"The Only Thing We Know..."

Bob opened his eyes for the fiftieth day in a row without really knowing why. Stuck in his house with nothing to do but complain to himself about how sore he was, Bob got up every morning with a pain in his side both literally and figuratively. It was bad enough that he was by himself, now he had no choice but to entertain his bored mind. He sighed and sat up with a crack of the spine and eased over to his kitchen to make yet another bowl of flavorless oatmeal. As he grabbed the bag of flaky oats, he saw his neighbor, Phil, staring at him out the window of his old yellow apartment building. Bob squinted through the morning sun and waddled over to the window. The pane of glass, to Bob’s great dismay, was covered in dust and was cracked in several places. He pulled at the window, his joints cracking more than the ancient seal of the frame, until it creaked upward with a crash. Phil cackled, his voice old and congested, as the glass that was left on the frame tinkled to the ground. Bob ground his teeth a few times and let it go.

“What’cha want Phil? I’m a busy man!”

 “No you’re not,” Phil Wheezed. “You ain’t done nothin’ since we gunned down them tanks in ’44!”

Bob stared at Phil in mock contempt and grumbled, “Well, I may have a free moment.”

Phil smiled, “Good! I got too much on my mind to keep to my sorry self. This bothersome virus ‘as got me thinkin’ ‘bout the good ol’ days.”

“Those days were anything but good Phil. Don’t euphemize the fact that we almost got killed.”

“Eh!” Phil waved Bob off with an eye-roll. “Well I was thinkin’: Remember the rations the Government set out for them already scared people throughout the war? You figure they might start to ration off th’ necessities now, do ya Bob?”

“Bah! This virus couldn’t kill an asthmatic mole!”

“I beg to differ, Bob! You see, there ain’t no-one we’ve seen yet who went n’ died, but I’ve been watchin’ the news, and them scientific scientists ‘ave got me all riled up about it, Bob!”

Bob wrinkled his nose and scoffed, “You wave off the time we almost got blasted by Germany, yet you cower at the thought of a cough and fever!”

“So you got no regard for them sick ones, do ya? Well just you wait ‘till it spreads ‘round these parts! OOOOh, you’ll be quakin’ in your slippers!” Phil finished triumphantly.

“First, They’re not slippers. I wear Wool-Coated-Memory-Foam-Slide-on-House Shoes.”

Phil disappeared with another ancient cackle, then reappeared with tears running down his scarred, wrinkled face. “Oh, Bob,” Phil laughed through his teeth. “You really know how t’ make a guy laugh!”

Bob was not impressed. “How can you even try to compare this virus to the most brutal war we’ve ever known?”

“Don’t get me wrong Bob, th’ war was bad, aye, but I could use my strength and my keen wits t’ get me out o’ them perilous situations. Now I got no strength, no wits, and a bad immune system! So, yes! I feel in greater danger now than I felt during the war.”

“I dunno,” Bob grumbled yet again. “Maybe I should take this a bit more seriously.”

Ha!” Phil exclaimed. “He finally admits to something! You still ain’t admittin’ to bein’ the one whose gun went off and destroyed that bomber back in ’42!”

“And I never will!” Bob exclaimed not very convincingly, “That was Miller, and I’ll never say otherwise!”

“’Cept last time you said it was Jonesey!” Phil Smiled slyly. “But I’ll let it go. I’d be careful if I was you. don’t go thinkin’ you can get away from the virus without bein’ safe. You might die! Well, now, I gotta get a biscut inside o’ me! I might die o’ hunger before I catch th’ virus!”

Bob closed the window and frowned a sideways frown. He cracked his back and made a bowl of oatmeal.

           A few days later, Bob realized the massive mistake he had made. He had read the news and lots of it. Every breath he took, he inhaled with his teeth close together like he could filter the germs out with his teeth. Bob opened the window to talk to Phil again. Phil opened the window slowly and leaned his tired head out.

“Ach,” He began, “I gotta get somewhere, Bob. I gotta do somethin’! I can’t go wastin’ th’ rest o’ my life away inside!” He lowered his voice and spoke in a cracked sad voice. “I wanna live, for real, Bob.”

Bob widened his eyes, “don’t you go getting any crazy ideas, Phil. You don’t want the virus, do you?”

“Well… no.” Phil hesitated. “You been readin’ the news, I assume?”

“Probably too much! But now I know what’s real, and it’s the virus! I tell you Phil, if something isn’t done about this, we’re all done for!”

“My life has been full, Bob, “Phil said with a wistful smile on his face. “I remember a lovely visit with my mother before she passed. I remember my first time in th’ army. I remember when I met you there and we hated each other.” He spoke less and less clear as he went, “I c’n recall when we fought in th’ camp, ‘nd I pounded y’ senseless.”

“I remember pounding you senseless.” Bob mumbled.

Phil continued, “I remember when we met Jonesey ‘n Miller. I remember when we lost ‘em too. I remember feelin’ that all ‘ope was lost, an’ then feelin’ th’ opposite when th’ war was won. I remember you and I standin’ back home receivin’ th’ medal o’ honor.” He looked older to Bob, his face looking the picture of grief. “I ‘member when we thought we’d ‘ave normal lives again. We did too, fer a long while. Now th’ virus ‘s ‘ere and we’re stuck up inside. Just like when we were stuck in th’ bunkers, just th’ two of us fer ‘lmost a week. ‘Course this is takin’ longer.”

“Well--- I,” Bob didn’t know what to say.

“Bob,” Phil began. “I got th’ chance to live th’ best life a guy could ask fer. I want all th’ kids today t’ live it too. I was never that concerned ‘bout myself, well, I was, but I don’t want the kids who ‘re out there now to ‘ave their lives shorten’d ‘cause they got no-where t’ go. I don’t want some young-un’s life t’ be turned ‘round like th’ barrel of ‘n automatic rifle, ‘cause eleven people got sick in their hometown. I wanna let ‘em live, Bob!”

Phil shook his head and shut the window. Bob could see his shadow moving away like a ghost.

The next morning Bob opened the window to talk to Phil, but Phil did not poke his head out to tell a joke or ramble on about the war. Phil was absent from his window the next morning too. Bob began to wonder if he had caught the virus. He quickly waddled over to his coat rack, where his jacket had remained dormant for the last month and a half. He swung it over his old shoulders and walked swiftly, if one could call it that, over to Phil’s apartment building. Phil was not home. Bob sat down on the steps of Phil’s house and looked around, breathing hard from the long, twenty-foot walk. A kid rode by on a skateboard.

“Hey kid!” Bob wheezed. The kid looked around and pointed at himself. “Yeah, you! C’mere! You know what happened to Ol’ Phil?”

The kid told him that he had seen an ambulance there two nights prior. Bob called a taxi, as he had not driven in over ten years, and within minutes he was off to the hospital. When he got to the front desk, he asked for Phil. The receptionist pointed with a finger that looked like it had been broken and not set properly. Bob hustled as fast as his aching body and chubby legs would get him to room 213, where he found Phil. Phil with a sheet over his face. Bob sat down hard as a nurse came into the room and looked at him sympathetically. Bob asked how it had happened.

“Died of boredom,” the nurse said, “Or at least that’s all we can assume. He died of a heart malfunction that is known to be caused by boredom. Lack of brain activity is known to cause early death and heart attacks. Our country is in such a state now…” The nurse closed her eyes and sadly wagged her head. “The cause of death honestly doesn’t surprise me.”

Bob raised his eyebrows, then closed his eyelids and thought.

“Do you need a ride home?” The nurse asked.

Bob mumbled incoherently; he was too overcome to answer. He supposed Phil had been right. Maybe boredom really was worse than the risk of the virus. Before he knew it, the taxi driver had dropped him off at his home. Bob picked up the paper on his way in and looked at two articles that sat parallel on the front page. One read: “Virus Expected to Taper Down Within the Month.” The other: “Thousands Affected by Virus Monstrosity: Relief Not Expected for Over a Year.”

Bob shook his weary, boggled head. “I guess the only thing we know is that we don’t really know anything.”  He thought, “Or we’re not allowed to know anything.” Bob rolled the paper into his fist, then he waddled into the kitchen to make a bowl of oatmeal.