Day 56: The Weight

This morning’s sun was swallowed by dark clouds and light rain, which is unusual for this time of year. A gloomy day that, unfortunately for you, set the tone for this post. I strongly suggest you scroll to the end and just watch the video. For reals.

I lay awake late last night awash in anxiety. For the very first time ever throughout all this, I started to feel afraid of actually catching the virus one day. I worried about Eleni and her pregnancy and if I’ll be able to go up to Chico as the date approaches. I also agonized over the distinct possibility that my late-June trip to see Small might not happen.

Earlier I’d checked my AlaskaAir reservation and found the ominous message, “Due to flight schedule changes, manual assistance is required on this reservation.” Why don’t they just come out and say it: “Your plans are in the trash heap. And good luck getting through to us!” The idea of canceling two consecutive visits to my 91-year-old mother makes me miserable, and who knows about the third one, scheduled for October, when things are supposed to get worse again.

For the near future, air travel seems not only unsafe, but logistically challenging since there are so few flights. Maybe things will be much better in a month, but I’m not hopeful. The same old worry: what if I contracted the disease on the plane and then brought it back to Small? Thus, Molly and I talked about driving back, but that would take four 12-hour driving days, each way, and where would one even stay along the way, with so many things closed?

Ma: don’t even dream of popping off (as you call it) before this is over. Or ever, really. We have games of Yahtzee and Double Canfield still to play. In the meantime, we have our daily phone calls and crosswords to solve. It’s just hard to watch this wasted time passing. The weight of the not-knowing—when will I hang out with Ma, Ember, Jesse, my girls, my best friends?—is kind of crushing me right now. That, and the boredom.

[Editor’s note: Sincere apologies for an especially self-absorbed post.]

For posterity, here’s some coronavirus news: Two recent infections in the past few days at the White House have led to a mask requirement for all officials in the West Wing. Neither Trump nor Pence, however, will wear them.

What gets me through the hours in this interminable isolation are my digital communications with my daughters. Molly sends lots of e-mails, sometimes with ideas about things for me to do to distract myself, like writing prompts. And sometimes we watch Netflix shows like Brooklyn Nine-Nine together on Zoom. Eleni and I have frequent Facebook Messenger chats from morning to night. Last night we hurled goofy texts back and forth, talking about everything from the importance of Little Richard to our shared experience of going through life with a flat butt. She says I make her laugh, which amazes and pleases me, and she makes me snort with delight as well. She reminded me about some old videos I’d uploaded to YouTube. Here’s 15-month-old Ember eight years ago, with me in the foreground bellowing The Itsy-Bitsy Spider. Perhaps the reason I was shouting it was because I couldn’t sing loud enough to get her attention.

Goodnight.