Pandemics spread out like a web linked by available immune systems. They silently make their journey, stunning cells into a zombie-like state so they do its viral bidding. Healthy cells turn on themselves and replicate into a foreign army that aims to gain bodily territory. The fight to regain that territory can be brutal. Sometimes, ground is lost and bodies succumb, ceasing to be themselves.
I have two sons, now 21 and 18 years old. But in 2001, Nando was just 2 years old and Berto was barely 2 months. One day, my mom and I went on a long walk with them through her hilly, tree-lined neighborhood. The boys were nested into a stroller. We relaxed into easy conversation as birds sang in the canopy overhead. Nando pointed to confer the beautiful things he saw. The rhythm of speech comes first, and his syntax was filled with delight. His language was still forming, but I understood what he was saying, "This day is beautiful Mama. The light is coming through the trees. I am happy." Berto slept soundly next to Nando as they both swayed with our steps.
From high up on a wooded property, a neighbor we did not know, yelled down from his balcony. "A plane has flown into the World Trade Center!" My mom and I slowed down and furrowed our brows in question. We did not respond. We just kept walking. His words thunked from our heads in confusion. "Well, that was strange," I said. "Yes, and not very funny," Mom responded. But when we got to her house we flowed straight to the television.
Flames and black smoke billowing from the North Tower. Grave voices spoke of a misguided airliner. We sat on the edge of the bed unable to move. Then, a short time later, on live television, we watched as a second airliner flew directly into the South Tower. It exploded into flames and smoke just as its twin. Nando's voice had gone from joy to concern. I know he was asking me what was happening, but I have no recollection of what I said. Shortly after that, the two buildings crumpled in slow-motion from the sky.
It is now the year 2020 and we are on day 49 of isolation due to the COVID-19 pandemic. It has spread across the globe like a red-hot ember amongst brittle grasses, an attempted coup on humanity. The virus was hiding: incubating, replicating, spreading from person to person. We went about our days. We were unaware or in denial as this viral Trojan horse wheeled itself into our cells and let loose on our immunities. News of deaths began to mount. We had no vaccine. We blinked into that reality until we moved indoors to isolate.
Here I am, in stasis. I try to stay busy and be productive. Sewing some face-masks for my family members has passed some time. This infection is airborne. These days, a face-mask is hard to come by. As this pandemic approached, we responded with hoarding: face-masks, toilet paper, hand sanitizers, and even guns and ammunition. The shelves had been swept clean in a panic. One of our state politicians scolded, 'It is time to move away from selfishness and move towards sacrifice." I finished cinching and tying tiny knots at the end of the thread just as our city made mask-wearing mandatory. My online order of toilet paper is still two weeks away, though I ordered it over a month ago. We have only three rolls left in our household. Because of this, I am drawn from isolation. I step outdoors wearing my freshly sewn face-mask, a small list of items I need is curled into the palm of my hand.
When I arrive at the store, a masked employee stands like a sentry at the door. He checks each customer is wearing an appropriate face-covering. There is a single entry and exit point through which all customers are funneled. Carts are returned then sanitized by an employee wielding a large spray bottle of disinfectant. Once inside, covered faces express only with their eyes, a silent concern. We quickly scooch past when we find ourselves too close. We take wide paths around the produce and bakery areas. Sometimes we turn our carts to avoid an aisle with more than two people crowding it.
My mind reaches back to a memory a few days after 911. America was in shock. 2871 people had died at the feet of the Twin Towers. We were fragile. We shared a common pain. Doing even simple things while moving through a sludge of grief felt numb. I entered this same grocery store with my mom. It was oddly still and vacant. A man stood in the produce area putting a few apples into a plastic bag. When our eyes met, he was overcome with emotion. Our eyes welled in response. I stood by as my mom wrapped her arms around him, "Everything is going to be OK," she offered.
I am brought back to the present as I maneuver around several shoppers. When I arrive at the paper-products aisle the shelves are almost bare, but I acquire one six-roll package of toilet paper. My searches for any product containing disinfectants are foiled. Hand sanitizer, household spray cleaner, and wipes are completely sold out. Likewise, a smattering of flour, and no yeast whatever can be found. I have recently begun to believe baking my own bread is possible. Once, when Berto was 3 years old, he pushed away a coveted cup of chocolate pudding I made him. He delicately announced, "Ah...I'm not going to eat that." I quickly stepped in, certain he was uncharacteristically fussy. I took a bite...damn it. He was right. "I'm not going to eat it either buddy, it's ok," I said. Nonetheless, creating a golden-brown, crusty sourdough seems an attainable culinary aspiration through the lens of a pandemic.
I step on a line of tape at the check-out line. It indicates the allotted distance I should stay away from the person in front of me, 6 feet. My list has only a few essential items on it, but toilet paper is the only one I could find. How has it come to this? I used to love grocery shopping. I enjoyed taking my time and felt the satisfaction of filling my cart with healthy foods for my family. This feels cramped and urgent, like trying to walk calmly from a burning building. That which was once a casual routine is now fraught with suspicion of the unseen and calculated movements.
In late 2001, jihadists boarded airliners and seated themselves amongst humanity before taking the helm by force. These Trojan horses invaded our lands and impinged on the very thing that gave us our humanity - our trust. That year, as Nando's words took clear shape, I began to write them down. His first impulses at uncensored expression would soon get lost in culture and family and peer pressure. But now, he spoke with purity. His words were infused with a child's vulnerability.
"The trees drove to the morning.
Stop signs went with the cars to the park in Dallas.
The black building fell apart in a different park."
*
Shortly after this pandemics announcement, our children were shooed indoors to attend classes on-line. Schools and universities quickly shuttered their campuses in fear of COVID-19. Now, 49 days later, our world is economically ravaged by mandatory isolation in our homes. Over 20 million Americans are unable to work. Some have taken to the streets to demand they be allowed to reopen their businesses and let their employees return to work. People are scared as cases of COVID-19 reach over 4 million and deaths almost 276,000 worldwide. Americans account for over 1.3 million of those cases and over 78,000 of those deaths.
It has become a tug of war between politics, economics, and science. All of this sways with a tide of confusing and conflicting information. There are on-going debates as to the severity, or lack thereof, of this outbreak compared to other pandemics throughout history. It's worse than the SARS of 2002, better than the Swine flu of 2009, but nowhere near the Spanish flu of 1918. Though, those grieving the loss of a loved one to COVID-19 don't care about any of that. Delivered to the hospital, the infected can be sucked into a vortex of illness. There are no visitations, no hand-holding, no comforting words of goodbye, no funeral service. One's mother or grandfather or brother or friend or coworker simply vanishes.
The isolation felt like a short vacation at first. There was speculation we would be back at work within 2 weeks. But, that wasn't the case. We struggled with a lack of appropriate personal protective equipment. Hospitals were overrun. States managed the crisis individually, but not cohesively as a country. Truths and misinformation tangled on the web and in the media fueling hysteria and anger. But now after 7 weeks, we are urged to reopen our doors and go back to work. Scientists say it is too soon to move around as normal, while economists say we must.
As my return-to-work date nears, my worry is growing. There is no creative way to social-distance when cutting and coloring someone's hair. We are innately within close contact with our clients. Under the circumstances, even as a stylist, I don't consider hair one of life's grave importances. A colleague of mine put it this way, "If grey hair is all any of us come out of this with, we will have done well." Ideally, I prefer to wait a little longer before leaving isolation. Will the cases of COVID-19 continue to rise as we begin to go about our days again? I need my job. If I don't cut hair, I don't make money. My job is imperative to my children being able to stay in college. What will their schooling look like now and what of their futures? Our lives are stacked like dominoes, each with corresponding consequences. But still, my situation in this pandemic is not near as dire as poorer Americans and far, far less than people in third-world countries. I try to remain optimistic. I have had lots of time to think and read and cook and exercise and communicate with family and friends. Let's face it, these are all things of extreme privilege. Nonetheless, as time in isolation has worn on, I have grown weary. Perhaps it is a mild depression, or at the very least strain from worry. But, when things get muddled I try to sort them out. This blog would not be complete without a list to illuminate some truths.
Pandemic Positives:
We have our kids at home. I am grateful for this extra time I get with them.
We are home with our pets. Our dog Bella has our attention. She is at her happiest, all smiles and wags.
We cook and eat together. Instead of eating out, we eat homecooked meals with few distractions.
We walk together. Isolation has us outside as much as possible. As we exercise, stroll, and ride bikes we say a friendly hello.
We connect with family and friends. When isolation began, my family immediately started a group text, we share our lives every single day.
We attend to worry with humor. I am reminded of a recent meme: "Homeschooling has begun. Already, 2 students have been suspended for fighting and 1 teacher has been fired for drinking on the job."
We have improved the environment. Less pollution and CO2 emissions have allowed our planet to rest and recover a bit.
We have had a well-needed lesson in restraint. Many things we thought we had to have, we have found we can do without. Our survival does not depend on luxuries.
We are prompted to gain some independence. Some are moving towards self-sufficiency: growing gardens, buying local, baking bread, and cooking meals.
We honor common people as heroes. Doctors, nurses, firefighters, paramedics, scientists, janitors, mail-carriers, delivery-persons, grocery workers, factory workers, farmers, and volunteers have heroically kept us going.
We are social beings. Though I may require less interaction as an introvert, I require interaction nonetheless. When COVID-19 invaded our bodies, it instilled a suspicion of the very thing we thrive on - human interaction. We have been forced to take a side-step away from our natural sociability. Will we return to 'normal?' Perhaps we have been scarred with reserve and wariness; invasions inherently do that. But, I hope not. Trojan horses try to erase communal identity, though it is one of our fundamental needs. We need hugs. We need quality time. We need to be able to trust. We need each other. This is the human condition. Nando seemed to have a child's insight into this long ago.
"Go away bird.
Fly away.
Fly into the sky.
Go be with the other birds.
Go."
Comments