Quarantine Days

 

    I didn't wake up to the sound of an alarm anymore. Honestly, I hadn't even bothered setting one up, no need to anymore. The thought of this would've been novel two years ago, exciting even. No need to drag yourself out of the warm caverns of bedsheets and shrivel in the inhospitable chill of the morning air! No longer would you hiss at the opening of a curtain, acquainting you once more with the knowledge of an outside world! What fun! Aren't you happy? You are, aren't you? You can stay basking in the heat, curling into yourself with the languid air of a cat settling down for the fourth nap of the day. It's all you ever wanted, in those quiet hours when the sun had yet to rise, a life of stillness where the burden of time ceases to weigh on your inconsequential shoulders. It was a luxury to exist so perfectly stationary. And yet, that is how I lived. It's how everyone lived. 

    The first time I heard of COVID, I was swinging my feet under the science room's new table, freshly funded and lacking the usual smudges of graphite. Smooth and sterile, there was no evidence of invisible hands in fleeting fingerprints, and the surface still carried a faint scent of disinfectant-lemon. I didn't miss the old table; it was worn and had a bad leg, so every time you rested your arms, the table would rattle with contempt. But I was disappointed when there was no longer a sketched eye in the corner to gawk at, semi-realistic with full, dark lashes and a somber black iris, a silent spectator. I admired the artist of that eye, though I didn't know who they were. My teacher was projecting news of recent scientific discoveries, pacing the room and pointing, with varied levels of excitement, at the clips flashing by. The longest news segment by far was of a virus discovered in China, narrated by an even-toned reporter with a staunch voice. People were getting sick, wearing masks to walk down the block to the nearest convenience store, talk of shutting down airport activity was rampant, far away, nonexistent from where I was sitting. The class trickled by uneventfully and leaked into lunch, which always ended with unfinished carrot sticks and sticky, lonesome raisins crowding the bottom of the packet. 

    The change was imperceptible, the only sign a schoolwide email glittering in inboxes: Classes will be online the coming week; we'll keep you updated. In the absence of a phone, I exchanged fervent messages with my friends through Gmail, sending two, three, five at the same time.

THIS IS SO CRAZY!!!!! ISN'T IT SO CRAZY?!?!

I KNOW I KNOW! SO CRAZY!!!

What do you think happened?!?!?

I don't know! It got worse, I guess??

Huh, well, see you next week!!

See you!!

    One week turned into two weeks, melted into three weeks, dribbled into four weeks. Tentatives had become certainties. Every time I glanced outside my window, the streets seemed emptied. I wasn't sure why; there weren't fewer people, my neighbourhood had always been quiet. The school year ended, just like that; one morning, I woke with the recognition that I had somewhere to be. The next, I woke to a void, a vast stretch of obscurity. We still had a half day, virtually, of course, as per tradition, to mark the closure of our first year of middle school. It didn't feel different from every other day. Wasn't it supposed to? I thought it would be. Barefoot, I padded down my wood-tiled entryway to peek through the blinds. There were only hollow roads, hollow pavements, hollow air whistling between leaves.

    When I was younger and racing with other children on the mulch of a nearby park, the sun's rays were the first to graze my shoulder with their golden fingers. No matter where I ran, its mellow embrace seeped into my skin, alighting my spine with a delicate wildfire, all-consuming, inevitable. Here, I had finally outrun the sun. It cannot reach me in these fortified walls, tall and chalk white. The victory did not taste sweet; summer's cradle was dull without the crowning jewel of its star. 

    I rarely went out anymore, what for? There was nothing waiting outside. Nothing waiting inside either. Only blank space you could temporarily abate by eating or bathing or sleeping. Sometimes it helped to watch the clock count down the seconds. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.