“Kevin! Good to see you.”
“Rich, you look just like your profile picture.”
“Well, I’m very happy to say that you don’t!”
“You noticed my picture was a skull, huh?”
“I just thought you’d put on weight!”
“It’s plastic, in case you’re worried.”
They laugh together.
“How are you doing, Rich?”
“Not too bad, all things considered. Yourself?”
“Struggling along, you know how it is.”
As was the new norm, they had pledged not to talk about the pandemic. As was also the norm, they instantly broke their compact.
“How is where you are, Rich: locked down?”
“As tight as a farmer’s purse strings, as they used to say around here, Kevin. Seems like overkill – whoops, bad word choice – in our rural backwater. Do you prefer Kevin or Kev, by the way?”
“Kevin’s good: hate Kev.”
“Cool. And are you also still totally locked down over there?”
“Pretty much, in this city anyway, food shopping only at the moment. They advise click-and-collect, and that’s what most of us are doing: not many people braving indoor space these days, only those who have to for whatever reason. And, of course, the unbelievers.”
“Increasing number of them, Kevin, despite the scary stats.”
“Lots of people are just losing it, I reckon, after all this time.”
“There’s talk of tightening things up here, even stopping two households that are not in a bubble meeting outside.”
“The language has changed, eh Rich? Lockdown, bubble, fire-break, R-Number, vaccine-hesitancy, transmission-offence…”
“I know, I know, and what about unmute yourself, share your screen, change your background, put on a party hat, and all this crazy video conferencing stuff.”
“Which wave is this now, I’ve lost count?”
“God knows.”
“Probably the final wave farewell for our species!”
“Ever the optimist, Kevin.”
“I don’t know when governments will realise, but it’s beyond waves now, isn’t it?”
“You’ve joined the perennial pandemic camp, Kevin?”
“Verging on it, Rich, losing faith... Hey, this is depressing. Best leave dead dogs die. So, you liked the sci-fi novel I put you onto?”
“Loved it, thanks for that recommendation. I have to say, I couldn’t keep track of all the parallel universes, but I lost myself in the characters: great dialogue.”
This is what had brought them together, a common interest in books, cemented in the comment sections of the posts on a Facebook reading group. Then they had both joined another group which shared music videos. They had communicated in Messenger about their passion for movies. Kevin was in a soccer WhatsApp group that Rich has created, “Extra Time Looming”. Beer was yet another interest they found that they had in common.
“What are you drinking tonight then, Rich? I’m on the alcohol-free, desperately trying not to drink myself into oblivion every night!”
“I’ve fallen off the wagon again I’m afraid. Found this New England IPA on offer online and bought a dozen bottles: very tasty; orangey, if you can believe that, but in a good way.”
“Sounds bloody great to me, mate, wanna swap?”
“I’ll be back on the AF after the weekend.”
“Enjoy it while you can, life is short.”
“Getting way shorter by the minute, Kevin: Cheers!”
Rich raises his favourite pint glass, takes a long pull of the IPA. Half a world away, Kevin mimes clinking his small green bottle of zero percent beer on the screen of his laptop. He restarts the conversation, again breaking the tarnished golden rule.
“So all the current vaccines are useless against the new strain, it seems?”
It was impossible to avoid: it was the elephant in the room, and the beast appeared terminally ill.
“I heard the Chinese one offers fifty-percent protection, or something like that.”
“Heads you win, tails you lose! Do not pass Go, go straight to hospital! Anyway, we don’t even have the new Chinese vaccine over here: do you Rich?”
“No we don’t. All we can get is our own stuff since the government fell out with everybody. And that’s proved pretty useless against most variants.”
” Vaccine nationalism, another new term in dictionary.”
“We’re in the Vaccine War, I read today: like the Cold War, an existential state.”
“Maybe we can get the Chinese vaccine as a takeaway?”
“That’s probably racist, Kevin!”
” Worse, it’s not even velly funny.”
They chuckle together, naughty children, very much alike. Rich hopes that Kevin’s visually apparent Asian ethnicity rendered his humour if not politically correct, then at least acceptable as self-satire, and so okay for him to laugh along with.
“That’s another change, Kevin, the takeaway delivery companies: I wish I’d invested in them way back when it all began.”
” You should have, Rich, you really should.”
“Too late to buy shares in undertakers or death-trucks, too, not that I have any spare cash or crypto.”
” Another sort of takeaway! When will it end, Rich, eh?”
“I wish I knew, Kevin, I really wish I knew.”
Kevin is silent for a moment, staring blankly. Rich thinks his internet connection has frozen, but then his long-distance friend speaks.
” I really wish you knew too.”
“If only I could wave a magic wand!”
“If only.”
“Hey, Kevin, we’d better pick up the pace or we’ll get maudlin… How much are you looking forward to cinemas opening?”
That does the trick, Kelvin is instantly animated.
“If they ever do, I will be first in every queue for every film showing: I’d even go to see a musical!”
“Steady on, now: there are worse things than the plague!”
“Seriously, I’d go to see anything: can you even remember monster tubs of popcorn!”
“I’ve always been an ice-cream man: give me a chocolate covered ice-cream on a stick and an action blockbuster with screen-splitting CGI and heart-pounding sound!”
” Nothing arthouse and challenging then, Rich?”
“Blockbuster first, deep and meaningful for dessert. Unless there’s a half-decent thriller.”
“I’ll drink to that!”
They toast each other across oceans and continents before turning to a topic they had exchanged comments on several times on social media over the humdrum months of their latest lockdowns.
“What stories will come out of all this then, Kevin, what novels, what movies, what songs?”
“I think everyone will steer clear, you know, too raw a nerve.”
“They can’t keep writing fiction set in crowded rooms, though, movies where people aren’t wearing masks… Stories must be socially distanced stories, all art…”
“People need escapism, Rich, we don’t want our noses rubbed in it.”
“But the world is changed, to mis-quote Yates, I think, it’s changed utterly…
” And a terrible beauty is born.”
“Indeed”
“Oh god, poetry will be grimmer than ever, I suppose, song lyrics darker… I can’t bear to look at another arty photo-essay of empty streets, abandoned spaces, boarded up shops, field hospital…”
“Overflowing morgues, mass graves....”
“You know, Rich, a Zombie apocalypse would have been much more fun, even an alien invasion.”
“Just imagine!”
” I can. And if I can, you certainly can: no more death by a thousand cuts of fear, isolation and boredom; we could be knocking the heads off the undead with cricket bats!”
“Alien invasions don’t tend to end well, though Kevin.”
Rich looks uneasy, nervously pulling at his beard.
” We could beat those Martians, Rich, people would think of something… Or the planet itself could come to our aid: the aliens could get the virus! Oh that’s War of the Worlds, isn’t it?”
“An alien invasion would be terrible.”
“It couldn’t be worse than this though, mate, could it?”
“Terrifying…”
” But exciting, at least.”
“If we keep to the rules, we’ll be safe: we’ll survive…”
“There has to be more to life than survival, Rich. We’re losing our minds keeping our bodies safe!”
“Let’s talk football, Kevin, firmer ground so to speak.”
” No, let’s not talk football, Rich, let’s talk about why you won’t end this freaking pandemic!”
“Me?”
Rich is so shocked by Kevin’s outburst that he splutters a mouthful of beer, just missing dribbling into his laptop.
“It’s your imagination, Rich, or lack of it. At some level, you must know that?”
“I think you’ve lost it, Kevin, are you okay?”
“No, I am not okay: I am your imaginary friend in your imagined world and not only is it literally deadly, it is also deadly fucking dull!”
“This pandemic is reality, Kevin, it’s nothing to do with me.”
“It’s everything to do with you! Don’t you get it, this reality is like the Truman Show where Truman is in the Director’s chair and the rest of us are trapped on your set: you are Truman Burbank Unchained!”
Rich laughs, though visibly discomfited, squirming in his chair.
“Are you sure that’s alcohol-free beer, Kevin? Or have you been toking skunk, popping acid…”
“If I had, you’d know all about it: we all do only what you imagine us doing.”
“You’re serious aren’t you? This isn’t a send-up?”
” Deadly serious, Rich, deadly.”
“But think about what you’re saying, Kevin, it makes no sense. How could I imagine nuclear physicists doing their thing when I know next to nothing about nuclear physics? How could I imagine a great composer, conductor or musician: I can’t read music, don’t play an instrument, can hardly hold a tune if I sing. How could I imagine a global economy? I’m overdrawn at the bank and maxed out on my credit card. How…”
” That’s obviously not how it works, Rich: you imagine us with imagination of our own; you imagine us with free will, diverse intelligences.”
“Did I just imagine the whole of human history?” Write every novel? Conceive and record every sporting event that’s ever been…”
“You tell me how it works, Rich, I’m just an extra.”
“You’ve gone crazy, Kevin.”
” You’re right, I have. You have driven me bat-shit crazy!”
“Look, maybe you should see someone…”
“You know what would help, Rich? Just tell me what you’re so scared of? Why are you too frightened to risk living a real life? You’re squeezing the life out of the rest of us, and why? Is it just so you don’t have to chance death yourself, Rich, is that it?”
“Really, Kevin, get a grip! I’m going to leave this chat, if you go on like this. You need professional help; I don’t think I can…”
Kevin closes his eyes, sucks in a desperate deep breath, expels the air from his lungs as if sobbing.
“You’re right, Rich, I’m sorry: I lost it. Don’t leave. Please.”
“I’ve never seen you like that, Kevin, you’re always so… You know, cynical but upbeat.”
“The sci-fi must have really got to me.”
Kevin gives Rich a sick grin, bows his head, combs his fingers through his hair, faces front again.
“You want to talk soccer, Rich?”
“I can’t remember what I was going to say, you’ve put me off my stroke…”
“Take your time, Rich, we’ve got all night. I’m not going anywhere, am I?”
“Do you really think the pandemic is my doing? Do you really think I’m responsible for everything, for everybody?”
Kevin sighs then speaks, deliberately and kindly.
“We’re like your children, Rich, imaginary children, yes, but no less deserving of care. When you won’t imagine freedom - with all its risks - you’re killing us. And the less of us there are, the less of you there is. It’s self-harm.”
“I didn’t cause the pandemic, Kevin.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.
“We have to be vigilant, obey the rules.”
“You could be the change.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Live, Rich, live and let live!”
“Just listen to yourself, Kevin.”
“I know…”
“I’m ending the call.”
“Someone had to tell you, Rich, before it’s too late.”
“Get help, Kevin. Goodbye.”
Leave the meeting.
Leave.
Rich sleeps badly. When he logs in and checks social media in the morning, Kevin is gone, disappeared without trace. Poor guy, Rich would miss their chats. Checking the news, he saw that there was no let-up in the pandemic and governments all over the world were considering harsher measures. Protests were being ruthlessly crushed. In places ghettos had been created. China was suspected of culling infected populations. Sensible people everywhere were keeping their heads down and doing exactly as they were told.
The good news was that there were advances in mental health treatments to help people cope with isolation, depression, paranoia… There were new drugs, therapies: people could adapt and be content, happy even. There would be change.
Imagine that.