Until Further Notice

Thanks to social distancing, my co-worker Connor and I are finally alone. Only two employees at a time are permitted in the break room to clean out their lockers.

“Did you know Amazon Prime ships steel caskets in two days?” Connor looks at me, and my gut drops.

“What?”

“According to CNN, death rates are rising. We need to plan.”

Even when he says crazy things, he’s irresistibly cute.

“Look, it’s okay,” I say, “At least we weren’t fired.”

“I guess,” Connor sighs, “But how long will we work from home?”

I shrug. “So kiss me now before you can’t.”

From Guest Contributor Tammy Smith

Tammy is a social worker from New Jersey. Her writing has been published or is forthcoming in The Esthetic Apostle, Ailment: Chronicles of Illness Narratives, The Dewdrop, io Literary Journal, and Ariel Chart.

Complacency

When the alarm sounded, most of us were in the break room. We didn't need to check the bulletin board to know we were to exit through the rear stairwell. Even so, we took our time evacuating.

The post office had been receiving bomb threats for years. When I was first hired, I was constantly nervous, but over time I'd realized we weren't in any real danger. No more than everyone else, anyway.

Today was different. Today there really was a bomb. Perhaps if we'd hurried, the death toll wouldn't have been so high. Perhaps I'd still have my legs.