Saturday, June 6, 2020

Pods from the giraffe tree litter the ground in the park on the way to the House of a Hundred Grandmothers. None of the pods appear to have split or sprouted. Maybe those that did have been taken away. It’s been more than three months since I’ve come through here. It’s been that long since I’ve been inside the House. The building has been under strict quarantine. It’s been tough for the people there, but it has worked. Unlike many such places, in all that time, no one has caught the virus. I come in and ride the elevator up several floors. The lights inside it are brighter than I remember. As usual, my family is in their small apartment. Just after I enter, the caregiver leaves for her first day off since the lockdown began. Had things gone as intended, she would be returning right now from her wedding in the Philippines. That’s been delayed, as have so many things in so much of the world. I sit across the room from my family, our masks still on. I’m wearing a generic surgical mask. It fits precisely enough that they tell me they can see my lips move through it. They can tell when I smile. I have dinner with them, masks off for the moment. We sit in a different order than usual. I sit farthest from the most fragile of us. When we are done, I turn and toss the trash from dinner in the garbage bin. The plastic chair I’m sitting in isn’t used to someone of my size twisting in it like that. The back legs snap off. I crash to the ground. I’m not hurt, but I can’t move. Someone else has to pull the fragments of the chair out from under me so I can get the leverage to stand up. We go back and sit in the living room. When it’s time for me to go, we step toward each other for the usual hug. We stop before we make contact, step back, and wave at each other. I take the other elevator down to the exit. The lights inside it are equally bright. In the hall, I look at the large fish tank, wondering if my favorite fish are still there. They aren’t. I realize that it’s been several months since I last touched another person.