Glass Box

(any hallway in Los Angeles)

It's all simply too incredible.

I know.

It's almost a cliche to say, isn't it?

Yes.

You can be friendly you know. We live next to each other.

Who cares.

(the neighbor on the other side is friendlier)

(just me, alone in a gym)

...six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Fat burn. Feel it.

I'm one of a handful of people in the city with gym keys; Jorge my janitor friend cleans all surfaces feverishly, but only with nerves, and hello, we only make dark eye contact; Dickensian black outside, rain pattering; half an expectation to see a crier on the street corner. What would they cry?

Extra! Extra!

Stock market plunges!

All non-essential travel banned!

Panic in supermarkets!

Millions left jobless!

Misinformation rampant!

Political mismanagement!

Essential tests, masks, all unavailable!

Oh, but my jam just came on.

(Jorge recedes where he can't hear me)

(somewhere a politician dreams)

You there. Sickly one.

Oh good you saw me.

Yes. God's house is closed. You need to go home.

I can't. I'm sick and my family isn't.

Well try back here in two weeks. Maybe a month.

But I need assiss-

-Nothing today, we've no answers either.

But God. I need God.

God? He moved into your living room with you. Scat.

(the politician's wife teases him for staining the bed with sweat)

(me behind the front desk, sun rising, day one of closures as my friend in sales marches through the door)

Morning. Phone's been ringing nonstop.

Why are we closed?

The government mandated it.

We aren't closed, my friend runs a bar and she said her bar is open right this very second they just have to keep it under a certain number of people.

It's seven forty-five am. What bar is open right-

-They're open. Right now.

Okay well the mayor made an executive order-

-You don't work for yourself you work for a corporation; you wait for Corporate's instructions.

Well our elected officials got on TV and said that gyms are closed as of midnight, and my civic duty will keep it that way, excuse me, the phone; yes, we are closed. I know, I know, I don't have any answers unfortunately, hopefully soon...

I'm calling the sales manager.

Call away, I will be telling the public we are closed. It's the harder thing to do.

He is calling you now.

Hello, yes? Manager? The government said we are closed because of a health crisis. We run a health club.

I know what we run and you need to tell people we are open; we have received no instruction from Corporate.

With all due respect, that answer sounds like you have your head up your ass.

I... know. You need to open the gym or leave. This is going to be a real chaotic day now.

It wasn't chaos when I obeyed the government ordinance; for anybody.

(I slam the phone down and leave with belongings in tow, the remnants of a friendship behind me, curious if any would get infected at my job that day)

(more than a fleeting thought to a senior gay man)

Ah. It's happening to everyone this time. Perhaps less will die; perhaps not; perhaps this time it'll be me. Perhaps I might not be too far behind, Phillip.

(his framed pictures comfort him)

(a street)

Daddy, Daddy, what did that man with the bell say?

Bring out yer dead. It's from a movie.

Are everybody dying?

No, you're supposed to say I'm not quite dead yet, with a big cockney accent, and then your friend whacks you over the head and you die; it's funny.

Oh.

Well, it's British. We aren't quite dead yet, Allister. We aren't going to die.

Can we go to see Mulan?

It isn't out yet. It's not coming out. Maybe on Disney plus if they're smart.

Is it not coming out because Mulan is from China?

(the father beckons the child back into quarantine for school)

(alone, mopping my sweat with fresh linen)

The schools, closed.

The bowling alleys, closed.

The houses of worship, closed.

The theaters, closed.

The gyms, closed.

But for those with keys, of course.

The sun rises all around my glass box.

Outside, the great monster of government begins to move, and for the first time in human history, all the other governments work towards a singular goal; for the first time we are all watching the screens on TV, the internet, cell phones, with full knowledge of everything that is to come; we know there isn't an end in sight so we tune in to a death knoll with the voices of the BBC and NPR; but oh how glorious that we all see the same thing at the same time; what shall history say years thence, when the books are written?

And here am I, brilliant orange bathing me in my little glass box in the still-early hours of little glass Los Angeles, the burnt-sienna of human history, shifting every second.

There's a perfect rainbow over the ocean; there are no people there.

You know, when no people walk the streets, you almost forget cars aren't a species dominating the planet.

But of course it's no longer a planet for big things...

Oh stop thinking that, twelve more squats.

Add a plate.

(Jorge tosses bleach into the sinks, the drink of the truly scared)

(somewhere in the countryside, Thelma and Floyd sit beside the fire, she with her knitting, he with his corncob pipe, the images of children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren smiling down from the wall and the Facebook Portal the kids bought them, no television on- they can't figure it out- and Thelma's chicken and dumpling fragrance hanging heavy over the hearth fire on which her iron kettle bubbles and chirrups as it always has, during thick times and thin, war and peace)

Floyd, have you heard about the Novel Coronavirus?

You know I don't read novels.

(and that was that)

(Mohammed and Sheng via skype)

So.

So...

Who is America more afraid of now?

Bish please, me. Fer sure. Nobody's even thinking about crazy Moozies right now, but I look Chinese 'cause I am so I can't even get gas right now without some real nasty looks and prolly racial slurs.

It's definitely sobering.

You needed a good sobering.

Ohmygod you're such a bitch!

I know I know.

I never wanted to go back to work so bad, though.

(they both nod)

(inside a friend of yours)

Yes! Questions! One at a time, we have all day. You.

Mr. Coronavirus! Ahem... real honor, sorry...

Take your time, T-Cell.

Of course. Ahem... what are your plans for future expansion?

Yes, thank you, thank you, it's a marvelous question- we are expanding, it's been a very stable expansion; I'm told that one of the humans has claimed that me and my revolution are a hoax; but it's far from the truth, far from the truth, and I'm thinking that the people of earth want four more years of Covfefe Coronavirus, and I'm hoping that my movers and touchers can get us there. Next question please, you.

Thank you. How has misinformation formed your campaign over Outside World and what can we do to help spread that information?

Ah, thank you for that- yes, it seems that some of the humans are smarter than others, and some stupider; and just like me and my campaign, employ some odd sources; but remember this, now, everybody: if you write down any misinformation you hear with a pen and paper you will remember it five times better than if you had typed it, studies have proven. Then share that pencil and paper with your neighbor, and quickly; we have to remember to share. Next question, you. With the flagella.

Yes, we just received news that some of the humans are restricting travel and closing borders. Thoughts?

(microphones push close, but everyone present laughs)

(I wave at Security, their own job uncertain)

Are you guys staying? Are you allowed to keep working? Is your job essential work? What happens if you get dismissed, what happens to the premises? Do you think property management-

(he can't hear and walks away; my treadmill hums along)

(a Facebook feed)

You like, yes?

I need this to protect my family.

Good, good. You buy. This is test used by Chinese Ministers; certified Kosher, gluten-free, Vegan; it tells you if you are immune, and comes with a free cap of bleach if you aren't; it also comes with a free vaccine.

What does it vaccinate?

Not sure, we drew it out of a hat.

Thank Goodness I've found you!

Yes, yes. Five hundred dollars.

(coughs up dough, and sputum)

(a Syrian immigrant in a Kobe memorial shirt)

I don't know what to be sad about any more.

(he longs for another patch of space where the architecture of his childhood wasn't destroyed, with family and plenty, but it is forever gone)

(me driving home, radio off)

Everything.

The windows shuttered.

The ground beneath the world's feet shifting seismically, the markets in free fall, but still waiting for what Angelenos call The Big One.

Savings, evaporating.

Dreams, sublimating.

Everything.

Art? Culture? Performance?

It's a one-person show now.

At least until April.

Doctor Seuss's Waiting Room.

I should put Oh The Places You'll Go on my q-time reading list.

Oh.

The places we'll go.

(my dog wags his tail when I come through the door; husband gives me a kiss; the planet turns, benign)