanted them up and packed by the time the van arrived. They would be stopping for breakfast along the way back to the university. When he sat up, the other student came over to where he was sitting and said that he thought the weekend was so cool and that it was really interesting to see how everyday life was in a poor third world village. But, he added, it will be great to get back to civilization.
The student stood up and went to the standpipe to wash up and brush his teeth. As he was finishing up, the professor walked by and stopped to talk. Listen, he said, sorry I was so angry last night but these ancestor ceremonies are very important. I spoke with the headman last night and he told me no harm was done. In fact he said your presence in the hut with the axe woman added an important special dimension to the whole event. You see, he explained, this was a ceremony honoring and offering respect to the village ancestors who fought in the revolution to win national independence and freedom from European colonialism. The songs we heard from the musicians represented the villagers calling to their ancestors who fought in the battles and other actions of the independence struggles. The dancers tramping around the fire represented those ancestors who made the long trek to freedom. Our presence symbolized the wish that all whites would someday honor the countries of Africa and respect its peoples and their rights as fellow human beings. I did ask him about the woman and the axe. He said she represented a real ancestor of the village who, they believe, committed the last act of bravery in the independence war. Apparently, she killed a colonial official who had come to the village to arrest some men for fighting against the settler army. When the official came to her hut, in a sudden act of defiance,she killed him with her axe. So, unbeknownst to you, last night you and her played out the final act of revolution in honor of the ancestors who won freedom for their country.
The student was overcome with emotion and, shaking with both fear and awareness, he turned and walked back to his hut. When he got inside, he sat down on the floor to roll up his clothes and pack his overnight bag. Getting up to his feet, he walked over to the bag and leaned down to place his clothes in it. There in his bag, he saw the axe, the axe the women had last night, the axe she had swung at him. Looking more closely he saw there was a note written in pencil on a torn piece of notebook paper. It said:
“All people deserve respect. After many years of abuse, my ancestors won their respect from your ancestors. Last night I offered my respect to you. I hope we have yours.”
I.
The look on his face Is sad determination.
He seems to know grace And to be done with procrastination.
II.
His has learned, I think, How to die Well
He is not going to blink, And he has no stories to Tell.
III
Where did he learn to be so strong? His look is a call.
It isn’t long Before he jumps or fakes a Fall.
IV
You can see a kind of homing In the eyes that look Ahead
He learned this was coming From what he had done and what he had Read.
V
He carried his courage with A smile and a laugh for those he Loved
Meaning lay not in myth But in his own hand floating Above.
VI
Empty.
“No No, this is heaven. We are not going to take your device away,” said the cute little cherub-like angel as she handed me back my phone. “The only thing is, up here your phone has only one app, everyone loves it. In fact, the other heavenly souls spend so much time ‘on’ this app that some of us think the whole thing is just a bad idea. But, no worries, the app is already installed on your phone and it is ready to go.”
“OK,” I replied, “what is it called and how do I use it?”
“Well, it’s called ‘The Watchtower’ and it’s at the very top left of your new Home Screen. I hope you won’t think that I have the sin of Pride if I tell you that the Watchtower name and the associated icon are my creations. My design was chosen by La Jefa personally from the muchos entries.”
“Congratulations!” I said, trying, without much success, to sound genuinely enthusiastic. In my defense, I had only realized I was dead a few hours before this orientation appointment started. “You must be . . . not proud, but -you know- you must feel pretty good about that, winning the competition. And I do find the icon attractive . . . what is that, it looks kinda like a lifeguard’s station?”
“Yes, exactly!” The cherub-angel interrupted with a smile. “That was my idea; after all, who doesn’t like the beach? I figured even La Hefa would like that kind of an image.” “So,” I continued, “how does the app work?”
“Well -you’re gonna love this- the Watchtower app allows you to watch over your loved ones. All you have to do is tap on the app and it opens to a live cam view of your most immediate next-of-kin. You can see where they are, who they are with, what they are doing. Check up on them or ‘watch over them,’ so to speak. Get it? Watch over them from your ‘Watchtower;’ isn’t that just too cool?”
“Wow! Can they see me? Do they know I am watching? Can I talk with them?” “Oh no, señor,” it said quickly and firmly. “Can’t have you interfering with their free will, can we? Nope, not on your life! But you can watch what they are doing all day long, every day of your. . . .well, not everyday of your life since yours has already expired, hasn’t it? But, certainly, everyday of their lives.”
“Everyone here loves it,” she continued, “and everyone uses it todos los dias!” “OK,” I said, “I’ll be sure to check it out as soon as I can. Anything else I need to know?” “Don’t think so,” she said as she got up and floated toward the door. “Let’s see, we covered the do’s and don’ts, we talked about the dress code, we discussed personal hygiene, I gave you your place’s address and how to get there, I issued you your uniform, and we did the app. Nope, I guess you are free to go . . . Well, not actually free to go, I mean you can’t ever leave here and you are not really ‘free’ in any significant way. What I mean is that your first orientation session is over. Any preguntas?”
“Nope,“ I said. “Well, to be honest, I have a lot of questions but I don’t think they’re the sort of questions you can answer. So, I guess I am finished . . .opps! Bad choice of words, I mean that I am ready to get out there.”
“OK, adios,” she said, opening the door and showing me out. Leaving the orientation room, I walked out into a beautiful open space with great flowering trees, apple trees I think, and bright green grass, all shining in what appeared to be an unusually clear golden light. It was kinda like a big, beautiful park. This “park” was bisected by a river with very transparent water. And, all the other souls I could see —whether alone or standing together in small groups— were looking down at their hands holding their phones. I was amazed to see this since the place was so damn beautiful, with what looked like gold streets and bejeweled buildings.
I quietly walked over to one guy quietly and stealthily looked over his shoulder. He was on the Watchtower app watching a group of kids playing together in a park. It looked like they were having fun. The man watching them was smiling broadly and there were tears running down his face.
“Family?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, looking up at me and wiping a tear away, “my kids and their friends playing in the local park. It is so great to be able to see them and know that they are all right.”
“I can imagine, “ I replied. “I am new here, but I can’t wait to use the app and see how my loved ones are doing. It must be so nice to know everything is OK.”
“Yes, it is. My name is Todd, and I’ve been here -it seems, anyhow- for an eternity. The great thing about the Watchtower for me is that I have been able to watch my children grow even though I am quite surely dead and not there.”
“Sure, I can understand that. Well, I certainly don’t want to take you away from that so I’ll be off. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”
“Yep. Bye.” He said as he returned to his phone.
Walking around my new home observing my new comrades I noticed that although many of the souls that I could see were looking at their phones, no one was using head sets or ear buds. The only explanation I could think of was that the app must not have any sound capability. Soon enough my stroll brought me up against a big wall lined with cement benches. And most of the souls on these benches, too, were looking down at their phones.
Standing there I glanced at the time on my phone — 4 o’clock, still an hour or so before I have to report to the Ruby Building to get into my place assignment. As I looked around I spied an empty bench to my left. I walked over and sat down. I had a lot to think about: how I died and, of course, how I lived; what would this heavenly place would be like; why was I born; what is there to do here; is it going to be as boring as church was? I pondered question after question but I could not come up with any answers. So, I did what I always do when I am thinking about a question and do not have the answer. I started to take out my phone and look for an answer on the internet. “Well, that’s stupid,” I said to myself “I am dead, this is heaven, and they just told me that my phone doesn’t work here.” Then, I remembered the whole “Watchtower” thing and so I reached in my pocket and pulled out my phone. I turned it on and looked at the screen. A comfortable ritual like this helped me to feel a little more relaxed. I noted what was on my screen: the “Watchtower” app and nothing else. Disappointed, I slumped back into the bench and closed my eyes. Heaven, I thought, din’t offer any easy answers.
I had started to fall asleep in the warm golden light of heaven, when I somehow remembered that I had to go to my assigned place at 4 o’clock and that thought jerked me back awake. I quickly sat up straight, felt something fall off my lap, and then I heard the slap of metal on cement. I looked down and saw my phone, now with a thin diagonal crack across the front of the screen. “Shit,” I moaned to myself, “I wonder if I broke it?” I picked up the phone and pressed the home button. A lock screen appeared, asking me to input my personal passcode. I did so, encoding “JanBillHank” (for my wife and the twins), and thankfully the phone’s home screen appeared. But this time it looked somehow different. What was it? I saw the “Watchtower” app and decided to take a look.
I clicked on the “Watchtower” and settled back in the bench. In just a few seconds, there appeared Jan, my wife, and Bill and Hank, my two young sons. They looked good. It looked like they were doing school work. Jan was holding a book in her hands and reading and the twins both were writing in their notebooks. Every now and then they would talk to each other and then they would get back to work. I took a moment to look around me and saw the same scene as before: small groups of people standing or sitting together, looking down at their phones. Looking back down at the “Watchtower,” I saw that now Jan was watching TV and the kids were pestering her about something, probably some need or request. Suddenly she turned and said something harsh to them and they started to cry; next, they took to pushing and poking each other. I pressed the home button and looked up once again.
The air was still warm with that golden light. I wondered if it was always like that here and I glanced down at the phone in my lap, thinking I should “google” that and find out. Then, of course, I remember that there was no Google in heaven. Was there Google in hell? I could Goggle that but. . . . Slumping back against the bench, I sighed and closed my eyes. I started to fall asleep again, but suddenly I heard a loud voice which oddly sounded like a very loud buzzing. I opened my eyes and sat up quickly, but nothing around me had changed; no one else appeared startled or worried.
So, I picked up my phone again, put in the home screen code, and started to click on the “Watchtower” when I noticed something different on the screen.
Down in the lower right hand corner was a small curved arrow pointing to a very small TV screen with “Bored?” written across it. Wondering what that was, I returned to the “Watchtower,” clicked, and up popped my family again. They were eating dinner. Jan was serving the twins their plates, looked like hamburgers, home fries, and a salad. They were eating and talking.
You know, I always dreamed that the dead could see the living . . . as a kid, I wondered if my Grandparents could see me playing; as an adult, I sometimes fantasized that I could see my own funeral and watch my friends and families as they mournfully traded stories about what a great guy I was. Now I thought: “It’s true, the dead can see their loved ones as they go about everyday life. How wonderful, how exciting!”
Well, not exactly exciting. I mean they were just eating a meal and talking which was in fact pretty ordinary. Don’t get me wrong. I loved them all very much and I wished I could be there with them. But I wasn’t. I was up here in heaven watching them eat a meal and, not to be too harsh, that was . . . well, it was pretty boring.
The word “boring” brought to my mind the new icon I had seen down at the corner of my phone’s screen. I wondered what it was. I looked around me and the scene had not changed appreciably. The other souls were talking, walking, sitting, standing and looking down at their phones. Now and then, one would smile ruefully and point out something on the screen to another who would, in turn, smile supportively, and pat their comrade on the back. I figured they were using the “Watchtower.” Just another quiet day in Heaven, I guessed. So, I tapped the new icon.
Up popped what appeared to be list of subjects or categories. Stuff like “comedy clips,” “pets,” “dangerous arrests of drunk people,” “lovers loving,” “classic fails,” “cute kids being cute,” and the like. Looking around to see if I was being watched, I chose “dangerous arrests of drunk people.” Up popped a video of two cops wrestling with a young shirtless man on a street corner. They were attempting to cuff him and put him in their squad car but he was fighting and squirming around like a trapped snake. Everyone was breathless and everyone had a deep Southern accent. The action was fevered and, surprisingly, I was drawn into it. Against my better judgement, I found it very exciting and I could not stop watching it. In fact, I was so engaged with the thing I forgot where I was and began to actually react to it. When the cops finally successfully pushed the guy into their car, I pumped by fist and yelled “Yay.” Next, I tapped on “lovers loving” and there appeared on my phone some cheap, disgusting pornography. But I watched it and, despite its ugly physicality, I found myself getting turned on. I unthinkingly reached down and rubbed myself. Then, I jerked my hand away from my crotch thinking “God, man, you can’t have an erection in Heaven, not in public anyhow!”
I closed the app and went back to the “Watchtower.” Now, my wife was drinking what looked like a glass of red wine and the twins were not on the screen at all. She was drinking the wine and just staring off into the near distance. Probably thinking about me, I thought to myself, remembering what a great guy I was and all the wonderful times we had together. Then, she reached down to her lap with one hand and, I thought to myself “Oh God, she is going to masturbate to my memory.” But, instead, her hand came back up into view holding a piece of paper and a pencil. It was a crossword puzzle; she was doing a crossword puzzle. I watched her drink wine and do the puzzle for a minute or two and then, not able to stop myself, I closed the “Watchtower” and opened “Bored?”. The list of
subjects appeared and I clicked on “Classic Fails.” This time I laughed as I enthusiastically watched men of all ages crash, stumble, and fall in all kinds of situations.
Hearing myself giggle, I looked around guiltily: I worried that someone might notice me. Then, more seriously, I wondered “Am I the only person doing this?” “What are all these other people doing?” Are they looking at me?” “Is this wrong?” These videos were so much more interesting than the live cam feed of my family. Every time I tried the “Watchtower” to watch my loved ones do some everyday activity, I ended up switching to “Bored?” to see if anything funny or exciting was on.
After a while, I turned off the phone and walked to my new building. After checking into the residence, I went to bed . . .promising myself that tomorrow I would only use the “Watchtower.” I got up in the morning, ate breakfast, and went for a walk. Somehow, I ended up back at the same bench as yesterday. Again, it was an empty and it was surrounded by small groups of souls talking and just kinda “hanging out in heaven.” I sat down and watched them for a while; they seemed nice.
Before long, I took out my phone and looked down at it. My finger hovered over the “Watchtower” app, hesitating; and then, as it it had a mind of its own, clicked on “Bored?”. A hilarious video of a Dad trying to play catch with a pretty uncoordinated kid came up and I watched it several times . . .it was funny!
Suddenly, I realized I was laughing out loud! Leaving the video playing, I jerked my head up to see if anyone was watching me. It seemed like some were . . .but no one said anything or pointed at me. Still, I quickly closed the app and went over to the “Watchtower.” When I tapped on it up popped my family eating breakfast. It was a very loving scene . . . my wife serving the twins their oatmeal, sitting down with her coffee (black with sugar), and talking with them. I sure love my family. But, after a few minutes, my attention began to drift. After all, how many times had I seen this exact breakfast scene? So, of course, I went back to
the other app and soon was laughing out loud as a puppy tried to use its nose to wake up its owner. Funny!
Looking around me I noticed that a couple of female souls were walking toward my bench. They looked like they were going to sit down with me. I panicked. If they saw what I was doing, certainly they were think I was a terrible person and they might even report me to, well, to whomever one reports bad people to here in Heaven. Scared, I hurriedly moved to shove the phone into my pocket, but I missed the target and my phone bounced off the cement bench and fell to the ground. Just then, the two souls got to the bench and one of them leaned over and picked up the phone. Oh, God, would “Bored?” still be playing? What would she think? What would they do?
The helpful soul picked up the phone, hardly even glancing at it, and said “Gosh, so sorry,” as she handed it to me. I mumbled a quick “thank you” and pocketed the phone . . .successfully, this time. As the ladies were sitting down, I stood up, nodded to them and walked away. As I neared my residence, I took the phone out of my pocket and took a look at it. Damn it, the screen was cracked wide open and tiny electronic doo-dads were hanging out of one corner. I tried to turn it on, but nothing happened. The phone was kaput, ‘dead as a doornail!’
I thought for a while about my problem and, not knowing what else to do, I decided to find the cherub-thing who had given me the orientation a few days ago. I walked back to the administration building and went in. The directory listed an office called “Acclimation and Placement.” I walked over to that office where a sign said “Please Come In.” Inside the office, I found the cherub and asked if she had a moment to talk. “Yes,” she said, with a sigh. I wondered to myself if somehow she had already heard about it my phone behavior.
Anyhow, I took out my phone, showed it to the cherub and said, “I dropped this and it broke. How do I get a new one?” It frowned and, with another deep sigh, said, “I can’t help you. We don’t have replacement phones here. You all bring them here with you.
“You see,” it continued, “a long time ago, when La Jefa noticed that people were showing up with phones, she realized that we had do something. She figured that if people were being buried with their phones, they must be very important to them . . .and, she did want heaven to be a good experience for folks. We remembered back in the day when people were buried with some of their personal stuff and were allowed them to play with that stuff up here. She figured your phones were kind of like the Pharaohs’ tools, furniture, food, drinks, and figurines. She thought about how we used to let souls from long ago play with that stuff whenever they wanted to. It was these figurines that gave us the idea of creating a phone app that people could use to watch over their loved ones . . . kind of like virtual figurines I guess you could say. At any rate, other than the ones you all bring with you, there are no other phones available here.”
“But, what about ‘Watchtower’? How will I know how my loved ones are doing, whether they are happy and safe, you know?”
The cherub rubbed her little chin, looked slyly at me, and whispered, “I really can’t help you, but you could try Room 10 in the Ruby Building. Rumor is that they hold clandestine ‘reverse seances’ there.”
So, I wandered away, depressed and lonely, without a phone. In a little while I found myself back at the bench where I had dropped the phone in the first place. Sitting down, I reflected on my situation. Nothing was left for me. I guess that was it: For me, at least, heaven would be doing nothing, nothing at all. I wouldn’t even give it three stars on Yelp.
Covid, Covid, Covid now creates casualties and confuses capacities.
Covid, Covid, Covid now closes curtains and clears doorways.
Covid, Covid, Covid now chooses certain creatures to collapse and crush.
Certainly scientific studies can clear a corridor to a cure for this disease.
The sure conundrum is can citizens of all characters choose community over catastrophe?
