The Other Pandemic

By Aki O'Mitovski

An old man reconsiders long held affections. A young woman deals with an emotionally lost female customer. Two young parents fight isolation as one of them works at the local supermarket and one teaches from home. A self-proclaimed socialite descends into the depths of social media and his need for recognition.

 

These are just a handful of the characters found in this eloquent and raw collection of short stories set in the global pandemic of 2020. Loneliness and love, hope and regret etch out stories of survival -- both physical and psychological.

 

Some stories examine the effect of social media. Other explore the depth of fevered dreams. A few tangle with the intricacies of relationships, both present and past. Each character, in their own way, must learn to survive what has engulfed the world.

 

Together, these stories paint a brutal and beautiful vision of the individual moments existing below the thunder of global news. Discover these intimate stories for yourself. Written in easily accessible and direct prose that capture each character's voice. Get your copy of The Other Pandemic today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aki O'Mitovski
• Release date: Sep 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201258009

Aki O'Mitovski

Aki O’Mitovski, native of North Macedonia and a European at heart, has been teaching English as a Foreign Language since 2008. He’s taught English to pretty much all age groups, social classes, and walks of life, in North Macedonia, China, and currently, Malta. Some of the more memorable experiences include correcting mispronunciation of words like ‘focus’, ‘coke’, and ‘happiness’ (if you don’t pronounce the initial H) in a single conversation with French-speaking students, or creating a tongue-twister challenging enough for his Spanish-speaking students, which goes: a bear and a bird with a beard were drinking beer. He’s been mistaken for an American more than once, a couple of times for a Latino, and gets mistaken for a Maltese all the time. The conversations that ensue have often been the starting point of friendships, and/or a good night out with beer and barbecue. When he’s not teaching English or writing short stories, he watches (and re-watches) lots of Star Trek, wishing he wore a blue-and-black uniform, and enjoys discovering new sci-fi shows and movies. He also has a keen interest in poetry, both reading it and writing his own. He’s yet to write poems that talk about spaceships or gay Klingons, though.

Book preview

The Other Pandemic

The Other Pandemic

A Collection of Short Stories

Aki O’Mitovski

Dedicated to Anthony,

who believes in me.

Contents

Author’s Foreword

Daddy and Mommy

Delivery

Survival

Hairs

Christina’s World

Saudade

The Interview

A Different Guy

Sharmaran

Radegast

Acid Rain

Tito

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Author’s Foreword

The stories in this collection are an exploration of the other, secondary pandemic I noticed in myself and in my nearest and dearest during the months of 2020: our mental health was slowly changing for the worse. Isolation and reduced face-to-face contact took its toll: no amount of online communication could ever substitute the physical proximity we used to take for granted. This feeling of isolation is one of the driving forces in the collection and why the stories are the way they are.

Another component of that ‘other’ pandemic is social media and how it has been (mis)used since the COVID-19 pandemic began. The free flow of information made me go from utter despair to elation over the slightest progress (I recall being particularly happy when the first vaccine got into clinical trials). Social media has a lot of power over us as a society; it is a tool for communication, a channel through which messages are exchanged. It seems to be, however, easy to manipulate and twist, and capable of setting false expectations. This, in turn, likely causes a myriad of misunderstandings, and alienation. And when one feels alone, one, at times, looks inward.

I found myself doing precisely that during 2020—numerous times: reliving old memories, thinking of people whom I hadn’t seen in years, some of whom had died years before, others who passed away while COVID positive. Each time I looked inside, I imagined those people coping with all that bothered me. These exercises in imagination were the seeds of most of the stories you’ll see in this book.

Some stories had a direct inspiration from short stories I’d read years prior as an English Major with a Minor in American Studies. One story in particular is inspired by a song and its outstanding music video. Another story focuses on a photo of a president of a country that no longer exists – something my grandparents had in their house for years. Several stories deal with same-sex issues from a mostly European perspective. In short, writing these stories made me access emotions I never thought possible for a man from North Macedonia in his mid-thirties.

I do not claim to have answers for any mental health issues – there are professionals who can help you better with that. These short stories provide a context for those strong emotions and, perhaps, hopelessness, which the majority of us went through until the arrival of the vaccines.

These twelve stories have been and will be an important step in the right direction as far as my own mental health is concerned. They allowed me to examine and explore, and release my innermost fears, and perhaps, they will do the same for you.

We’re all stories. We’re full of stories. We’re in other people’s stories without even knowing. We are social beings, and we need to communicate. Words don’t die.

Now, to quote Dorothy Parker, ‘I hate writing, but I love having written.’ Let these stories take you where they will.

Aki O’Mitovski

Daddy and Mommy

Adrienne smiled when he took the lid off the round plastic box. Inside, a candle jutted out from a palm-sized half of a chocolate cake topped with pomegranate seeds.

Happy thirtieth, Lewis!

Lewis, whose eyes were barely open, smiled back. He sat on a small wooden stool on the platform connecting the two staircases, one attached to the house and the other turning to the left.

He looked up the stairs: she sat on the top step in front of a door with lots of glass inserts and a wall sconce above her head, illuminating her face in chiaroscuro.

And the other half, babe?

She showed him another plastic box with the rest of the cake. That’s for the chef.

Well, thank you, chef!

She picked off a pomegranate seed at a time, chewing quickly.

From his pocket, Lewis took out a matchbox to light the candle. It burned, and next to it, in his fingers, the matchstick was ablaze as well, burning until the flame reached his fingers. He blew out both fires.

With the fork inside the plastic box, he started cutting around the candle.

Mmmm… Milk chocolate? he said with his eyes closed.

Adrienne nodded while working her way through the cake. From the stash.

"You went and got a pomegranate today?"

Yep, had to. It’s the first thing you ever gave me, so... I even managed to tidy up a bit while the cake was in the oven.

He chewed and glared at the blown-out candle. His eyes were closing.

I found his favorite jacket. She took a large bite.

His eyes opened wide as he scraped at the cake. …That’s such a Monday way to start the week. Where was it?

In one of the boxes in his bedroom... she said, reaching for a wine glass full of red. I haven’t touched those since— well, since last year. She downed half the glass.

It would’ve looked nice on him, Lewis said.

It would’ve, yeah, Adrienne said.

We’ve got so much stuff to get rid of.

There’s plenty of time these days. Plenty of space too.

"Yeah, for dust and for memories." He put the plastic lid back on.

Adrienne turned right towards the front door: not a sound. It’s a big house.

It feels bigger these days.

She took a sip. You guys used to live upstairs, right?

Yeah, my grandparents split the house in two, basically, and lived downstairs.

They exchanged a look, she raised her glass to him, and gestured towards the bottle of water she’d put under his chair; he raised the bottle back.

Adrienne ran her hand across the railing. How come we didn’t find a place for an inside staircase?

Lewis emptied his bottle. That would cost a fortune. And the stairs are covered up anyway.

Her gaze descended the concrete stairs one by one to the platform where Lewis was sitting. He would’ve run up and down them inside.

And he would’ve wanted his room on the first-floor, away from us? he said with a tired smile.

She emptied her glass. If that was the case, we would’ve moved all the boxes and the furniture, and maybe that jacket would’ve popped up sooner.

Whatever. At least I can have my computer to myself downstairs now, he said.

She snapped her fingers. Oh, I should’ve gotten you that new desk chair we saw.

He adjusted himself on the little stool. It’s fine. I can’t sit in one spot these days anyway.

Well, then, you can prune the roses and the fruit trees.

Don’t feel like doing anything around the house after a double shift.

Adrienne fixed her hair. And I don’t wanna sit and use Zoom for hours, but…

Lewis smirked. You’re dying to sit in a classroom.

She raised the empty glass. I’m dying to be around people, honestly.

You still have wine upstairs, or should I bring more?

If there’s more of this at work, then sure.

You mix it?

Well, yeah, how else am I gonna drink it in front of students?

Ooh, babe, if only I’d had a teacher like you...

You’d have gotten me in some kind of jam or another, I just know it.

Jam, marmalade, whatever.

What should I make you for dinner tomorrow?

Babe, you keep asking me every day.

And you want something new each time, Lewis.

Whatever there is, there is.

I’ll take it downstairs before you come home.

Alright. I’ll leave the windows open to let some air in.

I’ll close them in the afternoon.

Sure.

You got enough facemasks and gloves? she asked.

At work, yes, here no, he said.

They got quiet for a moment. Everything around them in that spring evening was silent, too: a yellow truck and an excavator were parked in the darkness of the empty field across the fence.

Adrienne yawned. Should I get a few?

Lewis yawned too. If you’ve got the time. If not, I’ll go.

I’m with the kids till one-thirty.

If you feel like going out right after, go.

She propped her back against the wall. I’ll throw the garbage out and hop over to the pharmacy too.

I pass by the pharmacy every day.

And?

There’s a queue every morning…old people.

Do they keep a distance?

They talk to each other’s backs, it seems.

Eh, at least they are orderly.

…I don’t understand.

The kids on Zoom talk over one another, like, all the time.

D’you have any adult conversations?

Except evenings with you, no.

Nothing during the day?

With my mom on the phone, with Nicolette, that’s it.

And I keep telling you the same shit every evening, babe. Sorry.

Oh come on, there’s something new every day.

Any pearls of wisdom from the kids today?

Murky waters through and through, no oysters.

Murky waters can be fun.

Yeah, but at least with adults you can somehow navigate such waters.

And with kids you need clear waters…You’re doing fine, babe.

She yawned again. Did you work the registers today?

Nah, restocking, tidying up all day. At least people stopped panic buying.

I wish I could stop panic cleaning and washing things.

Lewis cleared his throat. I’ll tidy up a bit downstairs later.

Sure. You know, today I just wanted some peace and quiet, I’d just tidied up, when I found that little jacket.

Lewis looked to the side: the last street light illuminated the yellow vehicles in the field with a haze of grayness.

We should sell it if we’re not throwing it away, he said.

"Who’d buy something like that now of all times?"

It’s barely been worn.

But it was his favorite.

Maybe he forgot about it.

Nope. When he saw it, he ran after me to put it on, then he cried because it’s too small now.

Figures. Is he still sitting quiet next to you while you teach?

He does, or in the kitchen with the toys. He wants me to teach him to write.

He stays put? On his own?

Yeah! When he wants attention, I pick him up and put him in front of the camera. The kids pay attention, go figure. He was listening to us for an hour today before he went to his Legos.

At least he’s playing with them, good.

He is, yeah. I’ll record it for you. Today he said he wants to write legible letters.

Legible?

"Well, it was more ‘wegibew’ than ‘legible’. He must’ve heard me use the word."

Lewis smiled. Hope he’ll have better penmanship than me. Mine’s terrible.

Adrienne frowned. My head is terrible these days.

I’d give you a back rub, but we agreed on a distance.

This will pass, Adrienne said.

We’ll make him a little sister, Lewis said.

Or two.

Lewis nodded while looking up the staircase without a smile.

Was the cake good?

Uh-huh. Was it expensive, babe?

No. I made it with whatever was in the pantry.

If it’s getting empty, text me a new shopping list.

Oh, there’s plenty of food, but I will on Friday.

Lewis yawned twice in a row. Sure.

She took her empty wine glass. Off to bed?

Let’s. What was I thinking asking for double-shifts this week?

Adrienne smiled. Take the next week off, then.

I could. Is he going to see me off tomorrow too?

He can hardly wait. I just have to remember to lock the door. I almost forgot today. Good night, Lewis. She took the half-empty cake box along with the empty glass.

You too. He got up, took his half-eaten cake and the empty bottle.

Lewis went downstairs and locked the door. Adrienne snuck in the upstairs front door, locked it and turned off the lights.

The second hand on his watch was headed for the six. The stool on the well-lit stairwell platform was too tough under Lewis’ average but tired weight. He looked up the stairs and listened in: except the odd car droning in the darkness or a loud TV from the building across the street, very little else made noise. He opened the pack of peanuts that was in his pocket.

The light above the upstairs front door lit up.

Adrienne, with a glass of wine in one hand, was trying to close the door as quietly as she could. Hey, you there?

Yeah, Lewis whispered. Is the little man asleep?

Finally.

How come?

I didn’t let him talk to his grandma on Skype, and he got all mad at me.

That’s new.

Adrienne gestured with the glass in hand. Oh, he did my head in. She spilled some wine on the first step. Fuck.

No worries, it’s just wine.

…With cola.

Well, I brought four bottles, they’re by the door.

She took a large sip. Awesome. Can you pass me one?

His mouth was full of peanuts. You’re gonna drink it straight?

You pass me one, I’ll go get some wet wipes, she said.

He went down the few stairs to get the wine; she went in and out stealthily, bringing a pack of wet wipes and a bottle of cola. He reached the platform, took a couple more steps up and left the bottle halfway. Once he retreated, she took a few steps down to get the bottle, gingerly gripping it with a wet wipe.

Good, a twisty cap, Adrienne said while she wiped the bottle.

It won’t hit you too hard, I hope?

She topped her glass with the red, completely ignoring the cola. Oh, it’s gonna be just what the doctor ordered.

Lewis stuffed his mouth with peanuts. "He pissed you off that much?"

Adrienne took a sip. No, no, wait. Mom Skyped me, and you know, she’s friends with Dora’s mom…

Miss Dora, the teacher? A wind chill hit the stairwell.

Adrienne downed her glass The one. May she rest in peace.

Lewis zipped up his jacket and crossed his arms. "May who rest in peace?"

Adrienne slapped her knee. Are you paying attention?

May Dora rest in peace or may her mom rest in peace?

Dora.

Come on…We’re the same age!

We are…She was healthy, and worked out…

What of?

This virus.

How come?

What do you mean ‘how come’?

How come, as in, two weeks ago she greeted me while shopping in the supermarket, oh, come on…

She was admitted to hospital last week and—

And her children?

At their grandma’s, I’d guess, crying their eyes out.

…Adrienne, are you this pissed off because of Dora?

Partly her death, and partly your son.

Lewis shook his head. I thought he stopped with the ‘Are we gonna see Miss Dora tomorrow?’ questions.

Not today. He even drew her the other day, while I was teaching. He wanted me to write his teacher’s name, his own, his friends’ names—

But if he asks me tomorrow morning, what should I tell him?

I don’t know. Better that he doesn’t know… I mean, at some point he’ll forget about her. She poured herself another half a glass.

He adjusted the little stool. You want me to lie to him first thing in the morning?

Or I don’t let him see you off tomorrow. Besides, what does he know what’s the truth and what isn’t?

Adrienne, I don’t want to lie to my son. Kids learn the truth one way or another. I want an honest kid one day, not a delinquent.

Feels like I’m listening to your dad, Lewis.

Lewis sighed. What would your mother say, huh?

Adrienne reached for the cola. I don’t know, but I’ll ask her tomorrow.

Your mother would also like an honest grandson, Lewis said, stuffing his mouth with peanuts again.

Yeah, but she wouldn’t make a big deal out of something… trivial, Adrienne said while pouring cola in the glass.

A teacher is not something trivial.

Adrienne made a face. You know what I mean.

You’re a teacher. Your mom was a kindergarten teacher.

Yeah, but it wasn’t my mom who died, Lewis, so it’s not a big deal.

Your mom, if not much else, calls it like she sees it.

So, we should tell him that his teacher died?

He stopped chewing. I didn’t say that.

Right, yes, you did not, that much was clear.

But if someone were to let it slip...

We’ll just tell him that he misunderstood.

Kids today understand everything.

Kids today understand nothing.

"Adrienne, are we arguing about this now?"

What the— We were kids once, too.

Seems we still are, Lewis said.

Adrienne raised an eyebrow, then nodded. Lucky us we’re the last house on the street. Only the birds can hear us argue.

Listen, we need a plan what to do. Birds or no birds, we’re talking about our kid here. You know what he keeps asking every morning.

Yeah, and you tell him ‘soon’, right?

What does he know about ‘soon’? He emptied the pack of peanuts in his mouth.

Let’s play it like it never happened. A few SOON’s, a couple of WE’LL SEE’s, that sort of stuff daily, and he’ll forget about it. She took a sip of her wine.

… Doesn’t anyone know what to do in a situation like this? he said.

I’ll talk to Mom tomorrow, during a break or if he remembers that naps exist.

Lewis put the empty bag of peanuts in his pocket. OK, and I’ll call my parents.

Adrienne downed her glass. Text me what they say. She did not refill.

Sure. Uh, that’s… that’s all for tonight?

Adrienne checked her wristwatch. It’s almost eleven.

I’m not sleepy.

But I’m beat. I hope to sleep better with this wine in me.

I’ll go watch TV or something.

Go ahead, I’m off. She picked up the bottles and the glass.

OK, just… just text me if you need anything, he said.

Sure. She went in and turned off the light.

Lewis stayed put. The light above him, the garden around him, the stool beneath him — not a sound. Another gust of cold air, another chill, another crossing of the arms. Not even a car in the distance, not even a loud TV, nothing.

Text me when you have a break

I’m on my break now tell me

Can I call you?

The WIFI is bad, babe

I don’t have phone credit

Me neither

Ok I’ll text you here then.

Lessons are done

I called mom an hour ago

What did she say

First that it’s nothing trivial

And that the kid loves

His teacher a lot

And

and that we should tell him

When should we tell him

Sooner’s better, mom said

I don’t know about that

Why?

Because I called dad this

morning he said to wait a bit

wait a minute, didn’t you say

we weren’t gonna lie to him

It’s not lying to him

it’s telling him later when

everything calms down

and when things go back

to some kind of normal

Who knows when that’ll be

Just take it easy

OK I will but the same question

every day is gonna drive me

up the wall

We should wait no

he may forget about it

in a week or so

I think that we’re overthinking

What

Telling him

He doesn’t understand what

dieing is. he’ll be better in a day

or so

Uh no, He may not

understand but he’ll pick up

on the fact that it’s serious

remember the dentist

Oh don’t remind me

This is gonna be worse

Or it may be like when we

took him for his shots

not a sound not a peep

better not to do anything

he’ll forget it

Today he drew his

classroom again

Seriously

Dunno, I got goosebumps

It’s nothing take the

drawing and toss it

We’re not doing that again

he screamed all night when we

forgot Miss Kitty at your moms

And they brought the

drawing the same night

This is not a drawing

Ok Ok But what if he asks me something?

OK I mean are you his mom or his friend

CAN’T I be both?

I don’t know about that

I don t want my child crying again

I DON’t want that either

but he wont grow up if he doesn’t cry

OH that again

he grows up when he grows up

Adrienne

I’m not gonna argue with you over texts

We’re not arguing

We’re chatting

Chatting is when I hear your voice

this is that Whispers game

Put some money on your phone

And bring some cheese

Goat’s cheese

I was about to ask anything else

That’s it

Moussaka for dinner

Great see ya

See ya

Adrienne was sitting on the top step with a glass of red in her hands. Under the hazy, yellowish light coming from the fixture, the wine changed its colors. She snorted at it and took a gulp. The empty stool on the platform was waiting for Lewis. A loud TV babbled on from across the street while a not-so-gentle breeze was blowing. A car approached, parked; a gate opened. Lewis approached the stairs. The wine colored her lips; not even a quarter of her tall glass was gone. She gnawed on her lower lip.

He sat down and unbuttoned his jacket, then reached for the pockets.

What’s the matter?

With the glass in one hand, she slid a couple of stairs lower.

"He just fell asleep, Adrienne whispered. Keep it quiet, though."

Lewis felt the matchbox in his pocket; he took it out and started spinning it between his thumb and index finger.

He wouldn’t sleep, Lewis.

He took a match out of the box. How come?

I told him about Dora, she