elizabethlevett

No, we can’t dance together. No, we can’t talk at all.

So there’s this thing going around. All over the world. People have died. We’re not supposed to go to work, or to a restaurant, or to the theatre. We’re supposed to keep two meters’ distance between us.

We’re being told it’s a foreign disease. (Those bad guys over there again.) We’re being told by some in the media that the Chinese caused it. Caused it? On purpose? Somehow, I’m not convinced that demonizing a culture is our best response. Nor is hoarding, nor is price gouging on sterilizing supplies. One guy, to the great amusement of some of our overseas buddies, drove around and bought up tons of Purell and then tried to sell it on Amazon for $70 a bottle. Supposedly they shut him down. But there are others. Some high school kids beat up a Chinese student. Some shoppers are getting in fist fights over groceries – even though the stores aren’t being shut down. What is it that happens to us? Maybe that two meters we’re supposed to maintain between us could prevent fighting. Maybe this virus is a whisper to the living that we are all much closer than we thought.

I get it. It’s a hardship for many, many people. The schools are closed. The market is down. Nursing homes can’t allow visitors. It’s impossible to fly anywhere. Sporting events are cancelled. It’s inconvenient. But I have to say, the quiet is welcome. And maybe we can slow down and take care of each other, and take care of ourselves.

At home we watch the news and see the people trying to get through this in refugee camps. They live in tents. They have limited access to running water. They don’t even think of the inconvenience of staying out of the theatre or missing a basketball game or a trip abroad. Here in the States the elderly don’t understand why they can’t get a visit from a loved one. Those who depend on their church or their AA club to hold it together are suddenly very much alone.

Yesterday I walked in the park. The magnolias were in bloom along with the ribes and the rhododendrons. I saw a hawk and several of those little yellow-and-black warblers. A friend brought over oranges and grapefruit and I picked some freesias for another friend.

It will pass. And yes, it’s scary. But I can’t help feeling very, very fortunate. We have food in the pantry, books to read, coffee to drink, plenty of water, and a park to walk in for fresh air. With so few planes in the air and so few cars on the road, you can actually hear the birds. (And they can hear each other. It’s going to be quite a season for birds to mate!) A threat, yes, a very real threat. But it’s the vulnerable who are suffering so much more than we are. We can still get the laundry done and cook a good dinner. We can wash our hands with clean, hot water. We can watch a clear sky in the evening and get a good night’s sleep in a warm bed. We can notice the recommended space we keep between us and wonder about how close we really are.

(Hey Nineteen has been published in Digging Deep, the seventh anthology of the Laguna Writers Workshop. More information here: https://www.laguna-writers.com/#/featured-publication-lake-pandemic-issue/)