No one remaining on Earth knew the exact day or hour that it happened, though they all agreed that it took place in the spring. Or fall, depending on if someone was asked in the northern or southern hemisphere.
Several weeks had passed since that day, Geiam knew because he was keeping count, drawing tiny tallies on the back of the last postcard he had received while incarcerated for his faith.
The outside world, though, had changed. He was a citizen of the United States for eighty-seven years.
Was. There was no America these days.
That much was all the more manifest by the lonely flag poles, the patriotic symbol that normally blew in the wind missing from its place near the top.
As he wandered down the pier and searched through the boats, even the novelty flag racks were empty. He came to the one little vessel that was fully stocked. The keys were in the ignition and just as he ran his finger along the rim of —
“Hey!”
His shoulders jumped to his ears. He turned around.
“You know how to operate this thing?” The voice belonged to a black man. A clean-shaven, tall, dark-skinned man who didn’t appear to be a day past his thirties.
Geiam shook his head. “No.”
“Well then whatchu fiddlin’ with ma’keys for?”
“I’m trying to get to Germany.”
“There ain’t any Germany,” the black man said. “But if you need to get to the other shore, I suppose I could get you there. The name’s Niklas.” He offered his hand.
“Geiam.” He took and shook it.
Niklas motioned for Geiam to take a seat. He went down to the pier and untethered the boat. After some routine checks and other things, Niklas eased the boat out of the dock.
“So what’s got you tailin’ it off to the eastern shore?”
“A lady.”
“Sister of ours, eh?”
Geiam nodded. “We’ve been in a long distance relationship for a good number of years now, and we’ve always wanted to meet.”
“Well, ain’t any better time to be gettin’ face-to-face than now, ‘specially with them governments not being anymore.” Financial concerns were non-existent, national boarders were dissolved. There was even the possibility that everyone spoke one uniform language. For the first time in Earth’s history, Humanity was united like never before.
Even the air, crisp and fresh as it was, caused ruminations of peace, and the ocean was calm as if they were rolling along the glossy surface of glass. Geiam hadn’t paid much attention to Niklas, although he agreed: there was no better time than now.
Then Niklas came up from below deck with a pair of fishing poles. “You know how to operate a rod?”
“I guess I do.”
He tossed one to Geiam.
***
He hummed a soothing though upbeat song the whole way across the coast. Nothing could dampen his spirit, not even the water that leaked through the rotting roof of the old barn he spent the night in.
The Eastern Continent was a massive place, and since the national boarders had dissolved, he had no idea where exactly the old Germany would be. Or if, for that matter, the woman in the picture on the postcard had survived.
She was a wrinkled old thing, having lived to see 92. A frizzy mess of thin white hair crested her head, and her spotty brown skin was as appealing as a dehydrated potato. By the standards of the Old World, she was hideous — most of her teeth missing, and a face with cheeks that rivaled those of an english bulldog.
He tucked the postcard into an inner jacket pocket and arranged a cover over a couple bales of hay. Not the most comfortable of arrangements, but it would do. He disrobed down to his underwear, rinsed and scrubbed them in a bucket and hung them in a dry corner to air out overnight. Then he folded the blanket and slipped into it the same as he would a sleeping bag.
***
The thrum of a human’s heart was never meant to be extinguished. Every time she stood and stretched from sewing the crops, Fonzé peered down at the horizon. It had been some 30 years since the dissolution of the Old World, with its governments, and she was determined to remain on her father’s farm.
The sun had barely broken into the sky, and the quiet of the cool morning shattered with the chorus of yapping dogs. Before she could direct her attention to the old rotted barn, the one that her brothers were supposed to tear down, the six of them were already swarming around the dilapidated structure.
She poked her head in.
“Now is everything alright for you?” asked her oldest brother.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude on your farm. I just needed a place to rest, you see.” There was a pale-skinned young man, dressed from the waist down, whom she’d never seen before. Yet his voice was terribly familiar.
“Could’ve knocked on the house, we’d’ve been happy to let you in.”
“It was late that night. I didn’t know anyone was here. Or up, for that matter.” He pulled his shirt over his head and threaded his arms through the sleeves. “I think I best be going. I’ve got someone I need to find, you see —”
“Geiam!” She stepped into the doorway. Geiam was around 117 years old by now, she figured. Yet he didn’t look a day over thirty. His flesh was taut to his frame, a peachy creme color, and his curly hair, though short, was a rich burnt-toast brown.
She didn’t give him time to recognize her, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek.
“You sure don’t look like the Fonzé I remember!” he said.
“Are you saying you’re disappointed?” She couldn’t fathom that he was. Her youth had returned, and what were once saggy breasts and spotty splotches of discolored skin were supple, uniform, and smooth. A rich reddish-brown hue saturated her once white hair.
She stared him down, and he kissed her forehead.
“Not at all, Fonzé.” His pearly smile beamed brighter than the mid-morning moon. “Is this the part where I whisk you away on horseback?”
“To where?”
“Wherever we’d like to call home.”
***
No one knew the exact day or hour that it happened, but that it resulted in a world of peace. A world with genuine freedom from political strife, religious contention, and commercial strain.
There was happiness on the earth during those days. Those days that would never end.