This came from actual conversations with coworkers in summer/fall 2019. I started writing it, then stopped, then COVID happened which changed everything, and I finally came back to this story in October 2020. I gave it to Stacy, who was the one who started the whole silly thing. I also gave her a companion story -- actually, the same story written in a very tone. I never quite recaptured the 50's B movie feel I started with in 2019 (and eventually dropped altogether in 2020). I like the tone of this one, chatty and breezy. I'm happy how it came out. The companion piece is high Poe/Dunsany/Lovecraft gothic. And I like it as well. Sometimes you just have to let the purple prose gallop free. I'll post it sometime. Whenever Spectrum gets my home internet alive and kicking again.
The Brain-Eating Virus that Ate My Brains
© 2020 Misha Mueller
Family farms gradually losing ground to new subdivisions. Locally-owned boutique shops downtown and big box stores on the outskirts. Gas prices fifteen to twenty cents per gallon higher than out on the interstate.
In other words, a typical rural, but developing, county in the Bible Belt of America.
This is where it all started. And it started with her.
She is R—. R— was the first to realize what was happening. Give it a name. Make the world aware. Of course, R— was the first to succumb. And the first to pass it on.
Patient Zero.
Now don’t get scared. This isn’t a horror story. Not exactly. It’s not that virus. Not the one that’s four out of every five news stories, and be honest the fifth story is about it, too, whatever the headline may say. We don’t even say the name out loud anymore lest we conjure it Bloody Mary style.
This virus is easy to misdiagnose. It starts so small. You forget what you were doing, often while you’re doing it. We all do it. And we all say the same thing.
“Had a senior moment.”
And we brush it off. Part of life. Part of getting older. It sucks, but still, it beats the alternative.
Clichés.
(Sorry. I forgot where I was going with this. Just a senior moment.
Except it isn’t. It’s more. So much more.)
Maybe I should start at the end, like they do it too many TV episodes now. Start with the hordes, lurching along all zombie-like. Hint at something gruesome in the fridge, maybe via a dirty bloody handprint smeared on the handle. A shot of any empty suburban cul-de-sac, bare tree branches stabbing the lowering clouds in the grey skies; a minivan parked askew, driver’s door open, maybe keys in the ignition with the accompanying frantic perky annoying ding ding ding from the vehicle. We don’t have to speak its language to know what it’s telling us.
Then: 48 hours earlier.
Except we have to go farther back. Months. Years?
And nothing is really that obvious.
It was neither dark nor stormy nor even night.
Because although I say it started with R—, did it really? Do we know when and where and who and how and why it began? Or has it been with us longer, so much longer
and we just
forgot?
So it started (someday) with R— (or someone). She had a day. We’ve all had them. Forgot her house keys. Got to work and realized she also forgot the office keys. She had her car key so she could drive but that’s it. Go places but not get in.
And so she waited until one of her coworkers arrived. (Both were running late for various reasons so maybe it didn’t start with R—, maybe they already had it. Or maybe all three picked it up from someone else. Or touched something that was already swarming with little virus icks like in a commercial for antiseptic wipes.) One finally arrived and let them both in.
Then there was the tea in the microwave (R— heated it, forgot it, and went back for it at least twice but probably more). She meant to fill up the paper tray in the printer and instead left the tray open and empty so no one could print and no one knew why until someone investigated. At lunchtime she realized her lunch was at home with her house and office keys. And when she drove to McDs she noted that her purse was most likely on the kitchen counter beside her lunch bag and keys.
So it went all day. She said she was never happier to see a day end. She said she hoped she remembered how to drive home. (It was a joke. Sort of. Her co-workers sort of laughed.) She said she had better not speed, not even a teeny bit, because she didn’t have her purse so she didn’t have her wallet so she didn’t have her license so she couldn’t risk getting pulled over.
“The way today has been . . .” she said, getting into her van.
(She did remember where she lived, the roads to get there. She did not get a ticket, didn’t see any police cars at all on the way home. And when she was home, she started supper and had the hamburgers grilling and the frozen fries in the oven and the salad out of the bag and in a bowl and there were no cheese slices for the burgers and no buns either. So her family had salad and fries and open-faced burgers on garlic bread topped with shredded cheese (choice of mozzarella or casserole blend.))
There were other things, small, over the next few days. R— laughed and said, “At least it’s not like that day I forgot my keys. That was a day.”
And so it was. The first day (maybe of the virus.
J— worked with R— though not on the day. He had a day of his own. Several. His started small and just . . . snowballed.
He forgot lots of little things. Forgot there were clothes in the washer so they sat overnight without going into the dryer and had to be rewashed to kill that musty smell.
He forgot to bring lunch to work. (Meals seemed especially problematic.) Then forgot that he’d forgotten, realizing he would have to get fast food, although he did at least have his wallet so he was able to purchase food. (yay.)
He remembered his mother’s bithday. He bought her a present and a card. He planned to call her at lunch (to say “happy birthday”) and stop by her house after work (to give her the present and card). He remembered and planned until the actual day. It was too late to call her when he did remember just before his bedtime but long after hers.
J— woke one morning thinking it was his day off, gently drifted back to sleep – almost – only to jerk back to full consciousness with the realization that it was Wednesday, a basic workday, not Sunday, a day of rest. He might have been only a few minutes late to work except he needed to stop for gas in order to get to work. He couldn’t find his debit card when he was at the gas station. He looked through his wallet multiple times. Looked on the ground and as best as he could under the minivan without actually kneeling down on the grimy asphalt. Tried to think back to when he used it last. He’d just seen it! He knew he had. He saw it, yes, he saw it when
when he pulled it out of his wallet just before getting out of his minivan to pump gas. He saw it when he put it in his jacket pocket. Which is where he found it.
J— was 22 minutes late to work.
That was probably his worst day. It was annoying, just so frustrating. Until the concussion which is always more than an annoyance. Later that day J— bent over to pick up something he’d dropped – a paperclip or rubber band or pen cap, som ething small, something inconsequential. And stood up. And smacked the top of his head on the bottom of an overhanging cabinet. It smarted. He moved on. Then he did it again a couple of hours later. Harder. He said he was fine, tho it did hurt a good bit for a few minutes. He felt a disturbing bump through his hair. (It gradually subsided as the week wnet on.) His boss made him rest at his desk for half an hour, then write up a brief Incident Report in case it turned out to be serious and they needed documentation for Workers Comp. J— never did go to the walk-in clinic, but everyone took it as a given that he had a minor concussion.
R— jokingly serious offered to follow him home. Just in case. J— declined.
S— also showed signs. Hers started after R—’s BEV-D (Brain Eating Virus Day), developing during J—’s increasing symptoms. She first wore different shos to work, noticing about halfway into her 40-minute commute – too far in to turn back. Fortunately both shoes were black, round tow, ½” heel.
S— left work at 5:30 two nights in a row, forgetting that her schedule had just changed to a 6:00 quitting time. So she had to stay late the next evening and come in early the day after that.
Mostly S— noticed the virus in others (she was like that, but a decent if overly critical soul): the woman in line in front of her at the grocery who set her cart in front of the first U-Scan then scanned her rewards card at the second U-Scan leaving S— wondering which machine she (S—) was supposed to use (the third U-Scan was, of course, down again); the driver who tailgated so close especially around the curves who passed her in a no-passing zone as they went around a super sharp bend and was almost back on the right side of the road and turned on his left signal just as his tires cleared the double yellow center line (The left turn signal stayed on until the driver made an illegal u-turn at a red light. He might have just been a bad and inconsiderate driver rather than a virus vase.); the barista who insisted she had returned S—’s card while she was clearly still holding the card (the barista was embarrassed and apologetic when S— finally convinced her to look in her hand).
No harm no foul.
P— just missed steps in crafts she’s done for years. (So many droopped stitches knitting scarves.) Poor P—. But at least her family got something besides knitted gifts for Christmas. P— knitted very pretty scarves and gloves, always using colors and patterns which suited the recipient rather than her own tastes – she’s very thoughtful, really – but how many scarves do you really need?
P— also had an incident boiling eggs. Yes, you heard me right. She was very embarrassed, couldn’t understand how she made such boo boo, real egg on her face (sorry, I regretted it as soon as I said it). It was the cklassic brain-eating scenario: she started doing something (hard boiling eggs) and just . . . forgot. Wandered off. Scrubbed the kitchen sink. Started laundry. Watched an episode (or three) of that nice baking competition, you know, the one where all of the contestants help each other out and complement each other’s breads. Anyway. Yeah, she watched sveeral episodes while the eggs were going.
It got me, too. I thought (hoped) I had a natural immunity. Nope.
I’d plan to stop at the grocery on the way home and get home and start supper and change into pjs and bam! realize no groceries. Or plan to stop and remember to stop and get my mask on and grab my (not hemp oh what’s that word you know reusable grocery bags gah it’s going to drive me crazy) whatever-they’re-called totes only to realize I left my list on my desk. And no way I was going to do two weeks’ grocery shopping without a list.
Even when I got to the grocrey with my totes and my list, I still forgot things. So I’d get home with everything to make chicken parm (with salad and steamed broccoli) EXCEPT THE PRAM.
ahem. Pardon my french.
Or get home and think it all went well for a change and maybe I just missed one little thing from the list, something basic like toothpaste but it’s ok because I don’t wait utnil there’s only enough for one maybe two more brushes before I buy. I just make sure I put toothpaste (or whatever) on the list for next time. And I continued thinking all was well – until litter box day and I realize I’d forgotten a baisc thing (toothpaste) and the very VERY important cat litter. Which was so important because it was the basic item I’d forgotten on the grocery trip before last. So while it was ok because I still had some after the first forget I had not one grain left after the second forget.
omg. Small cat, but big stink.
Oh, and did I tell you about the drive home last night? I was on 158 and driving and listening to my audiobook and I suddenly panicked because none of it looked familiar even tho I drive it twice a day five days a week and I was sure I missed my turn. (Jute! That’s the word I was looking for. I have jute totes for grociers.) Silly, I hadn’t crossed the train tracks yet. Or had I? Because If I had, then yeah I missed the turn but not then I was ok, well ok-ish except for the not knowing where I was. And the more I thought about it the more I distinctly remembered tracks. And I have no idea where 158 goes north of the tracks.
I had to turn off the audiobook. I needed 100% concentration to figure where I was. Was I even still in Edwards County? I remembered passing a county sign? Didn’t I?
I would have pulled over onto the shoulder if there was a shoulder. But not even the bumpy strip to tell you you’re too far to the right. Asphalt then just grass – with that sort of abruptness that tells you that you will lose a tire (maybe) if you slip even slightly over the edge.
I would have pulled over except I had to stop at the 4-way at 158 and 789. And just like that I knew where I was. This was Edwards County. I was maybe 3 miles south of the tracks. I couldn’t for the life o fme understand why I’d ever thought differently.
Maybe I need someone to foolow me to make sure I get home ok. ha ha
ha
hee
Hee hee hee hee heee he hee heh hee.
Sorry. I just pictured that cat, you know, the one in that video. I think everybody I know has shared it on Facebook. Like, enough. But it is cute. It’s that orange cat with the poofy tail and it’s running and there’s a squirrel, no a rabbit. Definitely a rabbit. The orange poofy tail cat is running towards the French door, or maybe a screen door, and there’s the rabbit just chillin’ on the other side.
No?
Super cute, like I said. I can’t believe your friends haven’t shared/posted/reposted whatever.
What were we talking about?
Wait, maybe that was a dream. Did I dream about a cute viral overshared orange cat + rabbit video? What is wrong with me?!
My friend S— has this theory about a brain eating virus. (Or was it R—?) Maybe she’s onto something.
p.s. I hope it's obvious that the "typos" are deliberate and an integral part of the story.
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