COVID39: Chapter 35

Shane is concerned about what Randi is becoming.

Cast

Randi Halle Millien

Shane Mark Millien

SFX and Music Contributors

SFX

Q Tone [Query]

Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org

Q Tone [Response]

Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org

Music

Desmond’s Letter Theme

Trap Guitar Ballad by Katace

Created by Mark and Halle Millien

Cover Art by Halle Millien

Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien

Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thanks dad.

Glossary

Desmond’s Letter

I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m asking for it anyway. My glass of Maker’s Mark isn’t absolving me or providing penance, each prayer just burns my throat. I’m not going to make excuses, but I need you both to understand. You see, the first thing the pandemic taught me is that the world doesn’t need me. I have no value. My hand isn’t out for anyone’s pity. It’s just an understanding the Universe and I have come to. I don’t create or manage wealth. I pour celebrations you can sip, or fogs where you can hide, or fuel for your rage, misery, and loneliness. I used to think of myself as a middle man to an experience. I’m a good listener, a good servant. I smile and people feel at ease even if they don’t really see me. Now? There is nothing to celebrate, no need to hide, and liquor stores might as well be pharmacies. On my best days, my very best weeks, my most outstanding months, my contributions to our home were meager, almost counter productive. I raised you boys and I love you with all of me, but I didn’t raise you because I love you. I raised you because it was my only path to being useful. My only mitigation for being a parasite. Child Services were there at your mother’s funeral. It took me a while to understand what they were saying when they started talking. Your mom was in earshot, just a few feet away, separated only by a gleaming platinum coffin and a fresh dug hole. There were only ten people allowed to be there, but there they were. A man and a woman, tired looking predators, like lazy vultures circling on stolen wind. I kept wondering, how’d they get there so quick. Was my name on a file somewhere, tied to a string? When she died, did the string get cut? Did my file pop up like bread from a toaster and drop in some social worker’s outstretched hand? There they were, with questions and concerns as empty as thoughts and prayers. Each of us played our part, but we all knew how it would turn out. At least I thought I did. I was wrong. It’s important that you understand what today looks like, so you can decide for yourselves who I was, given some context. The pandemic has killed almost half a million people across the world. Here in Texas cases have risen 100% over the last 30 days. In California it’s now against the law to go outside without a mask. It was Juneteenth this weekend, and the president took credit for making it famous. He organized a large rally in Tulsa. Oklahoma has broken a record for cases every day this week. Health officials were “concerned” but he refused to cancel it, though he did make those attending sign a waiver, in the event someone gets sick later, or worse, and he did move the date back a day after people protested. Prominent black supporters were there to offset the outrage like Black Voices for Trump Advisory Board members and Herman Cain. A black woman in the administration resigned over how the president has reacted to the protests. She was the Assistant Secretary of State for Legislative Affairs, instrumental in securing conservative judges and Justices, the ones who will levy the rope for the men and women the Supremacist in Chief serves up on a rhetorical platter. A federal prosecutor refused to resign after the Attorney General fired him. He’s been looking into the president and his associates but it feels like more false Mueller hope. In Atlanta, the officers who shot Rayshard Brooks turned themselves in. He was asleep at the wheel at a Wendy’s drive thru. After a lengthy conversation and sobriety tests they attempted to arrest him, but he resisted. Wrestled a taser away somehow, then ran. One of them shot him in the back. A bunch of cops called out in protest or said they would only answer emergency calls involving other cops. Amy Klobuchar removed herself from consideration as Candidate Biden’s VP, paving the way for a woman of color, which is what I’m sure she’s always wanted. I shouldn’t judge. I guess we are all trying to meet the moment the best that we can. Ha. The best we can. 45 million people have filed for unemployment since March, but Bezos and Zuckerberg have added $76 billion dollars between them to their own personal wealth. It’s hard to imagine money like that, even for people who have lots of money. Millionaires don’t quite understand it themselves until they are given a framework they can wrap their minds around. Like this one. One million seconds is equivalent to 11 and a half days. One billion seconds is 31 and a half years. I’ll never see 11 days worth of seconds in my bank account, but if it was missing from theirs its hard to imagine they would notice. How easy is it to forget 11 days if you’ve lived 6,000 years. That’s how many seconds of money Jeff Bezos has personally, today. He’s on pace to become the world’s first trillionaire by 2026. By the time you read this, he will be truly immortal, worth more than all of humanity put together, Emperor of Eternity. What am I to that? What are any of us? I am talking about Lord Amazon but I’m thinking, as I write these words, of someone else. A being that makes Bezos seem scant, like Jupiter in the sun’s shadow. I am only a man and this is no longer the time of men. It is the time of Gods.

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