Smiling Is Contagious

Sitting at the dining room table, it’s taking every inch of willpower I have not to bounce my leg. It’s a nervous habit I’ve never been able to shake, but right now, I’m pretty sure my life depends on it. I have to ignore the ache in my cheeks from holding this never-ending smile as my mother sets a plate in front of me. She’s smiling from ear to ear, as is my father sitting across the table from me, but they don’t say a word. They haven’t spoken more than a few words in two days, only laughed and smiled. It’s a lifeless smile that doesn’t reach their eyes, instead their eyes look at me, prying as if they can’t discern my own smile. I wonder if they’re still in there somewhere, if they can see me, if they’d want me to run.

The food on the plate in front of me is a strange combination of foods that shouldn’t be consumed. There’s pieces of raw chicken, molded oranges, and a third thing I can’t even identify. The hollow smiling mouths of my parents consume it as we sit, and I know I have to force some of the food into my mouth. I watch them as I try not to gag on the raw chicken between my teeth. Maybe if you were looking in through the window, we’d look like a happy family. It’s almost like that’s what they want, they want to act as though we’re a picture-perfect family and everyone is happy. Three days ago, I was falling asleep to them at each other’s throats. I thank the universe when my father, or whatever it is that’s taken over his body, rises from his chair and takes his plate to the sink. I follow, mimicking his movements as closely as I can.

He offers me a nod, and my mother stays seated as a laugh bellows out from her mouth. She’s not even looking in our direction, just straight forward. My stomach turns and I don’t think it’s just from the chicken. I slowly waive my hand, still holding this aching smile, and finally turn to walk up the stairs to my room. I take the steps slowly and intentionally, trying to ignore the feeling of their eyes on me as I go. The smile drops from my face the second I close to the door behind me, and I ever so gently turn the lock on the door until I hear the soft click of it in place. I practically launch myself to my computer, like I’ve done every night for the past few nights. It’s the only safe place left in this house.

I’m relieved when I open my laptop to see the online chat is still open and functioning, thankfully the Wi-Fi and power haven’t gone out like I’d seen in the movies. My head is still spinning from the events over the course of the last two days, and I’m sitting here trying to piece some of them together into a coherent sentence when I turn to see my neighbor staring at me from open window. He’s illuminated by the lamp in his bedroom, enough that I can see the eerie smile on his face. I compose myself, smiling as wide as I can before standing, walking over, and calmy shutting my curtains. He was nosy even when he wasn’t infected. I let out a soft sigh as I sit back down at my computer.

ME: Anybody on?

SARAH643: I’m here. Any changes?

ME: No. I feel like I’m going crazy. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.

LEO176: I’m here too guys. I’m starting to feel the same way, Max. I feel like they can tell.

ME: I know, their eyes look like they’re analyzing me or something.

SARAH643: They probably are. I think I’m starting to piece some of this stuff together.

LEO176: Care to share with the class?

SARAH643: I will. In person. It’s getting harder and harder to fake the smile, so I think it might be time for us to try to group up before we get caught.

ME: When?

SARAH643: Tonight, 8pm at the group counseling center. I managed to sneak away and scope it out earlier. It looks clear, no smiles.

LEO176: Roger that. Man, I can’t wait to see you guys.

I close the computer and look around my room, feeling a sense of relief, guilt, and fear. I don’t want to leave my parents behind, but I don’t know what’s happening and I’ve seen what happens when somebody gets caught. If you get caught, it doesn’t matter if you’re family or not. I start shoving stuff into a duffel bag, making sure to grab a picture of our family off the nightstand. It was only three days ago that the entire world seemed like it was in a fight. Wars, protests, and even my own parents on the verge of divorce. Which, in my opinion, after seeing them fight for so long I almost wish they would have gotten a divorce a while ago.

I still remember how their voices rang throughout the house as they yelled at each other while I drifted to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, everything had changed, and not in a good way. The news was on when I came downstairs, and the reporter was just staring at the camera, smiling as wide as could be. The headline only declared that all war had ended, and the nations were at peace. I stood there looking at it groggily, thinking maybe it was some sort of joke. The reporters smile didn’t even twitch. I turned it off, and was realized how quiet the house was. That was my first red flag. I heard movement in the kitchen, and tip toed until I could peak in. My parents were both in there, just standing at the table, eyes vacant and a smile on their faces. I don’t know how I knew something was wrong, but I knew I needed to go back to my room and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

It turned out that the almost the entire world was smiling, except for a few reporters who hadn’t yet been infected that were trying to cover this spontaneous joy. It was when I was watching the live stream of one poor reporter, trying to interview a smiling man, that I saw how dangerous those smiles really were. He would come back on the air, but just like everyone around him, his eyes were glazed over, and a smile was plastered on his face. When he spoke, the words were monotone. There was a chill down my spine as he implored anyone watching to come join in on the fun. I was so relieved when I got a message from Sarah and then Leo, and we all sent pictures of ourselves frowning to prove we weren’t infected. We were just glad we weren’t alone and had a way to communicate.

I turn the lights off in my room, taking one last look at it before I back out of my window, letting myself dangle over the edge and then drop into the bushes below. Just as I go to stand, I see the lights in my room turn back on, and hear the chilling voice of my dad call out. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I listened, the monotonous tone made his voice nearly unrecognizable, and there was something about it that seemed sinister. I shifted the duffel strap on my shoulder and took off running as fast as I could, wiping the tears from my eyes as I ran. I didn’t look back, and I didn’t stop until I reached the doors to the counseling center. My parents had enrolled me in group counseling when they suspected I had depression. I’ve never been so happy to see this stupid building.

There’s a rustling sound behind me, and I curse under my breath as I realize I don’t have a flashlight. I crouch around the corner, trying to figure out who’s approaching. Even in the darkness, her fiery red hair is unmistakable.

“Sarah?” I whisper, and watch as her head snaps in my direction. No smile.

“Max, is that you?”

I emerge from the bushes and make sure not to smile, even though I want to. Leo’s come stumbling up, out of breath, and also seemingly trying not to smile. We head inside and into our old group therapy room. I’m surprised to see three more people waiting, giving a small nod as we all enter. I recognize some of them from our group, and one I’d seen in passing in the halls. That’s when I see the theme, like a sick joke unfolding, I realize each of us was diagnosed with depression. Which left me with one question, now what?