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One night I slept in the library. Made a fortress of study carrels pushed together, like our old bunk beds.
I imagined bringing IT’S A BOY! here. Showing him picture books of elephant pirates, cats in sneakers.
Where did all the people go? I imagine him asking. But he won’t ask. The virus won’t kill everybody. Even the plague didn’t kill everybody.
Maybe he won’t use the word people. Or he’ll use it to mean everything. When he points at a tortoise, a hawk, a javelina. Maybe what he’ll think is, people. Maybe what he’ll think is, all of us.