The End of the Isolation

I read a short story once about a young man who was quarantined in an egg-shaped pod. He had a television, or some type of sci-fi device like our cell phones, and it showed that the world outside was a huge crush of people. The only way to live was to stay inside your pod. The man eventually cannot take life in quarantine, so he risks all and steps outside. It is empty and silent. There is no one but him. He walks the open city and he cannot believe he was lied about going outside. He had seen the video stream of everyone outside, crushed together and dying. Where were they? How long had he let the threat isolate him?

At the time I read the story, I was in high school. Teenagers never have enough freedom. The longer the rope, the quicker they hang themselves with it, so they lose either way. We had super cool kids at my high school.  They had cars. They had freedom. They had a private cabin where they could gather. That lasted until they mistakenly flagged down a cop car thinking it was their buddy who went to buy more beer.

We were living like those teenagers before the pandemic. Need a birthday present? No problem. Just a ten minute stop at the big box bonanza and you are ready to drop child and package off at the party. That screeching noise you hear is the sudden stop to convenience. Many of my internet ordered gifts were late this year. It took planning. Planning–that’s an old English word that means you had to think about it. When this began, we could only think of toilet paper. We were so used to whatever, whenever, we couldn’t think what we might actually need, but we remembered hurried trips for TP, so we bought that.

Now, we see the old us and we wonder about people who must have a television show on demand. Someone wrote on the internet that they had an entire day when they did not take a picture of anything. And that was much better than some of the photos people did take—of their feet or some other nonsensical, thought challenged sight. But we are learning. When this began, I found I had elastic and fabric enough to start making masks right away. Now, I have traded elastic and fabric and ordered more elastic twice. Our just-in-case became a real need. We are like the person who is so busy they don’t notice the glass door is closed. We smashed into this carrying hot coffee and singing a tuneless song. But it can be good for us. Many of us are better acquainted with our children, our mates, and our neighbors. We value things like sitting in church, shopping in a real store, or being waited on to have a meal. I’ve learned to make masks, custard, and yummy potatoes baked with French onion soup.

I hope we emerge from our pods a little slower, and a bit more considered.  Our teenagers grow up. A strange virus from another land is teaching us it is time for us to do the same.