“I wish I didn’t have to go to work, Conner. But all this overtime will really help until normal returns.”
Would it return?
Eden woke up next. Conner tried to make her get dressed, but no way. Then he tried to get her to the table for school.
“You’re not my teacher! Dad is!”
“I’m substituting for the substitute today,” he said.
Conner tried sitting on her, but she started screaming and he was afraid she’d wake Dad. He left her playing with her dolls and went and put an ear to Dad’s door. He was already awake. Conner could hear him tapping the computer keys and muttering to himself.
It was nearly an hour before Dad came out of his room with his laptop under his arm. He set it on the kitchen table and poured himself some coffee.
Conner asked, “Are we having school today?”
Dad said, “Isn’t it Saturday?”
“Is it?” Conner said.
“See?” said Eden, who was eating her cereal. “It’s Saturday. I don’t have to go to school.”
After Dad went out on the balcony for his smoke, Conner opened the laptop to see if Mr. Faizabadi had sent new work.
He saw then that it was Monday.
The page that came up on Dad’s computer was a chat room called VIRUS HOAX. Conner couldn’t help reading some of the comments.
Freedomluver: Its all FAKE NEWS!!!
Mike237: Not. Its made in China, just like everything we buy.
GlennBware: You got it Mike. And the Terrorists bought it. They couldn’t bring us to our knees with planes. Now they got us —
That was as far as Conner read of Dad’s post when he heard the balcony door open. He shut the computer and pretended to be reading Eden’s worksheet. The numbers swirled in front of his eyes. He felt like throwing up.
Did Mom know about this? He had to think of an excuse to phone her.
“We need more printer paper,” Conner said after his father refilled his coffee mug and came to get the laptop. “Can I call Mom and ask her to pick some up?”
Dad drew his cell phone from his bathrobe pocket. “Just leave it on the counter when you’re done. Don’t bother me. I’m doing something.”
He disappeared into the bedroom.
Conner took the phone out on the balcony so Eden wouldn’t hear him.
“Again?” Mom said. “I told him to stop reading that stuff. It’s poisonous. It’s dangerous. Ask him to teach you again.”
“He says it’s Saturday.”
She sighed. “Hang in there. Don’t wind him up the way you do. I’ll be back by six-thirty or seven. I’ve already told them I have to stay home tomorrow.”
That left Conner with six hours to try to keep his mouth shut.
Nothing went wrong until the end of the day, except that Dad smoked about twice as many cigarettes as he usually did and while he smoked, he leaned over the balcony railing and stared at the back of the hospital, muttering. Every time an ambulance came, he swore.
By six o’clock Conner was listening so hard for Mom to come home, he thought his ears would start bleeding.
At seven o’clock every morning and seven o’clock at night the shift changed at the hospital. A bunch of doctors and nurses and paramedics and cleaners all left the building, keeping a safe distance apart. The new bunch entered.
It turned out Conner wasn’t the only one with his eye on the clock because at ten to seven, when quite a few of the incoming workers had gathered and were waiting outside, Dad went back out on the balcony. His pack of smokes was still lying on the table.
Did Conner know what was going to happen? He must have sensed it, because what came to mind when Dad slipped outside was something that had happened months ago at school.
Mr. Faizabadi walked into the classroom wearing his cool molecule tie, smiling and greeting everybody.
Nobody said hi back. They either had a weird embarrassed expression on their faces, or they were staring at their desks.
Conner snickered behind his hand.
So Mr. Faizabadi glanced over his shoulder and saw was written on the board. Slowly, he turned. There were just five untrue words written there, but for a full minute maybe (it felt like an hour), he stood with his back to them.
Some kids squirmed. Some held their breath. Conner did, too.
But nothing happened, so Conner began to wonder why he’d done it.
Finally, Mr. Faizabadi picked up the eraser and erased the words.
Then he said, “Who’s up for some math?”
The weird thing was that Dad started yelling almost the same thing. That the hospital workers waiting to start their shift were all a bunch of terrorists. That they were the ones making everybody sick. Somehow it had gotten twisted up in his mind.
Conner tried to pull him back inside, but he wasn’t strong enough. The only thing he could do was drown Dad out so that the workers waiting across the street wouldn’t hear him yelling.
Already one or two were looking up at the building, wondering what was going on.
Conner ran inside and grabbed what he could find that would make a lot of noise. He ran back out and started banging a ladle against a pot lid.
“THANK YOU!” he yelled. “THANK YOU!”
Eden joined them on the balcony.
“Thank you!” she screamed. She loved to scream. Then she tore back inside for something to bang.
The most amazing thing happened then. The big double doors opened and the workers who had just finished their shift began to leave. They looked up at where the clanging and banging and shouting was coming from — Conner’s balcony — and they smiled and waved along with the workers waiting to go in.
At the same time, Claudia and her little brother in the next apartment stepped out on their balcony with pot lids. On the balcony below, Jessica and her family came out to make noise, too. Soon everybody who lived at the front of the building had joined in.
It was just like with the birds — one starts it off, and in a few minutes the whole sky explodes in sound. People in the apartment building next door began coming out, everybody calling, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!”
Dad had already stopped yelling. He seemed stunned and a little ashamed and really, really tired. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Conner stopped banging his pot lid. Dad was crying.
“Daddy, what’s the matter?” Eden asked.
He hugged both of them so tight Conner could hardly breathe.
“Kids?” he said. “I think I need some help.”
•
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Mr. F,
I guess you cant tell who this is. Or maybe you can hahah!!!! Conner. I just wanted to say I’m stoaked about zoomin tomorrow. We already downloaded the app. My dad zooms with his countsiler. that’s why we got it. I cant wait to see your tie!
An 1 more thing. I forgot to say it a long time ago. Sorry.
You know Y I thinl.
ps Im been serious. I promise
5
The Entrepreneur’s Bible
Not everybody was unhappy about staying home. Some of the building’s residents — mainly the ones with fur, feathers or scales, who had previously spent most of the day alone — loved it.
In Apartment 4A, Gingersnap was thrilled that the humans were around. Now he could drape himself over the keyboard when somebody was using the computer, or a book when somebody was trying to read. Or he could curl up on somebody’s lap just as they showed signs of wanting to get up off the sofa.
Now that everybody stayed home, Gingersnap purred all day long.
The quiet woman in 4C had a budgie named Namaste. The family next door (Gingersnap’s) could sometimes hear Namaste reciting poetry in his cage while the quiet woman (they never
heard her) was at work: “I wandered lonely as a cloud! Lonely as a cloud!” But now that the quiet woman worked from home, Namaste had learned to say, “Six feet back, please. Six feet back!” He was also learning “Happy Birthday,” which took the same length of time to sing twice as it took to wash the virus off your hands.
Sweet Pea, the only dog in the building, lived in 1C. Of a miscellaneous breed — mop-like dark brown fur, stubby legs and a pushed-in face — she was sweet like her name, friendly with everybody no matter their species.
She was also shaped like her name because, with Louis in school and his mom at her salon, she was rarely walked. Of course she was taken out to go to the bathroom and check her pee-mail, then to the playground behind the building where she would waddle around mooching pats and snacks from the kids. Goldfish crackers and cheese string were major contributors to her pea shape.
But that was before, when Sweet Pea used to spend most of the day alone at the apartment window, sighing. Now that Louis and his mom, Angelique, were staying home, Sweet Pea was ecstatic.
Sadly, Sweet Pea’s ecstasy was Louis’ mom’s misery. Angelique was sick with worry. What if Louis caught the virus? What if she did? They lived right across from the hospital where the really sick people ended up.
And what if her salon had to permanently close? It had only been open for six months before the virus hit.
For most of Louis’ life, his mom had worked for other people, always saving money in the hope of becoming her own boss one day.
Finally her dream came true, thanks in part to Louis who, back when he was nine, had found a book in the free bin at the library called The Entrepreneur’s Bible. Even though it wasn’t a kids’ book, he’d read it from cover to cover (395 pages), often during church (they chose a back pew so nobody would notice). Now he knew more than most eleven-year-olds about starting and running a small business.
To start a small business you have to take risks. You should expect to lose money at first, until you establish yourself, which you will if you find your niche and never stop networking. If you are flexible and confident and pay attention to market needs.
There was nothing in The Entrepreneur’s Bible about what to do if a pandemic hits before you find your niche. Nothing about networking when you have to stay six feet apart from everybody else. Nothing about how to pay attention to market needs when social distancing has shut the market down.
Louis checked the index: no pandemic! He could only be flexible and confident.
He looked online and found out which small business emergency support programs his mom qualified for. He downloaded the forms and helped her fill them out.
With the government money, Louis figured they would have enough for the next two months’ rent. By then the virus would be gone and everything would go back to normal.
Right?
•
They were used to the sound of ambulances. Sirens were a background noise they rarely noticed.
Then they did notice. Because there were suddenly so many.
Louis walked with Sweet Pea to the mailbox on the corner to mail the government forms. They stopped to watch the paramedics in hazmat suits and face shields unloading stretchers from the line of arriving ambulances.
Sweet Pea sniffed the air and looked up at Louis as if to say, “What’s going on?”
Louis felt afraid for the first time. He hurried on to the mailbox, practically dragging Sweet Pea, who couldn’t run that fast. No way was he not going to mail those forms. Then he picked up Sweet Pea and jogged home with her in his arms.
That morning, Louis had lifted Sweet Pea up and set her on his mom’s bed (the dog was too short and fat to jump up on her own). Sweet Pea woke Angelique with kisses. But Angelique just rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head, too worried and depressed to get out of bed.
She was up now, though still in her pajamas, clasping a mug of coffee in her hands, but forgetting to drink it. Sweet Pea wagged over to greet her, but Angelique was listening to the radio with wide eyes.
Louis sat on the sofa beside her.
“They passed more emergency measures,” she told him.
Until then, they weren’t supposed to gather with people they didn’t already live with. They had to stay a strict six feet apart from everybody else. Face masks were recommended.
Now there was a new regulation: a total lockdown for the next three weeks. They weren’t supposed to leave their homes at all, except to buy food or medicine, go to an essential workplace, or walk a pet.
Anybody caught outside the home for nonessential reasons would be fined.
“More money we don’t have!” Angelique started to cry.
Louis pried the mug out of her hands before her coffee spilled.
“Maman,” he said, smiling. “We’re not going to get fined. We’re obeying the rules.”
Sweet Pea, at their feet, gave a reassuring yip.
Louis remembered then that they’d hurried to the mailbox so fast that Sweet Pea hadn’t had the chance to do her business or check her pee-mail. They’d have to go out again. They had to.
More importantly, they could.
“Maman, look.” He lifted Sweet Pea up. “We’re lucky. We have a dog.”
How many stories had he read in The Entrepreneur’s Bible where the millionaire claimed, “Sure, I worked hard. But I was also lucky.”?
Angelique got dressed and they took Sweet Pea out the back door of the building.
The sun was shining, the trees bursting into leaf. They kept walking until the sirens grew faint. The city seemed quiet then, not the cacophonous place it usually was.
Angelique put her arm around Louis’ shoulder.
“You’re right. We’re so lucky to have Sweet Pea. A walk in the fresh air makes a person feel so much more positive.”
“This is good, Maman. You’re getting your confidence back. That’s what every entrepreneur needs most.”
“Don’t they need money most?”
“Nope. Confidence. But money helps.”
Sweet Pea pooped, and when Louis bent with the purple bag to pick it up, the idea came to him.
•
Feeling cooped up?
Want to keep physically fit and improve your
mental health?
You need a walk in the fresh air!
So why not RENT A DOG today?
Our dog is sweet and friendly and fun to walk.
She does not bite!
Contact us to schedule your walk today!
Be flexible to market needs! Never stop networking!
Louis would stick with their building where he already had a network. He knew most of the other tenants at least by sight. The kids he knew by name. They all used to hang around together in the playground before the yellow tape went up.
He slipped a flyer under every door, then went back inside the apartment to wait for the phone to ring.
It took a few days before people understood the new regulation and before they did start to feel cooped up. Louis used that time to turn a scribbler into an appointment book and to research pricing.
The only service he could compare his to were ones where you paid to have your own dog walked, not the other way around. The going rate seemed to be $12 to $20 for a 30-minute walk.
“Maman!” Louis called. “It says here that a professional dog walker can make up to $80,000 a year!”
“No way!” Angelique said. “What am I doing cutting hair?”
Then a feature ran on the evening news about several joggers who had been fined. The phone rang.
Louis and Sweet Pea met their first customer in the lobby while maintaining a distance of six feet. Conner from 3C, his little sister and his dad. This was the family that started the building — the whole neighborhood, in fact — banging pots at 7:00 p.m. to thank the hospital w
orkers for saving lives.
“Hi, Conner,” Louis said.
“Hi, Louis.”
“You know Sweet Pea.”
“Sweet Pea!” Conner’s little sister, Eden, crouched down and opened her arms. Louis dropped the leash so that Sweet Pea could waddle over and kiss her.
“I have to ask you to pay up front,” Louis told Conner’s dad.
“It’s like the cop shows, Dad,” Conner said. “The crooks get paid before they turn over the goods.”
“Hey!” Louis said. “This is a legit business.”
They all laughed. Conner’s dad actually did look like a criminal — big and bulky with a shaved head. At least, it used to be shaved. Now sandy hair was growing in around the sides.
Conner’s hair was growing, too, his eyes hidden behind his brown bangs. Same with Eden, who was sitting on the floor with Sweet Pea, rubbing the dog’s round furry belly.
Before he accepted the money, Louis reminded Conner’s dad about his special deal. “It’s twenty bucks for thirty minutes, but only thirty bucks for an hour. The special start-up price.”
Conner and his dad exchanged a look. His dad said, “Just a sec.”
Father and son walked a few feet away and, turning their backs on Louis, conferred in low tones. Louis could hear some of it. Something about a counselor and needing exercise and could they afford it?
“What if we come back early?” Conner called to Louis.
“If you come back within the thirty minutes, you get a full refund for the extra ten. Five-minute grace period. Just call and let me know.” He patted the phone in his pocket.
Conner’s dad pulled another ten-dollar bill out of his front pocket. Louis held out the envelope he’d brought to safely collect the fees.
“Come on, Sweet Pea!” sang Eden, leading the dog away.
Sweet Pea looked back at Louis to check that it was okay. Just as Louis waved, the phone rang again.
Another booking already! He was sorry now that he’d pushed the hour-long deal, but entrepreneurship is about learning on the go.
He went back inside the apartment. It must have been Sunday, because Angelique was at Zoom church when he got in. When she looked inside the envelope, it was like she’d seen a miracle.
Sunny Days Inside Page 6
