When the World Goes Quiet

by Gian Sardar

“Sometimes I wonder what my mother would’ve thought. If she were alive during this. If I have a hard time thinking things will get better—that they even can get better—imagine her.” For a second she’s quiet, listening to what sounds like a bird outside, until she realizes it’s a squeaking wheel. “Everything seems broken. I don’t know how we go back from here.” “Well, you don’t go back, do you? At least you hope you don’t.” Coletta jots down another number. “You might take comfort in this, and you might not, but life is repetitive. Maybe it’s the journey humans need. But every so often, a war or a plague or what have you. A hundred years pass, and our streets look different, so different that we think we’re nothing like the people who came before us. Our situations, our circumstances, they’re all new. They must be, we think, because we’re so different. We want to be different. But at the core, everything’s the same. A hundred years ago, two hundred years ago. The same lessons learned differently. And no matter when it is, you can guarantee something’s waiting in the wings to make us feel broken, but more importantly, to force us to find a way through.” A pause. “Your mother was the one who told me that.”