After the Pandemic

Chapter 1
Back to School

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Chapter Description: A man must face his future after learning he is infected with the virus.

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Author’s Note: The idea here is to create a world where a number of stories will be set. This is just the first entry. I’ll update with more short tales from this universe over the coming weeks.

Back to School

They said the whole world was infected now, that there was no point in trying to make a vaccine anymore. We were all carriers at this point. We had brought about our own downfall, just as so many had predicted. The Marton-Epley Virus, also known as Acute Cognitive Decline Disease, had been created in a laboratory. It was no freak of nature, it was man-made. Of course they hadn’t meant for it to be like that, the virus was created to boost brain-power, to fix neurodevelopmental disorders like Autism Spectrum Disorder and ADHD. Instead the virus mutated and the rest was history.

Of course not everyone infected with the virus actually suffered the terrible fate it now promised. If that had happened we would be living in a dystopian post-apocalyptic nightmare by now. That would have spelled extinction for the human race. But 90% of the infected population simply didn’t show any symptoms. The virus just sat dormant inside them. That isn’t to say they weren’t in danger. It seemed the virus simply turned itself on at random. Perhaps it hit when the immune system was low, or maybe stress was a trigger. Maybe some people were just genetically vulnerable to it.

Whatever the reason, there was nothing that could be done once the virus activated itself. All they could do was test to see which of the many strains of virus you had. That would tell them how much of your brain would be turned to mush, how quickly it would happen, how long-term the effects would be.

My life had changed forever the day it went active in me. Here I was, thirty-two years old, having spent a decade building my career in civil engineering, just having joined a new project as a team leader, and in one moment it all came crashing down. I was at work when I had the seizure, a clear sign of the virus activating. Naturally I was rushed to A&E, put on medication to prevent more seizures. Luckily the seizures caused by the virus responded very well to these meds. The seizures could be totally prevented. Everything else was unstoppable.

I spent the night in hospital, on the Virus Ward, being poked and prodded and hooked up to an EEG. The next day the doctor came to by bedside to give me the results. My partner, Anna, was already there. I dreaded hearing what the doctor had to say. I wasn’t just angry for myself, but for Anna too. She didn’t sign up for taking care of a giant snot-nosed little kid, a drooling, tantrum-throwing thirty-something man. How could I put her through that? But it wasn’t going to be up to me of course. Nothing would be.

“It’s MEV type 5b,” the doctor told us. “It’s not the worst strain by any means,” he told us, trying to be reassuring.

It wasn’t the worst, but it was bad enough. My type of the virus meant I would end up with the intellect, emotional maturity and behaviour of a five to seven year old. It also meant the decline would be slow, painfully slow. It would take three to six months for my mental regression to be complete. Over that time I would slowly lose my abilities to do adult things, to take care of myself.

The doctor gave us some pamphlets, to educate us on what was coming. One was about school enrollment, primary school. The thought of going back to school horrified me of course. My memories of primary school, two and a half decades ago, were mostly of mean kids bullying me, scary teachers and being totally at the mercy of adults and bigger kids.

“You might consider a booster,” the doctor had suggested. “Many patients find it makes the transition easier.”

I ripped than pamphlet up right away. The idea of a booster was sickening. Some people chose them because they just wanted it over with, since it was inevitable anyway. Boosters were meds that turbo charged the virus, made the transition go from a period of days, weeks or months down to a few minutes. They also usually meant the virus would run it’s most severe course though, meaning I’d end up very much at the lower end of the projected mental age range, perhaps even a little below it. No way was I taking that risk.

After the diagnosis I tried to return to normal life as much as possible, do all I could before it was too late. I lost my driving license instantly because of the seizure, so Anna had to drive me everywhere. But I went back to work, spent extra hours at the office, knowing I was working against a clock.

I kept up the facade of normalcy for a month. Then I was called into my boss’ office. It was an awkward conversation. He knew I was a good employee, that I’d had a promising future. But he had been carefully checking all my work since the seizure. Even without informing him of my diagnosis everyone knew what a seizure like that signaled. He told me about the increasing number of errors in my work, that they were getting worse and he didn’t have the time to check and fix them all anymore. He was very sorry and all that, hoped I would be getting good treatment, blah, blah, blah. The bottom line was I was fired.

After that things escalated quickly. Anna started the legal process to make me a minor again. I told her it was too early, she disagreed. It pissed me off of course, but I couldn’t walk out on her. I was going to need her for everything. A couple weeks after my firing we went to court. The place was packed with cases like mine. We waited an hour for our case to be called and after barely looking at the paperwork a judge declared me incompetent and appointed Anna as my legal guardian.

Just like that I was legally, officially, a child. I had to surrender my driver’s licence and instead had my photo taken to be issued with an ID card which clearly identified me as a minor. The line under my birth date stated “Mental Age: 5-7 Years.”

“That’s not right,” I told the bureaucrat issuing the ID. “It will be months before I’m actually at that level. Do I look like I think I’m a primary school kid?”

But the paper-pusher wasn’t interested. “We can’t issue a new card every two weeks as you regress sir. This ID is for the next two years.”

There was no process for appeal. Just like that I couldn’t buy alcohol, cigarettes or lotto tickets. I couldn’t sign a contract, have a credit card or live on my own. I couldn’t even enter an R13 movie. Now that physical age meant nothing IDs had to be checked for everything. As far as the world was concerned, I was a small child now.

After that I spent most of my time sitting on the couch at home, watching TV. Anna went to work of course, but I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go anywhere on my own because of how young me ID card stated I was. Minors under ten couldn’t be trusted be outside of their schools or homes unsupervised. Playing with other kids around the neighbourhood would be fine, but not walking around town by yourself. If someone asked to see my ID it would get Anna in big trouble and jeopordise her status as my guardian. The last thing I wanted was to end up in a foster home.

As I spent my time bored silly, watching TV, I began to understand why some people chose the booster, decided to just be done with it. All my old buddies were working during the day and they didn’t want to be around me anyway. They didn’t want to see my decline. Although I didn’t feel that different yet really. The complicated maths I needed for work had been the first thing to go, and I definitely felt moodier, angrier than usual so I guessed I was maybe back to my late teens mentally.

Finally six weeks after I lost my job, two and a half months after being diagnosed, Anna told me over dinner, “David, I’ve made an appointment for us at Hampton Park for tomorrow at ten in the morning.”

I blinked, taking in what she was saying. “Hampton Park? You mean, that school down on Exeter Street?”

She nodded, eating her dinner like this was all normal.

I dropped my fork. “Anna, that’s a primary school.”

Another nod. She stopped eating and looked me in the eye. “David, we both know it’s where you’re headed. We’ve known that for months.”

I felt rage boil up from within me. “Yeah, eventually, we’ve known that eventually I’ll need to go there. But Jesus Christ Anna, we’re not there yet!”

But Anna didn’t seem to agree. “David, it isn’t healthy for you to just be sitting here all day either. You can’t tell me you’re happy with this, with the way things are.”

“Of course I’m fucking not!”

“Language please,” Anna rebuked me.

“I’ll fucking swear if I want to. I’m not a little kid, not yet!”

Anna shook her head. “You’re well on your way David. You never spoke like that before. You sound like an angsty little teenager to me.”

That insult made me literally shake with rage, but I didn’t want to completely flip out and prove her right, so I restrained myself, keeping my voice calm. “Maybe you’re right, but teens don’t go to primary schools. You think I’d be happy having some teacher tell me what to do all day, threaten me with losing recess, with time outs?”

“You need to get used to it at some point David. And more importantly you wouldn’t be so socially isolated. You sit here all alone…”

“You think I should make friends with a bunch of little kids, little boys who think girls have cooties, who pick their noses and talk about the latest episode of… of… I don’t even know what little kids watch today! I was going to say SpongeBob but I don’t even know it that’s still on TV!”

Anna didn’t answer me. She picked up her fork and kept her eyes on the plate as she said, “The appointment is made. I’ve made my decision, we’re going to the school tomorrow morning and that’s all there is to it.”

She was right of course. She was my guardian. She had the right to enrol me in a school. And once enrolled the truancy laws applied and I would have to go every day or she could be in legal trouble and I would be facing a foster home. As angry as I was with her, I knew a foster home would be much, much worse.

**

So in the morning I found myself sitting in the principal’s office at Hampton Park Primary. The principal was a plump middle aged woman with short brown hair and black-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. She smiled at me in a way that made my skin crawl. It was a look that said she saw me as a child, not an adult.

“Lovely to meet you David,” she said to me, but not extending her hand to shake mine the way she had with Anna. She didn’t regard me as an equal, but as a dependent little boy.

“Yes, nice to meet you Mrs Baker,” I replied, forcefully reaching out to shake her hand, giving her a firm handshake to prove my competency.

She smiled and laughed lightly as we shook though, like it was cute, like I was a little boy pretending to be grown-up.

“So, you’d like to enrol David here,” she said to Anna, ignoring me now.

“Yes, I’d like to start him as soon as possible, if you have room.”

“Oh we have plenty of room. But can I ask what level is he at?”

“I’m still an adult in mentality,” I answered for Anna. “I’m legally a minor but that was all done prematurely. And I think this is all premature as well.”

Mrs Baker nodded but then turned back to Anna. “What I meant is, what age will he be levelling out at?”

I was shocked by this affront. She was deliberately ignoring me. “Excuse me,” I interjected. “I’m sitting right here and perfectly capable of having this conversation with you…”

“David, please don’t interrupt when grown-ups are talking,” Mrs Baker cut me off. “I’m happy for you to sit here while your guardian and I talk, but you need to wait your turn. I’ll have questions for you in a minute but until then you can show me that you’re a big boy by letting us talk.”

I was absolutely flabbergasted. No one had spoken to me like that since I was actually a little boy. It enraged me, but also shocked me so much I lost my voice for a moment. And Anna took that chance to explain, “He has Type 5b. They say he will be leveling out at a five to seven year old level.”

Mrs Baker made a note on the paper in front of her. “Good, good,” she said. “Well, we don’t like to have children changing classes multiple times, it can be very hard on them, making and then being separated from friends. So I suggest we put David into a combined Year 1 and 2 class. The children are five and six years old there. If he is a bit advanced for it after he’s all settled down we can talk about moving him up to Year 3 then.”

“Yes, that sounds fine to me,” Anna agreed.

“Well it doesn’t sound fine to me,” I jumped in again, the old bitch’s warning be damned. “I’m not going to making friends with a bunch of little kids anyway. If I have to go here at least put me with the Year 7 and 8s so I can have some kind of conversation with them.”

“David, I’ve warned you about waiting your turn. Now I don’t want us to start out on the wrong foot so you need to learn to ask permission when you want to speak. You do that by raising your hand and waiting for a teacher to call on you.”

“This is ridiculous! Anna, let’s go. I’m not going here,” I told her, getting up from my chair.

But Anna stayed seated. “I’m really sorry about his attitude,” she told the principal.

“No, it’s fine. He’s still adjusting to being a child and not a man. He has to learn his manners, but he’ll come right in the end. They all do,” Mrs Baker assured her.

“Anna, come on!” I urged.

She ignored me completely. “So when could he start?” she asked instead.

“Monday would be fine. I’ll inform his teacher, Miss Dauber. You’ll just need to get him a uniform. They’re available at Henning’s, they’re our supplier. The guidelines are all here,” she said, handing Anna a paper.

“Thank you so much.”

“No worries. I’ll be looking forward to seeing David next week,” Mrs Baker said with a smile.

**

I was furious with Anna but she was unrepentant. She made it clear, I was going to the school on Monday, or I was going to a foster home. I handled it by keeping my mouth shut, completely. I couldn’t look at Anna without wanting to scream at her, so I just stayed silent pretty much totally for the next couple days.

Then came the big day, Monday morning and I woke up to find Anna already up and preparing my breakfast. Normally I got up and made my own meal, but apparently she was taking her whole Mummy thing to a new level. Not only that, she’d laid out my clothes for me. Well, not really my clothes, my new uniform. I hadn’t even realised she’d actually gone out and bought it. But there it was, a light blue polo shirt with a navy blue collar and a golden school crest. A pair of baggy navy cargo shorts went along with it.

Reluctantly I put on the uniform, looking myself in the mirror and feeling like an absolute moron. Clean-shaven and in this uniform I really looked like a giant little kid. The shorts fell below my knees too. That hadn’t been in style since I was a teenager myself. It was something only little boys would do, oblivious to styles as they were.

“Don’t you look smart,” Anna remarked as I walked into the kitchen.

“Don’t even joke about this. I’m already pissed off enough,” I told her.

“I wasn’t joking. You look really nice in that uniform. It’s a big improvement on the trackies and dirty t-shirts you’ve been slumming it in for the last few weeks.”

“You mean I look cute, I look adorable, like a little kid. I don’t think that’s actually an improvement,” I told her.

“Well I’ve made your lunch anyway. It’s in your bag,” she said, picking up a brand new backpack, a little kid’s school bag, and handing it to me.

I peeked inside, seeing the lunchbox and also a pencil case, a notebook, a pack of crayons, vivids and a glue stick.

“I think I got everything on your stationary list in there. But if not have your teacher write a note,” she told me.

“You know I’m still capable of writing a note myself,” I spat.

“Fine, write me a note then. Just don’t forget.”

“Let’s just get going,” I said.

“You’ll be going in a couple minutes. I’ve arranged for you to join the walking school bus.”

My stomach flip-flopped. “What?! Anna the last thing I need is for our neighbours to see me in this get-up. Just drive me to the school.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms, looking ready for a fight. “I’m leaving late today to make sure you’re ready for school but in the future I won’t have time to drive you to school. That’s why I arranged for you to join the walking school bus. This isn’t up for discussion.”

“Everyone will see me in this stupid uniform!” I whined.

“They’ll be seeing you in it a lot from now on, so you need to accept that. Now, they’ll be here very soon, so we need to get you out the door.”

With great reluctance I made my way to the door. My legs were actually shaking. Everyone was about to see that I was a virus victim now. There would be no more hiding it. And even worse, they’d assume from this outfit that my mind was already gone. They’d all start treating me like Mrs Baker, that nasty woman, did already.

As I stopped to pull on my sneakers Anna put her hand on my arm, stopping me. “No David, leave those here.”

I was confused. “What do you mean? What shoes am I supposed to wear?”

“The uniform is pretty clear on that David,” she said, pulling out a folded up paper which I recognised as the uniform list from Mrs Baker’s office.

Under the boys’ summer uniform header there was a section marked “Footwear” and gave the options of lace-up leather black shoes with grey wool socks OR brown or black Roman sandals worn without socks OR bare feet. A note below then said: Parents are encouraged to send their children barefoot in the summer.

I read the section twice then looked up at Anna with confusion.

“You’re going to be running around, playing games much of the day David. Remember you’ll be in a Year 1 and 2 class. You won’t be spending much time sitting at desks. You can’t be running around kicking balls and climbing playground equipment in dress shoes. And you must recall from high school how uncomfortable Roman sandals are. You’ll be much more comfortable just going barefoot,” Anna explained.

The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. She couldn’t really expect me to do that? Could she?

“Anna, I can’t go barefoot! I mean, think of what I’ll look like!”

“Oh David, don’t be so dramatic. Plenty of kids run around barefoot.”

“Yeah, they do, but not all of them. I didn’t when I was a kid, a real kid.”

Anna shrugged. “Really? I guess your family was a bit more formal than mine. I don’t think I had a pair of shoes until I was about ten and they were just for formal things until I got to high school.”

“Yeah, well that’s fine for you but I’m not like that.”

“Honey I haven’t bought you the Roman sandals or the formal shoes so I’m afraid this is your only option. If you wear your own sneakers you’ll be in trouble right from the start. Do you want to be made to stand in a time-out corner in front of all the other kids on day one?”

“No,” I admitted. “So, I stay home sick today, you buy me the shoes, not the sandals, this afternoon and tomorrow…”

“No David. That’s not happening. I need you to understand this. I get why you’re upset. Walking to school barefoot is something only very little boys do. It’s a childish habit that most kids grow out of by Year 7 and 8. But you are a little boy. You’re in the youngest class in the primary school. Most of your classmates will be barefoot because they’re little boys and girls. You’ll fit right in with the rest of them. You need to accept that, you need to get used to it, because it’s either that, or you do the rest of this on your own.”

I had to really fight not to cry in front of Anna. As it was I sniffled twice. Quietly I said, “The ground gets hot. It’ll hurt my feet.”

Anna looked more sympathetic now as she opened her arms and pulled me into a hug. “I know, but that will pass. I think it’s best we just pack your shoes away for now, all of them. That way your feet will get tougher faster and in no time at all you’ll be running over gravel in the afternoon sun without a flinch.”

“But… but… then everyone…”

She patted my back. “Yep, everyone who sees you walking barefoot in the mall or onto the bus or wherever will see your bare feet and know you’re a little boy. That’s exactly right and y’know what? It’s the truth David.

“I want to love you and take care of you. This isn’t easy for me either. I’ve had to give up a lot. But I’m willing to do that for you. But only if you can accept that I’m in charge now, that I make the rules and I know what’s best for you. Now, can you do that?”

I wiped the tears from my eyes, tears for the final loss of my adult status. Then I nodded and mumbled, “Uh-huh.”

“Good, now let’s get you to school,” Anna said, letting me out of the hug and securing my backpack over my arms. She glanced down and said, “No socks either honey.”

With a final nod I leant over and pulled my socks off. And then we were out the door. The walking school bus was arriving already, a line of fifteen students headed to the primary school. Five of them were grown-up sized like me, the rest were tiny little kids. Ten of them, including four of the five bigger kids, were barefoot like me. I really did fit right in as I took my place at the back of the line.

“Hi, I’m Stevie, what’s your name?” the boy in front of me asked. He was a real little kid, probably eight or nine years old, wearing an identical uniform to mine, with the exception of the Roman sandals on his feet.

“Um, I’m David,” I told him.

“Cool, what year you in?” he followed up.

“Year 2,” I answered sadly.

“Oh, that’s cool. My little brother Jamie is in your year,” he told me, grabbing the arm of the smaller boy next to him, a tiny little blonde kid who I couldn’t help but notice was barefoot like me. He wasn’t as mature as his big eight year old brother, he didn’t need sandals yet, and he was my new classmate.

“This boy is in your class Jamie,” he told the little boy.

The little kid grinned ear to ear up at me. “You like dinosaurs?” he asked. “I got dinosaur stickers! Wanna see ‘em?”

I wanted to groan, but what choice did I have. It might not be that long before I legitimately loved dinosaur stickers. I’d need friends then. So I nodded and said, “Um, yeah, dinosaurs are really cool. Show them to me.”

And as we walked along the warm pavement of the footpath I tried to ignore how rough it was under my feet and focus on the stickers my new little friend was clearly obsessed with. There was no choice but to get used to it. This was my future now.

 

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