I came back from upstate New York three months after I’d left Manhattan, forced out by the COVID-19 crisis. On my usually busy street that night there was only one moving car, two pedestrians, and a lone bicyclist. It was spooky. The drive down had been frightening. During the two and half hour trip, my son and I’d driven through both tornado and hail zones, and encountered torrential rain and fog.
After that, the lobby of my building was an oasis of peace, but when I turned the key and entered my apartment I found a disaster. Because I’d had to pack in a rush, supplies were scattered all over, and the ever-present oily dust of the city covered every surface. The AC had been turned off. It was sweltering.
I was thirsty. When I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the filtered water pitcher, a terrible odor hit me. I grabbed the pitcher, quickly closed the door, and poured a glass, then took a gulp. I gagged and spit it into the sink. The taste was horrific! How had someone entered the apartment and put poison in the pitcher? And who would want to poison me anyway? Those were my first wild thoughts. I summoned courage and opened the door again. I’d had no time to empty the contents of three small bowls. I could see through the plastic covers, that the food in them had rotted--so much so that I couldn’t identify what they once had been.
For three days I struggled to rid the refrigerator of the odor. Somehow it had managed to seep through the packages, even those in the freezer, tainting every item and making them inedible. I spent hours throwing food away and wiping down every surface. Then repeating the procedure.
To add to my growing despair, my beloved old coffee pot had collapsed. It still bubbled away, but the product that dribbled out in little gasps was dark and thick. I continued to make it, not because it was tasty (I often took just a few sips, then dumped it out), but in an attempt to return to some sense of routine and normalcy.
It was three days before I stepped out onto my terrace. Had my plants survived all that time without any care, I wondered. The ivy was thriving. The jade plant was a healthy deep green. Some weeds, growing in the same pot, were a bit bedraggled because rain water hadn’t reached them. I was about to go back into my apartment to fetch my trowel, when I heard a commotion. The ringing bells, whistles, and cheers were part of the daily recognition given to those fighting the COVID-19 virus. TV newscasts had featured the new tradition, but this was the first I was there for it. I smiled and joined in, clapping and cheering along with my neighbors. When all was quiet again, I filled my water can.