The Quarantine Review, Issue 7

Sheeza Sarfraz, J.J. Dupuis, Sheeza Sarfraz, J.J. Dupuis

• Publisher: Dundurn Press
• Year: 2021
• eBook ISBN: 9781459749290
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Essays
• Index: Literature

The seventh issue of a digital journal created to alleviate the malaise of social distancing with exceptional writing and artwork.

The Quarantine Review celebrates literature and art, connecting readers through reflections on the human condition — our lived experiences, afflictions, and dreams. As we face a pandemic with profound implications, the essays within offer a variety of perspectives on the current predicament, encouraging readers to reflect on the world we knew before and contemplate how society can be reshaped once we emerge. Through The Quarantine Review, Dupuis and Sarfraz hope to give voice to the swirling emotions inside each of us during this unprecedented moment, to create a circuit of empathy between the reader, the work itself, and the wider world beyond the walls of our homes.

This issue includes works by Kirti Bhadresa, Sydney Warner Brooman, Diana Fitzgerald Bryden, Veronique Darwin, Catherine Graham, Joy Gyamfi, Pamela Hensley, Mark Laliberte, Donna Langevin, Mike Lee, H. C. Phillips, Robert Priest, Kenneth Sherman, Jillian Stirk, and Jasper Wrinch.

FICTION

Happy Halloween

Diana Fitzgerald Bryden

The street is much quieter than Herman had expected. But then he is thinking of Halloween from three years ago, when he last sat on his porch and handed out candy to toddlers and teenagers. He had only refused one group, where the boys were obviously at least 19. They should be getting their treats in someone’s basement or at a bar, and he told them so.

They told him to fuck off and one of them kicked over the pumpkin. But no real harm done. That’s the last Halloween he remembers because soon after that he had his stroke, hovered between life and death in a coma for over a year, and then died. So he’s not exactly up to speed on world developments.

He thought he’d have fun being a ghost on Halloween but he hadn’t figured that no one would be able to see him. Or that there would be so few people celebrating. Where is everybody?

He drifts along his old street and stands there looking at his house. Nothing on the porch. There are lights on upstairs and some half-hearted Halloween decorations on the lawn: a cellophane witch smushed into the tree plus some graveyard items: a severed thumb, a rat, a Styrofoam headstone for I. B. Dead—but no one handing out candy and no trick or treaters.

It’s the same for most of the houses on the street. Ah, wait, he sees some kids. Herman floats over to see if he can recognize them. It’s frustrating, he can’t pick his pace. Ghostly bodies seem to move to their own time, kind of like moonwalkers. If he tries to take a huge step it doesn’t get him any further ahead, so he tries instead to relax and drift, afraid he’s going to lose them.

When he gets close, he can see it’s Mac the cop and his little girl, Siena, who’s four. No, six maybe. She was four when he died, though he can’t remember exactly because of the coma. Siena is a cutie-pie. Mac’s parents are Korean and his wife is from Scotland. Siena has Mac’s beautiful eyes and Rebecca’s blonde hair. Her half-brother Kai is seven years older than her and he spoils her, so she is used to getting what she wants. Herman is used to seeing Mac, Rebecca or Kai racing after Siena, trying to stop her from falling and smashing her head or running into the street. Was used to. He keeps forgetting he’s dead.

Siena is dressed as a hotdog and is waddling along with Mac, one hand holding his, a plastic pumpkin bucket in the other. Herman tries to peer inside the bucket and nudges the little girl by accident. She giggles.

“Excuse me,” he says, expecting Mac to ask him what the hell he’s doing but Mac can’t see him. What’s the good of being a ghost if they don’t know you’re there? He looks around to discern if there are any other ghosts, and if they can see each other, but as far as he can tell he’s the only one.

There are construction cones all along the street in weird triangulated formations and white signs with pink and blue lettering stuck to the cones. Stay 2 metres apart. Two blue stick figures on the sign have a fat blue arrow indicating the distance between them. As Herman passes Mac and Siena, he sees that they’re both wearing masks that cover the lower half of their faces. Siena’s is pink and clashes with her costume. Mac’s is black with white lettering that says Black Lives Matter. Strange. Why wouldn’t they? And what does it mean? Mac and Siena don’t seem to notice the signs and traffic cones. They aren’t standing two metres apart from each other, but a man coming along the sidewalk facing them steps onto the road, walking away from them and around a cone. There’s a car behind him but he doesn’t care and the car doesn’t honk or anything.

Herman wants to ask him why he’s doing that, what the signs are, and what the fuck is going on. When the car has passed, the man turns and calls out, “Hey, Mac. How’s it going?” Mac waves at him.

“Pretty good.”

“You know if we’re going to Level 3 this week?”

“Sorry bud, no idea.”

“They don’t tell cops in advance?”

Mac shrugs. “I know as much as you do.”

“Ok, have a good night. Happy Halloween.”

Mac gives him a thumbs-up. Siena is jumping up and down. “Appa, hurry. I want more candy.”

Herman wanders along and sees a few more people, some wearing masks like Mac and Siena, some not, but all of them staying well away from each other. When he gets down to Gerrard Street, he is shocked. What has happened? Half the stores he knows have shut. Some are boarded up. Has there been an economic catastrophe? Did 2008 happen again?

He passes a bus shelter and looks at an ad scrolling up the glass: All TTC Passengers Must Wear A Mask. And another: Support Our Health Care Heroes. He passes the Chinese bakery where he used to stop for coconut buns and sees a woman inside cleaning up. She is wearing a mask too. It occurs to him that he could go in, probably. Can a ghost walk through locked doors?

He tries it. It doesn’t work at first so he shuts his eyes and tries to imagine himself on the other side. And he’s in. He can’t smell anything though. Is that another ghost thing? There are loops of red tape closing off tables and chairs and a sign that says Take Out Only. The woman sprays a display case and wipes it, oblivious to Herman.

The TV is on and he stands in front of it, hoping it’ll give him some insight into what’s happened to the world. An angry looking news anchor is gesticulating while figures scroll up the screen beside him. 250,000 deaths. Suddenly Herman realizes he’s not alone. A small Chinese man is standing beside him. “Terrible, isn’t it?” he says.

Herman looks around to see if he’s talking to someone else. The man looks right at him and Herman recognizes him. He’s the owner of the bakery. “My wife,” the man says, nodding at the woman cleaning. He nods at Herman. “Coconut bun, right?”

“You can see me?”

“I’m like you,” the man says. “Couple months ago. Now my wife is alone, and times are hard.”

“But what’s going on? I’m so confused.” Herman says.

“When did you die?” the man asks him.

“I’m not sure. I think I was in hospital for a while.”

“Oh, so maybe you don’t know about COVID.”

“What?”

“I don’t remember the scientific name. A new virus. It’s highly contagious.”

“Is that how you died?”

“No, cancer. It was hard. My wife couldn’t come to the hospital. My daughters weren’t allowed to travel. I said goodbye to them on my iPad.”

Herman is horrified. “What?”

“Yeah. No visitors.”

“I’m Jimmy, by the way” the man says. “You have a wife and kids?”

“No,” Herman says. “My husband died five years ago. I live alone. Your wife can’t see you?”

“No. But sometimes I think she knows I’m around. She curses me out, like she used to. I come to see how she’s doing at the shop. Wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to stay open. But she may be okay. We still get a fair bit of business, most of our customers are like you, just grab and go. And the coffee is good as ever.”

Herman doesn’t say anything. The coffee is terrible. He tried it twice. Jimmy waits a beat and elbows Herman, laughing so loudly that Herman jumps, though he can’t feel the elbow.

“The coffee is shit,” Jimmy says. “Always was, still is, I’m sure. She...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• In This Issue
• Contributors
• Editor’s Note
• POETRY: November | Kenneth Sherman
• FICTION: Monsters Made of Buildings Made of People Made of Paper | Veronique Darwin
• CREATIVE NON-FICTION: Tea Bag Fortunes | Kirti Bhadresa
• POETRY: Moving to America | Pamela Hensley
• FICTION: 5 QUESTIONS | Jael Richardson
• POETRY: Social Isolation as Tinnitus | H. C. Phillips
• ESSAY: A Tbilisi Diary | Jillian Stirk
• POETRY: 5G Venus | Sydney Warner Brooman
• POETRY: Excerpts from CIRCULARITIES | Mark Laliberte
• POETRY: There is a Global Pandemic | Joy Gyamfi
• PROS ON PROSE: A. G. Pasquella | Jeffrey Dupuis
• POETRY: Vestibule | Jasper Wrinch
• FICTION: Happy Halloween | Diana Fitzgerald Bryden
• POETRY: Songs in the Energy Field | Catherine Graham
• POETRY: Gratitude | Donna Langevin
• FICTION: The Third | Mike Lee
• POETRY: Infection Prevention for Murderers | Robert Priest