RECESS

Recess

Audrey Deng

Genoese sailors have long been blamed for being the catalysts for the bubonic plague, for they were the ones who sailed their ships far and wide, unwittingly bringing their stowaways, diseased rats, to countries along the Atlantic coast. Turns out that these rats were the diseased vessels. e problem wasn’t the sailors themselves, but the stowaway rodents they carried in the 14th century. e malady spread quickly, but saw its near-complete end in the 18th century, long a er the sailors were alive. During their lifetimes they had been hated; people blamed these sailors for the plague outbreak, and a little unfairly so. Many sailors died hating themselves for what they had in icted upon humanity. A er all, the world was supposed to end. I decided to use my time machine to bring back Pietro, a Genoese sailor, to show him that the bubonic plague didn’t end human civilization like they believed it would at the peak of the crisis. I took him to the best place to showcase contemporary human health and vitality: elementary school.

ME: Well, here we are: my old elementary school. Look at this playground—these kids are all so healthy and full of vitality, don’t you

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think? PIETRO: What? (Looks around, eyes bulging.) My god, what have I brought upon the world? Listen to the screams of the children! Look at the terror in the frantic motion of their limbs! eir tiny little limbs! ey will die within the next twenty seconds, at most—the plague does not take children kindly. Oh god, we have been caught at the worst stage! I must act with haste. I must quarantine them or light them on re or something! ME: (See the teachers standing nearby and panic, pulling Pietro closer to swing sets.) You can’t say that so loudly! And what do you mean? ese kids have recess. PIETRO: Have re…recess? ey have it? Is recess some sort of disease? Is that another term for my Great Plague? And so, you mean to say the Death has taken all these children? (Squints, then points at a young, red-headed boy.) What about that little boy who is running around? Waving his arms so madman-like? (Squints closer, then gasps with horror.) My god, he has all the symptoms! Black spots that cover the skin, sweat that drips all over the face, screams that tear apart the ear—dear lord. He shall be dead in three minutes. I must start a re. ( rows shoes and hat into a pile.)

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ME: No, Pietro, no! He’s not dying anytime soon! He probably just hit puberty early and got blackheads or something. And he’s obviously sweaty—it’s super-hot out and he’s running pretty fast. As for the screaming, it’s recess. He’s scared for his life. PIETRO: Meaning? ME: Basically, these kids have a half-hour every day at school to do whatever they want. ey can run around and shoot hoops and push each other o monkey bars. It’s all fair game! PIETRO: So…no re? ME: No. PIETRO: But what of the singing children over there? (In the distance, six girls sing “Ring around a Rosy.”) PIETRO: ‘Ashes, ashes, we all…fall…down?’ We all fall down? What is this sick chant? Are they actually trying to summon the plague? One…four, ve, six girls...my stars, that’s the number of death! Are they witches? (Yanks o cape and tears o mustache, throwing them into the growing pile.) I need a re! Sailors! Grab a torch! We have a bon re that is begging for ame!

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ME: It’s just a children’s song, Pietro. e song doesn’t do anything. PIETRO: Prove it! I demand you to prove it! ME: Um. I don’t really know how to prove it. I mean, you don’t see anyone getting the plague right now, do you? PIETRO: I do. (Dies).

And this is how I brought the bubonic plague into the modern age. I write to you, my friend, now understandably your foe, from hiding. When I look out into the village below from the cold mouth of my lonely grotto I can hear the screams of children, mothers and fathers howling, loved ones mourning over their dead, and I weep. I sing songs to myself of my sad tale. But still I cling to hope. I wait. I wait for a time machine to come and take me to the future where someone can tell me that this was not my fault at all, none of it.

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