Outside
I went outside today.
Not just “outside.” But, y’know, outside. I hadn’t been out in 21 days as I got sick on March 13th and began self-isolation. So save for the walks split between me and my ex— ex what? Ex-husband? We’re still married. Ex-partner? What’s the word for living together under one roof, sometimes ghosts floating past, sometimes assuming our full corporeal form over coffee? Location bonded? Pandemic married? —I had not ventured out in public since all this began.
I fashioned a mask out of a bandana and a couple of hair ties. It works! See here.
Everything is fine.
First up was the pharmacy. Then the bank. Then the fancy food store because I was already out and I didn’t want to be scared and maybe some really nice chocolate would fix things.
I am a pandemic Cathy cartoon.
There were people in the stores, but it was remarkably still. Everyone was a pair of eyes above a swath of cloth. It made me think about how much you can tell about a dog from what its mouth looks like: relaxed? Trembling? Teeth bared? But we were all mouthless. Eyes darting back and forth looking for clear aisles to cut through, or standing on our marks six feet apart.
We pose for the selfies in our masks. Isn’t this ridiculous? (Yes.) Aren’t we adorable? (Double yes.) We cling to our tiny raft of normalcy, bobbing in the sea of fear. I’m okay. You’re okay.
We’re okay.
My iPhone does not recognize my masked face. I don’t recognize my masked face. I don’t recognize my face, period. Do you look in the mirror and see the same person that you saw three weeks ago?
What sort of world do you want to come back to?
What sort of you do you want to come back to?
I have lived inside my head for so long that are questions I’ve asked myself since, well, forever. Maybe it’s just my weird brain, the one that made my pre-school teachers confused that I could read chapter books but couldn’t talk to the other kids. Or maybe it’s because I was told at a very young age: everyone died so you could be here. The fact that I even exist is a miracle. Other kids had the monster who lived under the bed. I had the Nazis come in the middle of the night to take your family. (Make sure to have valuables you can carry.)
I was prepared for the end before I even begun. We fled Stalin. We fled Hitler.
We cannot flee a virus.
We can only wait.
I fashion masks out of bandanas and hair ties. I wipe down my groceries with Lysol. I drink wine with my friends over videocalls.
Everything is fine. We’re okay.
What sort of world do you want to come back to?
What sort of you do you want to come back to?
Will you get to come back?
(Please, come back.)
xosm
Victories at Sea “Quiet House”