Metro Times Special Pandemic Fiction and Poetry Issue: Michael Zadoorian
“Nice Day”
by
Michael Zadoorian
She was looking out the front window. He was sitting in a chair in the other room, reading. She couldn’t see him, but she knew that was what he was doing. She turned away from the window, walked over to the room where he was and stopped in the doorway. The curtains were drawn and the room was dim except for the light over the chair where he sat. She saw the book he was reading. It was The Plague by Albert Camus. She stood there in the doorway until he finally looked up at her.
“Really?” she said. “I’m not sure that’s the best book to be reading right now.”
He tented the book over his chest and held it there. “I think it’s the perfect book to be reading right now.”
“It’s a nice day. Do you want to go for a walk?”
He shook his head.
“Do you want to go sit in the back yard?”
“No.”
“Just to get a little fresh air?”
“Is there such a thing anymore?”
“Come on. It’s a nice day. I think it would be good for you.”
She had noticed that he’d been waking up almost every night at around 4 or 4:30. He would toss in bed for a while, sighing and flipping his pillow, eventually getting up to go watch episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on his iPad in the living room.
He shook his head again. “No thank you. I just want to stay here inside.”
“It’s okay to walk around.”
“I know.”
“It’s such a nice day.”
He exhaled loudly and she knew she was pushing him.
“I don’t want to see people,” he said. “I don’t want to be around them, even from afar.”
“Okay.” She saw that she was not helping. “I understand.”
“I can’t relax. Just seeing other people reminds me of what’s going on.”
“Okay. I just thought—"
“I know. It’s a nice day.”
They were both quiet for a moment. He pulled the book off his chest and started to read again. It was her cue to leave, but she still wanted to talk.
“It’s so weird,” she said. “Spring coming on now, when this is happening. It’s getting warmer. The trees are starting to bud, everything’s getting greener.”
He took a shallow breath that may have been a sigh and continued to look at the page. “The irony is not lost on me.”
“I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”
“Well it is.”
“I suppose so.”
She was going to head back to the living room, but he kept talking, while still looking at the book. “Is anything ever going to be the same?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes.” It was her turn to sigh or whatever it was. “It will, but it won’t.”
His eyes left the page, but they didn’t look at her. “I’m scared.”
“I know. We’re all scared.
“I know.”
“All we have to do is stay inside. We’re the lucky ones. Think of the others.”
He looked up at her now. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She hadn’t meant to shame him. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
She turned around and went back into the living room. She walked over to the window again and looked out. She didn’t really want to go for a walk by herself. She knew what he had meant about fresh air and people. The week before, she had walked a half block behind someone smoking a cigarette and realized that she could smell the smoke the man had expelled from his lungs. What did that mean?
She heard him get up from the chair in the other room. He came up behind her at the window and put his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and placed her hand on his. Outside, a couple passed by walking a small dog.
“God, that dog looks happy,” she said. “Look at him. He’s so prance-y.”
“Are you kidding? It’s probably the fifth time he’s been walked today. He’s gonna hate it when all this is over.”
It was the first time she’d heard him say anything about all of it ending. “Yeah. That dog will look back on this time fondly, like, remember when they would take me for a walk when I didn’t even have to poop? Dude, that was awesome. That was the best spring ever!”
He laughed and it was so good to hear. There was a long moment where they didn’t say anything. Finally, he said, “It really is a nice day.”
Without thinking, she said, “You sure you don’t want to go for a walk?”
He took a breath. “Not yet. But soon.”
“Thus each of us had to be content to live only for the day, alone under the vast indifference of the sky.” -Albert Camus
A group of Detroit writers and artists contributed to the Metro Times “Special Pandemic Poetry and Fiction Issue,” guest edited by Kresge Artist Fellow, Drew Philp. The special issue was dedicated to supporting the publication which is facing dire financial difficulty due to the COVID-19 pandemic. As part of Kresge Arts in Detroit’s ongoing commitment to supporting Detroit area artists in times of need, the organization provided retroactive stipends for the writers who participated in the project many of whom subsequently donated their stipends to support the fundraising efforts of the publication. This is what solidarity looks like within the arts.