by Eric Walters
“Say hello to your parents for me. Good evening.”
Mrs. Singh was part of the regular parade that walked past our house each night. After dinner lots of people went out for a stroll—little family groups—or sat on their porches or in their driveways, talking to the people passing by. Everyone seemed extra friendly. Isaac and I met every night on our driveways at seven fifteen. We sat out for as long as we felt like. Sometimes it was until after dark.
Isaac had taken his chalk and decorated the entire sidewalk and road in front of his house. He’d marked out hopscotch courts, drawn flowers and even written jokes. Most of them were bad, sort of an Isaac version of dad jokes, but people often stopped, looked and laughed. They must have been really bored.
After Mrs. Singh, a couple and their two kids passed by. The woman was carrying the baby in a carrier, and the little girl was riding circles around her parents on a small bike with training wheels. When they got to the part of the road in front of Isaac’s house, the girl got off her bike and grabbed her dad’s hand. She made him hop along the hopscotch court with her. By the end they were both laughing, and I couldn’t help but smile. Finished, the girl got back on her bike.
“You are sooo good on your bike,” Isaac called out. The little girl beamed.
“Thank you for doing all of this,” the father said. “This is one of Claire’s highlights every night.”
“You’re welcome,” Isaac said. “And your family passing by is one of my highlights.”
The whole family waved goodbye and continued on their way.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said.
“Do what?”
“You just seem so positive all the time.”
Isaac shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’m not smart enough to be as worried as I should be. Now you, Quinny, are a different thing.”
“I’m not—”
“Stop it. Do I have remind you how well I know you? I know you get scared and anxious about things, but I also know you don’t let that stop you from doing what needs to be done. So on a scale of one to ten, how worried are you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know…a seven? Mostly about my father.”
“You should be. Wait, that sounded wrong. What I mean is, I understand why you’re worried. Your dad is on the front lines. It’s only natural that you’d be worried. How bad are things getting?”
“I don’t see him much. Our conversations are either on the phone or with me on the landing and him at the bottom of the stairs.”
“I heard the cases are going up day by day. Really going up.”
“I’ve been watching the news, and I know the numbers are increasing, but I can’t watch too much of it…well, I just can’t.”
The numbers were going up—of new cases, of people going to hospital and, worse, of people dying. Every day there were more.
“But they’re just numbers. Your father sees people. That makes it different. I’ve heard about shortages. Are they running out of equipment and PPE at the hospital?” Isaac asked.
“No. I don’t think so. Who did you hear that from?”
“You’re not the only one who watches the news. Has your father mentioned anything about that?”
“No, he hasn’t.” Not that he would. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore.
Isaac must have picked up on that. He got up from his chair. “Do you want to go for a walk? Keeping our distance, of course.”
“Where to?”
“Just around. I need to move my legs.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
I walked on the sidewalk and Isaac stayed on the road, a few feet away from me. When we came to other people, we nodded or said hello and then moved far enough aside to let them pass.
We went for a ways along the same path we had taken to see Reese’s grandmother, then turned toward our local shopping strip. That’s where the grocery store was, along with McCormick’s Bakery and the ice-cream shop we went to after soccer games.
“I’d kill for a rocky road triple scoop right now,” Isaac said. “How can ice cream not be considered an essential service?”
“You know, everything seems so normal. Well, except for the lineup.” I motioned to the people queued up outside the grocery store.
“See how they’re spaced out?” Isaac asked. “That’s the way they’re supposed to be doing it. My mother says that sometimes people aren’t doing the right things. The police got called for the toilet-paper wars.”
“I heard about that on the news, but I didn’t know it had happened here.”
“Three squad cars. It was so crazy they almost had to make arrests because people were fighting over toilet paper. My mother said it only proved what she’s always believed, that some people are full of crap.”
We made a turn into the park and passed the empty playground. Swings were now tied together with cords so they wouldn’t work, and yellow caution tape surrounded the whole thing. Farther along were the tennis and basketball courts. The nets and rims had been removed. Beyond that were the soccer fields. Where once there would have been multiple games going on, there was only a father and daughter, kicking a ball back and forth.
“Do you think it’ll ever go back to the way it was?” I asked.
“It changed so fast. I can’t see why it can’t change back fast too.”
“I heard we have to wait until they find a vaccine.”
“I’m sure there are lots of smart people working on it,” Isaac said. “Sometimes you just have to have faith.”
Chapter Nine
I heard the garage door open and put down my books. Schoolwork could wait. My mother was home. I ran down the hall and opened the door that led into the garage. My mom had parked on the driveway and was climbing out of her car.
“Hey, Mom, how was shopping?”
“I never thought buying groceries could be so exciting and scary at the same time.” She popped open the trunk and grabbed some bags.
“Here, let me help,” I said as I ran toward her.
“No!” she practically shouted. I skidded to a surprised stop. “Sorry—I mean, no, I don’t want you to touch them. But if you want, you can sit on the steps and keep me company.”
I backed away and sat down. I watched as Mom started removing bags and placing them on the floor of the garage.
“Was it crowded?”
“There was a lineup outside. It looked longer than it was because everybody was standing six feet apart. Once I got in, it wasn’t that bad. Just so different.”
I hadn’t been able to go shopping with her because only one person from a family was allowed to go into the store.
“Between the one-way arrows for the aisles, people staying apart, plexiglass shields at the cash registers and, of course, gloves and masks, it’s all so surreal.” She gestured to the white mask still hanging around her neck.
“You sure bought a lot of stuff, Mom.”
“Yes, it’s amazing how much you need to last two weeks,” she said as she kept pulling out bags. “It’s not more than we’d normally buy, but it’s all at once. I made sure to get only what we need so there’d be plenty left for other people.”
“Dad says that’s how everybody should be doing it.”
“He’s right.”
“Is he coming home tonight?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, honey. He never knows how his day is going to go until it’s done.”
Once all the bags were out of the car, my mother started taking items from them and spreading them out on the floor in little groups—meat, milk, fruit and vegetables, cans, cartons and boxes, and frozen items.
“I’ve always thought the hardest part of shopping was putting stuff away when you got home. Now it’s even harder,” she said.
She started moving items to a big blue Tupperware container. These were things that didn’t need to be refrigerated and could be stored for a few days. That way any virus on those items would die just by sitting there.
Next she started to bring frui
t and vegetables over to the counter by the laundry sink.
“How was school today?” she asked.
“Same as always. It’s not too bad, but I’m really tired of all this.”
She ran hot water and put in some soap. As the sink filled up, she continued to bring over more items.
“I think we’re all tired of everything, but it’s just the way it is right now.”
“I know. But I miss my friends.”
“I know it’s hard, honey. We’re missing so much. But what I miss more than anything is your father being here with us. He’s working so hard to keep all of us safe. We need to be grateful for the people who are missing seeing their families in order to keep everyone safe.”
I felt selfish for being so upset about not seeing my friends. I missed my dad so much. But I hadn’t really thought about how much he missed us.
Mom started dipping fruits and vegetables in the sink and scrubbing them with a little brush. She rinsed off each item with fresh water and placed it on the counter until she was finished. Next she started bringing over milk cartons and containers of yogurt and packaged salads. She wiped them all down with the soapy solution.
“Do you think everything you’re doing is necessary?” I asked.
“It can’t hurt, right?” She looked at me. Maybe she could see I was feeling anxious, because she asked, “How are you doing, Quinn?”
“Fine.”
“Really?”
I let out a big breath. “I get nervous sometimes, but who doesn’t? I think I’m doing okay, don’t you?”
“I think you’re doing amazing. It can be pretty overwhelming.”
Overwhelming was the perfect word. That was how I felt sometimes. I had trouble getting to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. When was it ever going to end? Right there in the garage, I felt my lower lip start to quiver. My mother didn’t need to see that. She had enough to worry about. I was glad her attention was on the groceries and not on me.
“Tell me more about how the online learning is going.”
“Not sure if there’s much to tell. Some of the assignments are okay, and others, well, they’re as useless as always.”
“It must be difficult for your teachers,” she said.
“I know the teachers are trying. It’s just hard for us to focus on math or science when there’s so much happening out there in the real world.”
“What kind of assignment would you like to do instead?”
“Well, we had one about what it meant to flatten the curve and I really liked that. So, for example, what if when we do stats, it was about COVID-19? Couldn’t we be studying the virus in science? What about writing in our journals about how this feels to us?”
“Wouldn’t it make it harder if more of your school assignments were about the virus?” my mother asked. “Don’t you want to get away from it sometimes?”
“There is no getting away from it! I think having more information, talking about it, will make it better. I get anxious about things I don’t understand.”
“Well, maybe you can suggest some of those ideas to Miss Fernandez. She’s good about things like that, isn’t she?”
“I guess so.”
“I’m glad you’re spending time with Isaac,” she said. “It must be hard for him being alone so much.”
“We keep each other company. Besides, he doesn’t do well without an audience.”
“It was nice that he joined us for lunch the other day.”
“Yeah,” I said, getting up. I had had enough of this serious talk. “I better get going on my schoolwork.”
“Thanks for offering to help with the groceries,” my mom said. “Sorry if I barked at you.”
“That’s okay. I understand.”
“I’m just trying to keep you safe. But it was nice talking to you. I think you should talk to Miss Fernandez about doing something more real as an assignment.”
“I’ll think about it. And…Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for everything.”
Chapter Ten
I settled onto the landing of the stairs. I balanced my plate on my lap. My father took a seat at the bottom, twelve steps away. Even from here I could see how marked his face was from the mask. And his hands were raw. He was washing and sanitizing his hands so often that the alcohol was irritating the skin.
“How’s my Q-Cat? It’s nice to have you join me for dinner.”
“It is nice.” We weren’t sitting together, but it still felt good.
“I was hoping your mother would join us. I’m surprised she’s still working.”
“I’m surprised you’re not,” I replied without thinking. I’d only meant that he wasn’t usually home for dinner.
“I’m sorry. It must be tough for you to have both of us being so busy. So many people aren’t working right now, and the two of us seem to be working harder than ever.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything. I know what you’re doing is important. And hard.”
“Does it show that much?” He rubbed his hands against the creases in his face.
“I didn’t just mean the marks.”
We sat and ate in silence for a while. Was he trying to figure out what to say or was he just too tired to say anything?
“You know, this time here with you,” he said, “helps remind me why I’m doing this.”
I wondered if I should bother him with the things I’d been worried about. I decided I had to ask. “Dad?”
“What is it, Q-Cat?”
“I’ve been seeing things on the news and…well, I just wondered if the hospital has enough PPE for everyone.”
“We’re taking every precaution to keep us safe. We have enough at the hospital for now. The real concern is in places like nursing homes.”
“Like where Reese’s grandmother lives?”
“All long-term care facilities. They’re scrambling to provide equipment for their staff.”
“But that’s not fair. Everything I’ve seen on the news and the internet says that old people are the most at risk.”
“It sounds like you’re spending a lot of time on the internet,” he said.
“I am, but what else is there to do?”
“Be careful. There’s a lot of misinformation out there.”
“Am I wrong about the old people?”
“No. Older people and those with pre-existing medical problems, like heart conditions, diabetes or breathing difficulties, are at higher risk. A high percentage of the deaths have been people over seventy.”
Deaths. That was something he hardly ever mentioned.
“Have there been a lot of deaths at the hospital?”
“More than I’ve ever seen.” His words were quiet, his voice so serious. “It’s important that we keep doing what we’re doing to flatten that curve of new infections.”
“Is it working?”
“It’s not flat yet, but it’s flattening. We just have to keep doing the right things. Some people think this is the time to relax, but it’s not. If you’re racing downhill and you’re trying to slow down enough that you don’t crash, you don’t take your foot off the brake. We need to press down harder.”
“That makes sense.” There was something else I wanted to ask him, but I wasn’t sure how to ask it. Maybe I’d go around it a bit. “Are people scared at the hospital?”
“Patients or staff?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Patients are scared because of what they don’t know. Staff are scared because of what they do know.”
“Are you scared, Dad?” That was what I really wanted to know.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
“Don’t you sometimes feel like you just don’t want to go to work?”
“Some days. But I don’t have a choice. No more than those people working at the grocery store, or the aides at the nursing homes, or police officers, paramedics—there are so many of us. These are our jobs. Do you still think yo
u might want to be a doctor when you grow up?”
“More than ever.”
“If you were a doctor, would you stop doing your job?”
“No—at least, I don’t think I would. I hope I wouldn’t be too scared,” I said.
“If being scared stopped us, then almost nobody would be there. Maybe the fear makes us work even safer.”
My mother suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. “Is it too late to join you two?”
“We’re pretty well finished, but having you join us is the best dessert I can imagine,” my father said.
“I have to disagree. Did you know that McCormick’s Bakery started home delivery?”
“You don’t mean...?” I think my dad’s grin was bigger than mine.
“I had a pineapple upside down cake dropped off at the door. Surprise! I’m going to go get a piece for everybody.”
Chapter Eleven
Miss Fernandez was talking, and I was trying hard to stay focused. Her face was in a square in the center of the screen, and there were eighteen other little squares around it—our entire class.
As she talked, I stared at her. She was dressed in a gray sweatshirt. It had a little stain by the collar. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her hair was messy. Behind her I could see a picture on the wall, a bookcase and a cluttered table. Sometimes her cat jumped up onto her desk and joined the class. He hadn’t appeared yet today, and I missed him.
My square on the screen was in the middle and toward the bottom. I was grateful that it wasn’t big enough for others to see more than my face and a little bit of my clothing. I was still wearing my pajama bottoms. I wondered if Miss Fernandez was too.
I looked from square to square, locating my friends and classmates. Reese was on the left. She’d asked a few questions. Isaac was close to the top. He would be there for a while, gone briefly and then reappear. I pictured him wandering around his house the way he normally wandered around the class.
“I will be emailing the assignment,” Miss Fernandez said. “You have until Friday afternoon to send in the completed work. Are there any questions?”
A number of people electronically “raised” their hands. I did too. She started addressing them person by person, unmuting each microphone so we could all hear the question. Some students asked things they should have known if they’d been listening. Some things didn’t change whether we were in class or in a Zoom session.
