I wrote this story about a year ago and I did not really plan to publish it. This story was just a way to ease the lockdown frustration. And I believed the terrible situation of 2020 and 2021 will not repeat. But here we go again.
“Don’t go out, Grandma. The groceries will come in a few hours. We ordered them, don’t worry. Just don’t go shopping Don’t talk to anyone at a close distance.”
Anne gripped the phone and bit her tongue. The muddy village street was empty. Her second daughter in law, Letty, repeated the explanation about online shopping and how a supermarket package should come right to Anne’s door.
“And put on the face mask when outside! And wash your hands when you touch something! Abbie! Don’t touch that, that’s Christopher’s homework!”
Scratching and thudding sounds reached her from the speaker. Letty shouted at her children and, breathless, returned to the phone.
“Dear, you keep repeating this over and over.” Anne stopped the ongoing safety instructions. “I haven’t been outside for a month. I will stay here, safe. Don’t worry.”
The kids screamed again and Letty shouted.
Anne quickly ended the phone call, rolled her eyes, and relaxed in the chair when the nervous and exhausted voice went silent.
But the silence filled her ears like the mud from the outside. Her neighbors’ windows were still dark. Anne found the phone number.
I shouldn’t call. The nurses have enough to do. They’ll call me once they feel better. Once they can… breathe.
The walls shrunk around her. She noticed a spider web on the ceiling.
Anne jumped up. Her knee and hips protested with a streak of pain.
White walls. Curtains that surely needed a wash. She hobbled to a cupboard and reordered her spice boxes. She washed the one plate and cup from breakfast. Her duck-shaped sponge annoyed her with its bright yellow color.
Silence.
She went upstairs. She rearranged her sewing kit. The walls seemed tighter also here. And the photos on the walls annoyed her with stillness. The familiar faces did not move or speak. And the photos from the trips and holidays hurt her. The bright sun on the lush leaves or white snow on a bench in a ski resort seemed to be from a different life.
She collected the curtains and the washing machine roared in the empty, shrinking house.
Anne cleaned the sink. She tried the radio. She turned it off in the middle of another pandemics briefing. She checked her cutlery.
Sixty pieces…
The spoons felt heavy.
That’s half of today’s death count in this town.
Her eyes blurred.
Silence.
Emptiness.
Loneliness.
Heavy rain diluted the mud outside. Her garden turned into a pool. Bare trees hid in the fog.
The young man in a green uniform gladly carried the supermarket packages to the front door and let Anne sign some paper. He moved swiftly. Anne watched his agile moves from a safe distance and asked about his day.
“A lot of work. But at least there’s work.” He laughed.
Other questions poured from her mouth. She saw impatience in his gestures but could not stop herself from asking more. Her glasses blurred in the cold rain. She did not dare to adjust her face mask.
She could not see the man’s features and she tried to guess whether he had a big nose. Or a mustache.
“And what about oranges? Are they good in this time of the year?” she inquired.
He inhaled sharply and straightened up.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t keep you. I…” Anne gripped her umbrella.
The young man’s eyes softened above his face mask. He raised his arm and made a step towards her. Then he stepped back.
“All will be well. Just stay safe. Order again and stay here. We all must wait. Summer will be better.”
Anne nodded. She quickly put a tip on the fence and rushed to the house. But she watched the young man take the money and her chest tightened when the van rode off and only the cold drizzle filled the street.
She went to another window. A bird flew through the weak rain.
How about a cat? Some lonely cat I could let inside. I was so stupid when I didn’t take that kitten from Anita this summer.
She checked all of her windows. Everything was still and empty. Her legs hurt but she kept looking outside.
She cried when she touched the groceries bags. Every single package reminded her of the life before. Of the talks with friends. Of the shared meals. Of the walks from the shop. Of her noisy grandkids loving fresh bread rolls and butter.
The packages of new garden cress seeds rustled in her wrinkled hand. She did not eat those petite leaves for years. Since her children left home. They loved the cress egg spread.
She sighed and put the package aside.
Maybe I’ll plant it tomorrow.
The radio went on about the pandemics. She gave it a five-minute chance to start about something else. It didn’t. She plucked it off.
Covid. I can’t hear that word one more time.
Glenn's Nest 