She called it 'the new normal'
Distracted thinking saw me contemplating book titles like The Virus Season and invented colloquialisms like 'the 19 in 20.' Working from home has been jarring, also feeling a little trapped. This morning I woke up with a story in my head, so, without a great deal of fanfare, I wrote it down.
I don't like the ending.
I don't like the ending.
So, there we were, standing on opposite sides of the lot
with an audience of parked cars ordered neatly into their spaces, watching us
do a little dance. One dog and walker went left, while another went right, one
back, another forward. All the while holding tight to the leashes of our family
pets who didn’t know a thing about social distance. In the beginning, Dad took Yorker
out mostly. I think he needed something to do, wanted anything to control. He
never said if he was taking time off, or if he’d have a job to go back to, if
he was working, or if he was looking for work. Then, some time later, I guess
Mom wanted in on the activity. She was working from home, but something different
was keeping her from stillness. Maybe it was us. Then, after it became mundane,
I started walking. That’s how I ended up outside, around the same time, just
about every day; that’s how I met her. But this was the 19 in ’20, so, meeting
wasn’t like meeting. I saw her, and I saw her see me, and we exchanged a wave,
and from a distance acknowledged our mutual humanity. She had a variety of colorful
workout pants and retro graphic t-shirts. She wore very bright sneakers and
liked her hair up in a ponytail. She had a really easy smile, too, but what captured
me was her walk. Where I could set my feet in place to restrain our Jack
Russel, she fought every other step not to be dragged by her Great Dane. Ultimately,
she would lose, but she still fought every day. Her animal loped and charged
and she carefully fought against the power, thoughtful not to hurt it, but did
so with a certain dignity. The fourth time I saw her, I thought about shouting along
with my wave. But then I thought that maybe if I yelled hello, all the
fantasies I had would also spill out, ricochet and echo off the apartment
siding and through the urban tree line. So instead I opted for a kind of full
body sign language. I didn’t realize it then, but everyone had the same
questions, and so were waiting with the answers in case anyone got close enough
to ask. On the 17th day, it was her ingenious idea to wait until her
animal was doing its business, until she confirmed my staring, to bend down and
write something on the pavement. The chalk rock she had apparently just found
one day, and she never confirmed how long she’d been holding onto it. Yorker
was happy enough to commit to my curiosity and when I got close enough, I could
see that she had written a telephone number onto the blacktop. I looked up and
we made eye contact and the smile made my face feel strange. Yorker was obliged
to race me back to the apartment building. The bubbles in the messenger app
were like air at the bottom of the ocean. The message that popped up was like
sunlight at the bottom of the ocean. We talked for hours that strung together
into days. A new context was given to the daily smiles and waves. I found
myself dressing more nicely, and she noticed with chiding remarks. We compared our
dogs and our parents and our lives. It never occurred to me, but of course we
went to the same high school. It always occurred to me, later, that we never
would’ve met without the 19 in ’20. Thinking back now, I can’t quite remember
how it exactly happened, but she waited for two days to tell me that she had
the symptoms. I had even seen her that day, being pulled along by Shadow. She
was just as careful as always, just as loving. I had the numbers, though. People
our age didn’t succumb. Or, we did, but it was a fraction of a percent. That didn’t
even seem like a whole person. So I told her I would love whatever part of her
was left. Plus the vaccine was on the way. My mom said it was viable, and my
dad said there was a distribution plan being put into place. I couldn’t get all
the reassurance into the phone fast enough. She didn’t text any more quickly
though. If I had thought about it, I might have noticed that they had been slowing
for days. I remember when I saw her mother from behind. I remember the moment
when I realized she wasn’t coming back outside. So, there we were, standing on
opposite sides of the lot with an audience of parked cars ordered neatly into
their spaces, watching us do a little dance. I had gotten pretty good at it, the
silent communication. Her mother couldn’t yell it, and I didn’t want to hear it
at all. But Terra had gone in the night. And that was about it. Her mother knew
the questions; I just wasn’t close enough to ask.
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