Words
The front right wheel of my shopping cart squeals across the scuffed and dirty floor of the grocery store as I hunt for the last item on my shopping list - marinara sauce. The wheel cries out in agony as I weave my way through the busy Sunday shoppers on my way to aisle 6. We're all searching for the freshest produce and best deals as we brace for the week ahead. None of us knows what it will bring, so we all always buy more than we need.
"Old habits die hard," I think to myself as I grab two glass jars of marinara sauce off the shelf when a terribly familiar song starts playing over the grocery store's loudspeakers.
As soon as its melody kicked in, I, like everyone else, froze. A child cries, baffled by the apparent mass hypnosis caused by the upbeat tune. Its poppy beat, smooth female vocals, and playful lyrics screeched over the store's blown-out speakers as we all stood there with glassy eyes and blank stares, unprepared for the chorus and what would come next.
Mark in May.
James in June.
Come July, and I'll be with you.
But when I'm gone, don't call me untrue.
The boys of summer will have fun too.
On a long highway, full of twists, turns, and tunnels on its way to the Oregon coast, my then-girlfriend would sing the lyrics to this song in perfect harmony. It was the summer before everything went to shit, but back then, all I could think about was how she would tap my shoulder and bat her eyes at me every time the singer would sing the word "you." Was she really my girlfriend? Was I really her boyfriend? I don't know the answer to these questions. What I do know is this. One: we had a wonderful time together, complete with the wildest sex I'd ever had, and road trips on a whim. Two: you couldn't go anywhere without hearing this song. It was infectious. It was on every girl's playlist and social media feed. Three: no one has ever felt this fortunate and carefree since.
A loud crash echoes across the store as someone drops their shopping basket, but no one flinches. We're all lost in a mediocre pop concoction cooked up by some executive with the help of producers and some no-talent teen. An earworm that burrowed its way into our collective consciousness right as the world turned upside down. A tune that was buried deep in our minds, right next to the horrors we all faced.
Mark in May.
James in June.
Come July, and I'll be with you.
But when I'm gone, don't call me untrue.
The boys of summer will have fun too.
It's fall now. The wild sex and road trips with my then-girlfriend are now a thing of the past. Those tender moments are now replaced with watching every newscast and scrolling frantically through social media for the latest updates on what was once considered unthinkable. We work on memorizing acronyms crafted by experts in their field. LSE, Large-scale event. PNR, Point of No Return. They all seem to dehumanize the crisis unfolding around us daily. A crisis that uprooted our daily routine, as if every catastrophe before had been child's play. Like so many, my then-girlfriend and I lost our jobs. Baristas and yoga instructors were not considered essential in the eyes of the government as martial law took effect. There was nothing to do except stay home and watch the systems that had held society up crumble around us. At night, we cried and held each other until we fell asleep, hoping what we were now experiencing was just a nightmare we would forget in the morning.
Broken glass covered in thick red paste now lies at my feet. I think of blood, but through the tears in my eyes, I make out my empty hands that were once holding glass jars of marinara sauce. Deep sobbing cries fill the air as the playful pop song pumps through the store's speakers. A woman crumbles into a heap in front of me, dropping her basket of vegetables as she wails so violently I thought she would vomit. Each sob, each cry, made everyone weep with even more force. A writhing cacophony is now overpowering the upbeat bass line. We all had been through so much loss and hardship, we thought we could take on anything. Still, this top 40 bubblegum pop tune was literally bringing us to our knees, and no amount of artisan cheese, non-fat Greek yogurt, or Beyond Burger Plant-Based Patties could make us forget what we had all overcome and what we had lost in the process.
Mark in May.
James in June.
Come July, and I'll be with you.
But when I'm gone, don't call me untrue.
The boys of summer will have fun too.
It's spring now, and like so many, last winter was cruel to my then-girlfriend and me. We both had to say goodbye to loved ones for the last time over government-monitored video chats on the intranet. Their lifeless bodies, sprayed with chemicals, were then promptly burned in a pile with the rest of the day's dead. While we slept in the same bed every night, my then-girlfriend and I might as well have been miles apart. We hardly ever spoke or even looked each other in the eye. How could we? We had nothing to say. The events unfolding around us left everything we once knew and loved in ruins. Joy, laughter, and even those tiny, fleeting moments that once put smiles on our faces seemed to have joined the ever-growing list of casualties.
She left soon after without a word or notice. I had gone out to get food from the distribution center, and when I returned, she was no longer there. Not a trace of her was left. Her clothes were gone, along with her share of the books and movies. It was as if she even took her scent with her. I was all alone with her memory—memoirs tainted by the horrors of what we had experienced in the last months of our time together.
Couples were holding on to each other for dear life; others had run out of tears and were now dry-heaving, terrible sobs. I was in the fetal position, covered in marinara sauce. Years of anguish and grief I had buried deep in my mind washed over me like a tidal wave. I felt powerless as a flood of feelings assaulted me all at once. Should I have gone after my then-girlfriend after she left? Is there anything I could have done to stop her from leaving? Why didn't I do more to help prevent all the suffering? I don't know the answers to these questions. What I do know is this. One: each heartbreak, death, and god-awful thing I had to do to survive is hitting me with the unrelenting force of a runaway freight train. Two: My then-girlfriend is lost to me forever. And three: I'm covered in spaghetti sauce, and I can't stop crying as some teenybopper sings about the boys of summer.
Mark in May and James in June.
Come July, and I'll be with y-.
But then, the music abruptly stops. The teen singer's once soothing voice cut off mid-chorus. Just like the bright sun burning off the morning fog, everyone, including myself, snaps out of the traumatic haze.
"I'm sorry everyone," a raspy voice, sore from crying, crackled over the loudspeakers. "We didn't know this song got on the rotation."
The store erupted with applause. Cheering and clapping for the brave soul who managed to get themselves off the floor and turn the song off. It was as if he were some airplane pilot who made a successful emergency landing on a busy interstate. I wouldn't be surprised if someone recommended him for a medal.
"As a token of our apology, everything in the deli will be 10% off for the next hour," the voice said again. More cheers.
I crawled up off the floor, brushing away the tears from my eyes while smearing marinara sauce on my face. An older man with tears frozen on his face from breaking down in the frozen food aisle hurried past me on his way towards the deli. I wasn't hungry anymore, and 10% off day-old fried chicken and stale mashed potatoes was not enough for me to continue shopping. I wanted a drink and a bath.
I never did find out what happened to my then-girlfriend. Her name doesn't appear in any official records of those who lost their lives. Perhaps she also managed to pull through; hopefully, like so many of us, she was able to block out everything that happened and start anew. To not think about the past, let others with more willpower analyze our failures that almost led to our downfall. To live in this placid ignorance is the only way to survive. Those who face the unfiltered truth are doomed to be consumed by it. The truth opens up a void inside you. An endless, bottomless void that refuses to be filled. Once you start to seek the truth, only new questions present themselves. As I walked towards the exit, the raspy voice made another announcement.
"Clean up on aisle 6."