If 2020 Were A Person

Art by Cadin Small

A new year is in the air. In a room stands a being with wavy hair to her ass. She’s wearing stilettos, the ones that are sexy enough for the bedroom but not too sexy for the workplace. They are black, like her soul, if she even has one. On her wrist is a watch that looks unaffordable to a common being. Her lips are of course red and right above her upper lip is a mole that is equally sexy and gross. This being is a conundrum. Her energy is that of a female villain even the lesbians don’t like. Though she is inside, she’s wearing a pair of shades. Twelve other beings enter the room but they are not worth her attention. To her, they are too ugly to describe and too despicable to remember. She scoffs at their existence then slowly takes her shades off, putting them in her purse that must be name brand.

“Alright alright, Team 2020. God has decided that humans be doing too much so He went on vacation and left muah, Ms. 2020, in charge. Lucky for us, well mostly me, He gave me a lot of free reign to do whatever I want. Kinda like what Satan did in the book of Job. So, before we get started let’s take a quick attendance to see if everyone is here. January?”

“Present!” said January with the naive excitement of a child about to find out that Santa isn’t real.

“Aww, look at you still in your New Years outfit. Haha! Take that shit off.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“February?”

“Here!”

“Whatchu doing with all them hearts? Valentine's Day is cancelled this year. And so is Black history. Duh!” she says as she snatches the heart-shaped box from February who immediately starts crying. “Lil bitch. Anyway, March?”

“Here!”

Ms. 2020 looks March up and down with disgust in her eyes.

“I don’t know why but I don’t like you March. Not. One. Bit.”

“But-”

“April?” said Ms. 2020 before March could defend himself.

“Here!”

“May?”

“Here!”

“June!”

“Present!”

“Why couldn’t you just say ‘here’ like everybody else? See, that’s why nobody likes Geminis...except me,” she says as she winks at June who looks like he’s about to vomit.

Ms. 2020 finishes taking her attendance, offending damn near all of the remaining months. She asks September to pass her purse. Well not asks, she tells September to “pass me my fucking purse.” She pulls out a perfume and gives herself a little spritz. Then she pulls out a black notebook. Her perfume fills the room and it smells horrible. March is the only month brave enough to speak up.

“What is that awful smell?”

“It’s my perfume. It’s called Climate Change. You will regret calling it awful March,” she says with a glare. “Okay so what do we have going on in January?”

“Well everyone is excited about the new decade,” said January. “I thought maybe we-”

“A World War!” Ms. 2020 interrupts.

“What!” the months say in unison.

“Yes! World War III. Then let’s add some racism but let’s focus it on that Meghan Markle. I never liked her. Make it so bad that her and that Prince Harry must step back from their responsibilities.”

The months look at each other, their eyes saying “what the fuck have we gotten into?”

“Oh and let’s put in a helicopter crash,” Ms. 2020 says with a smile, an evil smile. 

“A helicopter crash?” asks January.

“Yes, are you deaf? A crash. The world will mourn Kobe and that beautiful daughter of his Gianna.”

“I beg of you, please don’t take Kobe!” January cries. Ms. 2020 is in such deep thought that she can’t even hear him. She taps her red pen on her notebook.

“Oh! And I almost forgot! Make it that some bitch in China eats a bat. That’ll be important for later,” she says, looking directly at March who immediately looks away in fear.

“Alright, on to February. I see that they’ve been trying to get rid of that Donald Trump huh?”

“Yes, he has two impeachment charges and multiple sexual assault allegations. And-”

“Don’t talk while I’m talking February. Anyway, acquit him.”

“Acqu...acquit him?” asks February.

“Yes, like they did OJ. And don’t stutter. I hate stuttering”

“I don’t think-”

“Is it cold in here?” Ms. 2020 asks. “It’s definitely cold in here. We should have a fire. Multiple ones! Let’s have them in Australia. And if it gets too too cold, we’ll have more in the Northwest.”

A silence falls upon the room.

“Are you writing this down February?”

“Yes. But what about Black H-”

“Didn’t I say that was cancelled like your stupid day of love? You know what? How about we just kill another innocent black man? But we can’t have the police do it. That’s too cliche. We’ll have these two racists motherfuckers basically hunt him like an animal. How does that sound?”

“Horrible,” says February.

Ms. 2020 walks towards February with a fury potent enough to almost clear the scent of Climate Change. The sound of her stilettos hitting the floor makes February’s heart beat faster. February is failing at trying not to cry...even more than she already has.

“That was rhetorical February. No one cares about what you or anyone in here has to say! So write down Ahmaud Aubrey. Now to March.” 

Ms. 2020 says March with a growl. She looks at March who isn’t even paying attention. In fact, March is drinking a beer. Ms. 2020 grabs March by his navy blue t-shirt, her stiletto nails somehow making a hole in his collar.

“Is that Corona I smell on your breath?”

March is too frozen with fear to respond. Ms. 2020 lets him go gently with a sudden calmness that only amplified the fear in all of the months’ hearts.

“You know I like the name Corona. I motion we have a global pandemic to shake it up, no Zendaya.” Ms. 2020 laughs and the room is confused. “Shake it up? Zendaya? That was a joke. Laugh.”

No one laughs. In fact, February is still crying.

“I said laugh!”

Plastic laughter fills the room. Ms. 2020 laughs with them and it seems genuine. So genuine that for a moment March thinks Ms. 2020 is simply joking. She couldn’t be this crazy. Ms. 2020 then stabs her notebook with her pen. It make a noise so loud that everyone quickly shuts the fuck up.

“I want a quarantine! I want bitches to be baking bread and masturbating more than ever. I want people to go crazy over toilet paper and paper towels and hand sanitizer. Oh yes, hand sanitizer. I want a fucking lockdown. I want masks, thick ones for the dirty humans who don’t brush their teeth. We will ruin what’s normal. I suppose streaming services like Netflix should thank me.”

“Funny you mention Netflix because there’s this show called Tiger King-”

“Did I give you permission to speak March? No, so shut it up! Just for that, we’re gonna sprinkle in some police brutality. Have the cops come into this black woman’s home while she’s fast asleep in bed with her boyfriend then PEW PEW PEW! The cops will force entry causing the boyfriend to think it’s an intruder and then BOOM! Now we have a hashtag.” 

“Are black women just a hashtag to you? Do you not understand that Breonna is an actual human being whose life matters?” asks March.

“What you’re saying makes sense but I don’t care. Okay next we have April”

“Yes?” April responds with quite some tremble in her voice.

“In the beginning, let’s have about one million cases of the Rona globally. Then let’s have about one million cases again.”

“I don’t understand. Why have one million again?”

“You didn’t let me finish you Spring-loving bitch. I want one million cases in America. Then of course a bunch of cases in the other countries. The people will go so crazy in quarantine that they’ll protest just to go outside!”

“Ms. 2020 why are you doing this? This is bad. Like really really bad.”

“Oh April,” says Ms. 2020 as she grabs her cheek. “You’re right.”

All of the months gasp.

“Let’s give everyone $1200. Is that better?”

“Well yes but it won’t be a one time thing now will it?” asks April.

“Of course it will. And don’t forget to add the aliens. Now on to May.”

Ms. 2020 looks at May who seems to be falling asleep. June nudges for May to wake up. 

“Wake up before you get us both in trouble May!”

May wakes up with drool on the corner of her lips. Her eyes are heavy and she is the opposite of alert.

“I see you’re finally awake huh May? Well it’s about time you wake up because boy do I have some shit for your ass! Pull out your pencil and write this down: George Floyd. Picture this: a black man has a counterfeit bill so these cops try to arrest him in front of a whole bunch of people. One of the cops whose like, say maybe 200 plus pounds, puts his knee on George’s neck for about 10 minutes. Eight minutes and 46 seconds to be exact.”

“What!” exclaims May who is now finally alert to the dangers of this new reality.

“Yes! And of course he dies. There are a bunch of people recording so his death will go viral on the internet so black people can live through some more trauma in seeing another black man get murdered. Oh and did I mention that George didn’t even have a counterfeit bill? He was also unarmed. It of course was just abuse of power and racism.”

“You bitch!”

“Calm down May!” says February.

“No, this bitch thinks she can just treat black lives like some disposable storyline in her stupid 2020 nightmare? Fuck that.” says May.

“Oh calm down May. It’s America, they do this all the time. Except this time, George will go global sparking a bunch of protests! This will only give cops a chance to be more violent than before!”

“During a pandemic?” asks May.

“Oh right, the Rona. Let’s have about 100,000 deaths just in America. Is that too much? Oh what the hell, let’s add in some murder hornets. Oh! And I just got this idea! Let’s have them think nature is healing then add more fires later on because who am I kidding? It’s definitely gonna get cold in here later. I’m anemic. I’m always cold just like my heart. Now let’s move on to June.”

Ms. 2020 walks over to June with a lust in her eyes. The same lust of a pedophile about to groom a teenager. She replaces the terror in her step with something sultry.

“My sweet sweet June,” she says as she gropes his chest. “You, my love, are going to get a chunk of those riots. And it won’t just be in America. No, it’ll be everywhere! People in the UK are even going to protest!”

“The same people who bullied Megan Markle?” January asks.

“Yes. Did you dumb bitches not know that the UK is racist too? They gave that Meghan hell and the woman is barely black. Anyway, back to the riots. We’re going to have looting too. Make that the focus so it can belittle the movement to crime which only divides the people even further. We're going to need that division because everybody and they mama are going to get involved talking about black lives this and black lives that and blah blah blah. Even that damn Anonymous will join the Black Lives Matter movement.”

“Don’t you think we should give the Black Lives Matter movement space to be heard so they can at least get justice for all the unarmed black people murdered by cops who simply get a paid vacation? Black people have gone through enough. Don’t even get me started on the murder rates for black trans people.”

“Shut up June, I’m tryna think,” she says as she touches her chin to exemplify that she is in fact thinking. “We need to add racial profiling but not with the police! One of the Karens! Yes! Let’s have one of the racist Karens call the police on a black man for no reason.”

“You can’t be serious?” says June.

“Don’t load the nine June! No one is gonna get shot. In fact, we’ll have that damn Amy Cooper lose her job. Sound good?”

“No!”

“Great. Now I feel like we’re focusing too much on America. Especially with how the economy is in worse shape than when Bush was president. How about we kill Kim Jung Un?”

“And why would we do that?”

“I’m just kidding! Lighten up June. He’s not actually dead. Now enough with my beautiful June,” Ms. 2020 says as she walks away, slapping June’s ass before she gets face to face with July.

“Oh July. You’re gonna be going through a lot. People are still protesting. The Rona is still out there. Kanye is running for president and he doesn’t even think Harriet Tubman freed the slaves. Naya Rivers died. Meg-”

“Wait what?”

“Don’t interrupt me July. I’m actually trying to be nice to yo ugly red, white, and blue ass.”

“I’m sorry but another black woman dead?” asks July.

“Yes but she wasn’t shot. That was Meg the Stallion.”

“She got shot!?”

“It was just in the foot! Now shut up so I can think. July is supposed to be a celebration but who wants to celebrate Independence Day when black people are dying? How about cake?”

“Cake?”

“Yes cake July! Keep up! We’ll have so much cake that everyone will think that everything is cake. A cake here. A cake there. A cake everywhere. Shit, they might even think they are cake. I want everything to be cake.”

“But-”

“Now to August! There you go, my little entanglement. I feel like we’re not doing enough with nature. Of course the hornets and the fires but I think we can do better. How about two hurricanes? But instead of at different times, they happen at once! Ah yes, I’m a fucking genius.”

“But what about the virus?” August asks.

“Yes! The Rona will still be running rampant. Though everyone should stay inside since they didn’t follow the original quarantine properly, we’re gonna open the schools back up. These little hooligans need to know that I am not to be fucked with. I don’t care if they're in kindergarten. Make sure you’re writing this down August!” she says as she taps her notebook with her pen.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now let’s remind the younger generation that Bernie will never be president so they’ll have to vote for Biden. Am I being too tough? How about we give them a black vice president? In fact, make her a black woman. Bitches love representation.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really August. A possible black female vice president. Oh wait, I forgot to mention that she’s a cop...in an era where defunding the police is top priority.” Ms. 2020 says with a sinister laugh.

“Why are you laughing like that?”

“That is simply how I laugh August. Do you have a problem with my laugh?”

“No ma’am.”

“Good. Now let’s take away Chadwick.”

“Chadwick? As in Chadwick Boseman?”

“Yes August. Must I always repeat myself? Ugh, you agitate me. Let us go to September.”

Ms. 2020 looks at September with confusion in her eyes. She hates September as she hates the other months, even June. But there’s something about September that makes her want to do something...not bad.

“September, what do you think of that Zendaya? She’s stunning right?”

“Yes, but not as stunning as you?” September answers as if it were a question because she doesn’t know if it was the right thing to say.

“Why what a nice thing to say September! It also is very true as all of you ugly bitches can clearly see. Even you with the glasses. How about we throw black people a bone and make Zendaya the youngest winning black female to win an Emmy?”

“That’s it?” asks May.

“Oh what the hell, let’s give Breonna a 12 million dollar settlement?”

“Okay do the cops get indicted? Does she get justice?” asks September.

“Of course not silly! It’s America. Justice is like the tooth fairy. You think it’s this magical thing that happens but in fact it’s a lie. It’s humans putting a price on their teeth. Did you really not know that in a capitalist society lives don’t matter, they cost money. I don’t even know how poor people are still alive. They can’t afford to matter, especially the black ones. Humans are nothing but a number sweetheart. Some people cost cents and some people cost millions. You never heard of a net worth before? Wow, y’all are dumb. Anyway, 12 million it is for Breonna. I think that’s pretty nice of me to do, don’t ya think?”

“I think it’s sad that people have to fight just to matter. They have to be met with violence by police just because they’re exercising their freedom to protest for a justice that doesn’t even seem to exist. You’d seriously rather give up 12 million dollars than just arrest the cops who killed Breonna? And what about George? Or all the other black people killed by the police? This has been happening for centuries! Have you no heart?”

“Heart? Heart is for that short black comedian from Philly. I am Ms. 2020. My heart is cold and my fury is fire and you September are about to be burned alive! You thought this was a game? The only games that I like are the Hunger Games and all twelve of you will wish there was an ounce of odds in your fucking favor!”

“You can burn us alive but we will be back next year and you won’t.” says September.

“September is right!” yells February.

“Come December 31st you’ll be gone,” says March.

“As if 2021 will be a basket of roses,” Ms. 2020 says, rolling her eyes. “Do y’all agree with this?”

The room nods.

“Okay, well how about this! Now it’s time for the fires! You thought the Rona was already bad? Imagine your immune system trying to fight a respiratory virus when the air isn’t even safe to breathe? Oh, and Climate Change now has a fucking clock. I will make that bitch tik tok in Time Square until Jesus comes back! And there’s no way it can be reversed. Why? While the humans are recycling and being vegans and taking their shorter showers, big companies were ruining the planet. They never even had a fucking chance. And the companies will never stop. Oh, and the immigrants they started locking in cages? Well they are now receiving hysterectomies. It’s like health warfare. Speaking of health, Ruth Bader Ginsburg is now dead. Who knows how long Bernie has? I bet that damn Donald Trump is probably wreaking havoc as we speak.”

“You can do whatever you want,” says November.

“Wow, so now November has something to say? Speak up you pumpkin-loving bitch.”

“Did you forget? I’m not just the month of pumpkins. People will vote and their vote could shape a future you have absolutely no control over.”

“November is right!” 

“Oh shut up February.” Ms. 2020 says.

“No, you shut up!” June yells.

“June? Not you,” Ms. 2020 says as she clutches the pearls she’s not even wearing.

“Yeah, the virus could break society, but it could also bring them together as 100 year olds beat that damn virus and masks cultivate into a cool fashion statement. Yeah the economy will be trash but, maybe people will finally follow their dreams. The Black Lives Matter movement shouldn’t have to exist but it does and now more people than ever will stand for black lives. The people will be tired but never too tired to not fight for their freedom and the freedom of a future that will exist no matter what climate change brings. A lot of legends will have passed but in Wakanda, death isn’t the end. Legends live forever. A fire fueled by faith is eternal. A bad year couldn’t blow out that flame, not even a year as bad as you,” says December.

“So you think you Obama now huh December? You disgust me. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with you and November. And I see you in the back October! Who knows, maybe I’ll give you three my worst.”

“Do it,” says October. “Do your worst.”

The silence in the room is one a being could easily choke on. Ms. 2020 seems as if she’s on the verge of a tantrum. The months all stand up. It is obvious that they are all mentally holding hands. The room doesn’t smell like Climate Change but something along the lines of resilience and fed-the-fuck-up. Ms. 2020 uses her stiletto nails to scratch an empty desk. She grabs her purse and puts her shades back on. Maybe to hide the tears no one gets a chance to see. Or maybe she understands that her mayhem could never break a society. How strong could Ms. 2020 be against one petite piece of hope?