Fiction: Amnesty Day
By R.J. Fox
arttimesjournal February 27, 2021
“Well, you've cracked the sky, scrapers fill the air
But will you keep on building higher
'Til there's no more room up there?
Will you make us laugh, will you make us cry?
Will you tell us when to live, will you tell us when to die?
I know we've come a long way
We're changing day to day
But tell me, where do the children play?”
-Cat Stevens
Tragedies either bring couples closer together, or they can drive them apart. Rarely is there a middle ground. Following a miscarriage, Ava and Steve found themselves in the latter category. Things weren’t exactly going great before the pregnancy, the arrival of which had taken them both by surprise. After all, they tried the fertility treatment route for two full years (not to mention most of their savings) in an effort to bring new life into this world. It brought no shortage of strain to their relationship. There were times when both thought about ending things and starting fresh, but usually one would talk the other out of it, or at least do something that would persuade the other that they could make it work. They both had a growing sense that it was only a matter of time before someone pulled the plug. But then lo and behold, she was pregnant. And just like that, their relationship was given the fresh start the were hoping for. Their united front became stronger than ever.
But six months into the pregnancy, they lost it.
Their little boy.
Stephen III.
They would rather have never have gotten pregnant at all, then to do so, only to have it taken away. Both fell into a lingering depression that manifested itself in disparate ways, further deepening the divide between them. And in their own individual suffering, they drifted further apart than they ever had before any point in their relationship. Though neither one said it out loud, going separate ways felt like the only option left at this point.
The summer passed, giving way to fall. And the thought of facing another long Michigan winter seemed suffocating. Any semblance of a happy relationship at this point was usually a temporary mirage A faint echo of what used to be. Like a ghostly visit from the past. Though they both wanted to grab on to these moments and never let go, they were elusive. Like a phantom fading away into the night.
On a perfect mid-October Saturday afternoon, in what was perhaps a last-ditch effort to save their marriage, Steve proposed that they return to the town where they had their first date – the affluent, sleepy town of Yarmouth on the outskirts of metro Detroit. Though they could never afford to live there, they would visit there frequently, though not since before the tragedy. In fact, the last time they had been there was to celebrate their pregnancy.
Yarmouth was the perfect autumn town in the perfect autumn state – a last hurrah before winter stormed in like a lion, destroying everything in its wake. The cloudless blue sky was punctuated by the red, yellow, and orange leaves still on the trees, showing off the height of their beauty before turning to rot.
After an early dinner downtown at their favorite restaurant, they proceeded to take a stroll into the park smack dab in the middle of downtown, holding hands like the old days. In fact, they couldn’t remember the last time they held hands. It felt like putting on an old pair of comfortable slippers that you forgot you had.
They grabbed a coffee, then ventured into a nearby neighborhood. The Victorian-era homes were decorated with an abundance of Halloween decorations, which came as no surprise. Yarmouth was a very kid-centric town. If one were to take an educated guess, at least one child resided in every two out three homes.
Ava and Steve both lived for Halloween. In fact, it was one of the things about parenthood they were most looking forward to. But with or without a child, they would always love Halloween. Nothing could take that away from them. Though, it did cross that mind that maybe this town wasn’t the best place to be – surrounded by children – reminders of what they didn’t have. A neighborhood where everybody had it all. It was difficult to fathom that miscarriages could exist in a place like this.
Something rather peculiar immediately caught their eye. Enormous piles of “trash” along the curbside of just about every house – mostly big items that weren’t typically picked up by sanitation services. They assumed it must be the city’s amnesty day, where anything that normally wouldn’t be taken away by trash collectors would be. But that wasn’t what struck them as most odd: most of the items left behind on the curb were children’s stuff: cribs, beds, tables, toy boxes, swing sets, bikes, scooters, clothing, potties, sandboxes, etc. At least two out of three houses had kids’ stuff at the curb.
“Why is there so much kid stuff?” she asked.
A perfectly rational question.
Furthermore, why did so much of it look so new and not trash-worthy? Steve couldn’t help but think about the classic, hauntingly succinct Hemingway story:
“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
Sure, these were people with disposable income. Throwing away perfectly good stuff wasn’t that unusual in communities such as these. But why not donate it? And why was there so damn much? For block after block?
Ava pointed out another rational oddity. Where were all the children? It was a perfect, 65-degree autumn Saturday. The Wolverines had a bye week. Swing sets (the ones not left at the curb) stood silent. And where were the adults for that matter? Perhaps if they saw one, they would definitely ask some questions.
Where were the children?!
Upon further inspection, the curtains and shades appeared to be drawn in every window of every house. Though it had just turned to dusk, not a single light was on – interior or exterior.
They both had a sudden urge to head back home. They were getting an awful vibe and they had seen enough.
As they headed back to their car, they noticed several ramshackle trucks pillaging items from the curb. Christmas had come!
One man’s trash…
When they got home, they both retreated into their own separate corners of the house. Though they couldn’t quite put their finger on it, there was something about their experience that just didn’t sit well with them. They just wanted the day to end.
Halloween arrived and, on a whim, they drove back to Yarmouth. Not a single kid could be seen trick-or-treating. Nor, was there a single porchlight on.
Over a relatively short period of time, the town of Yarmouth went through a tremendous transformation, in the form of an unexplained mass exodus. Schools shut down in what used to be one of the top districts in the state. Those that stayed behind let their homes fall into disrepair, as did new residents who moved in by taking advantage of plummeting property values. Many homes remained uninhabited. Eventually, it became a modern-day ghost town.
Ava and Steve never did find out what happened to the children. Urban legends soon emerged, but nothing that could be substantiated with fact. And before long, the original inhabitants had all vanished without a trace.
Soon after, Ava and Steve went their separate ways, where they would remain childless for the rest of their days.
But they would always love Halloween.