Northern_Lights_2021

3 “Mom, I’m going out,” announces Logan, strolling into the living room and casually draping a leather jacket around his shoulders. I glance up from the Excel spreadsheet on my computer and blink. I haven’t seen much of my son these days; he spends most days in his bedroom, either Zooming into class or playing video games with his friends. In fact, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to get a good look at him — is that the fuzzy beginnings of a mustache above his lip? Is he really that tall? What happened to my chubby blond baby, and who is this angular, glowering stranger? “Mom? Hello?” He waves a hand in front of my face. “Going out.” I snap back to reality. “That’s fine. Be back before ten, and don’t forget your mask.” He groans and pulls a checkered cloth mask from his jacket pocket. “Why do I have to wear this? It’s 20-fricking-33.” “Put it on, Logan.” I rub my temples. I don’t have the energy to argue with him. Logan rolls his eyes, but slips the elastic bands over his ears and pulls the mask up over his nose anyway. With his wide blue eyes as his only defining feature, it’s easier to see him as the young Logan I knew. “Things have changed, Mom,” he mutters. Things have changed? Sometimes I think the only thing that’s changed in the past thirteen years is Logan’s attitude. The virus may have come and gone, but the masks were just part of decency now, like clothes and basic hygiene. Logan wasn’t even three years old when the pandemic struck. He shouldn’t remember the days before masks, let alone pine for them. Even I don’t miss those days anymore. It wasn’t that we had been forbidden from going outside for the past thirteen years. It’s just that there hadn’t been a reason to, after most of the stores and restaurants closed down. Things had promised to open up a few times, but then there was the war, and those businesses that remained open through the tumult quickly realized that their customers were unwilling to give up the convenience of delivery and the ability to pretend that nothing outside the home was happening. Going Out L. J. Marmorstein