by Eric Walters
“Why? Do they think we won’t be going back to school?” Isaac asked.
“Who knows? But they’re trying to learn how to use something called Zoom to talk to their students.”
“I know Zoom. It’s a platform you can use to talk to lots of people at once,” Isaac explained.
“My parents both think it seems like a lot of work to make up for a few lost days of school,” Reese said. “They think this will all be over soon.”
She was right. It was a lot of work for a few missed days of school. But from what I’d heard, it could be a lot more than a few days. My father wasn’t telling us much about what was happening at the hospital, but he was leaving earlier and coming home later. Most nights he wasn’t even home by the time I went to bed. I missed our meals together and just hanging out with him and giving him a bedtime hug.
While my father was home less, my mother was home more. The bank had most of the staff working from home if they could. Mom had turned the spare bedroom into a little home office. We had an office in the basement, but because Dad was down there, she couldn’t use it.
“How old is your grandmother?” Isaac asked.
“She’ll be turning eighty-four in a few weeks.”
“I’ve met her before, right? Doesn’t she make those killer ginger cookies?”
“Yes! She used to live over on Chestnut, but it got too hard for her to run her own place. She’s had some bad luck.”
Reese had told me that her grandma had fallen a couple of times and that she’d left a pot on the stove once and caused a little fire.
“She’s gotten a little forgetful,” Reese said. “But she’s still good.”
The building was just up ahead. It was almost new, red brick and seven stories high. There were gardens with flower beds, grass where residents could sit and paths for them to walk on or be pushed along in wheelchairs. I had been here before. It was nice inside too—it reminded me of a Holiday Inn. Reese’s grandmother had a unit on the second floor, with a window looking out on the gardens.
We put our bikes off to the side of the front door. Reese grabbed the door and pulled. “It’s locked,” she said, surprised. “It’s never locked.”
In the window was a handmade sign.
Effective Immediately — Absolutely NO Visitors
“What does that mean?” Reese asked.
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Isaac said. “They’re not letting people visit.”
“But I want to see my grandmother.”
A nurse appeared at the door. She clicked the lock off and opened the door ever so slightly.
“I’m here to see my grandmother, Jennie Ellis.” “Sorry, as of midnight last night, we’re closed to visitors as a precaution. We don’t want any of the residents to contract the virus.”
“But we don’t have it,” Reese said.
“We can wait outside and Reese can go in alone,” I offered.
“Sorry. There are no exceptions.”
“My grandmother is all right, isn’t she?” Reese asked.
“Everybody is fine. We’re in the process of notifying family members about visits being canceled. Again, sorry.”
She pulled the door closed and locked it again.
“I just want to see her,” Reese said. She looked like she was close to tears.
My father had told us there had been an outbreak in a couple of nursing homes, but I couldn’t say that to Reese. I didn’t want her getting even more upset.
“Old people are the ones most at risk, so it’s a good thing they’re doing this. It’s to protect her. That’s good, right?” I said.
“I guess. I wish I could say hello.”
“Which unit is hers?” Isaac asked.
“Two fourteen. Around the back.”
“And all of them have balconies, right?”
“Yes...”
“Call her and tell her to go out on the balcony,” Isaac said.
Reese took out her phone and punched in the numbers as we walked to the back of the building.
“Hello, Gran, it’s me—it’s Reese! Could you go out on your balcony?” I couldn’t hear her answer. “It’s a surprise. Just go. Okay…okay, bye.”
We got to the back in time to see her grandmother appear at the railing of her balcony. We stopped right underneath her.
“Gran, it’s me!” she yelled.
“Reese! Why don’t you come up? I have cookies for you!”
“They won’t let us in!” Reese said.
“Just go in the door. It’s around the other side. Just come in.”
“Reese, I don’t think she understands,” I said quietly.
Reese nodded. “You’re right.” She looked up at her grandmother. “Gran, my friends and I were just passing by and wanted to say hello.”
Isaac started waving and yelled, “Hello!” and I did the same.
“We have to go, Gran,” Reese said. “I love you. See you soon.”
“I love you, my angel. Goodbye! Love you.”
She disappeared from view, and we heard the sliding door above us close.
“That was hard, really hard,” said Reese.
“But you saw her, and she saw you. I’m sure this whole thing won’t last long, and soon you’ll be able to visit her again,” I said.
I hoped what I’d said was comforting to Reese. But I wasn’t sure I believed it.
Chapter Six
My mom was doing much of the cooking now, since she was home most of the time. Sometimes I made dinner, but usually I just helped out. We always made up a serving for my father. We put his meal on a paper plate—with a second one covering it—and left it on the landing of the stairs. He used the microwave in the basement to heat it up.
“This looks, um, creative,” I said as I looked at the dish on the table.
“It’s my version of Mexican chicken delight. But I think I made it a little bit too spicy.”
“I’m just going to grab some water for us.” I got up and went to the fridge. I brought back a big pitcher and filled our glasses. “Did you do anything interesting today?”
“If you consider six hours of conference calls interesting, then I’m having a great time,” said Mom. “What about you? Did you do anything fun?”
“I went for a bike ride with Reese and Isaac to see Reese’s grandmother.”
“The one in the home?” my mother said.
“Yeah, but they wouldn’t let us in.”
“That’s not surprising. Your dad told me there’s going to be an announcement tomorrow morning about all long-term care residences going on lock-down. Guess they got a jump on it. The virus is especially dangerous for the elderly, and staff have to do everything they can to keep them safe.”
“Right,” I said. I tried not to think about Reese’s gran and how awful it would be if she got sick.
“The government is also going to require all nonessential services and businesses to close down temporarily,” Mom continued.
“Nonessential?” I repeated.
“Grocery stores, gas stations and pharmacies, as well as hospitals, obviously, are considered essential services. They will remain open. Everything else, like clothing stores, malls, barbershops, hair salons and gyms, will be closed as of the end of business day tomorrow.”
“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t think things would get this bad.”
“Yes. And now we all have to do what we can to ‘flatten the curve’—to slow down the spread.”
“This is really serious, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes, honey, it really is.”
I expected her to say more, but she didn’t.
“How many people have died?”
“There have been deaths around the world.”
“But here at dad’s hospital?”
“More than he expected. The steps I just mentioned are being taken to try to get in front of it. They’re doing all the right things.” She paused. “And there’s one other thing you should know about that will be an
nounced tomorrow, Quinn. They’re going to delay the opening of schools for another two weeks.”
“Two more weeks!” I had been happy about the longer spring break at first. But I really missed my friends. I even missed being in class and doing assignments.
“Yes, but the email I got from your principal explained that your teachers have been working hard at setting up a system so that you can do your classes from home.”
So that’s what Reese was talking about. I was actually looking forward to hearing more about it. And it would be nice to be in class with my friends again, even if it was only on my computer.
“Let’s leave the rest of this talk for later,” said Mom. “Dig in! And tell me, do you think your dad will like my surprise Mexican chicken delight?”
Chapter Seven
I walked out of the house and took a deep breath. Deep breaths were good. They calmed me down. We’d started online classes this week, and I’d just finished a lesson with Miss Fernandez. I didn’t know why I found the Zoom sessions so stressful. Was it that I was staring at everybody? No, it was that I felt like they were all staring at me.
My father had left before I’d gotten up. I’d heard him go. My bedroom was right above the garage, and I could always hear the motor of the automatic opener purring and then the door itself grinding and groaning as it opened or closed.
My mother was upstairs in her new office, working away. She was wearing earbuds, so she couldn’t really hear me, but she was speaking so loudly I could hear her throughout the entire house. I’d seen her briefly at breakfast, but that was about it before she’d headed upstairs to start work.
I looked around. Our street had never been what you’d call busy, but today there was absolutely nothing happening. Nobody out walking their dog, nobody on their bike, no cars. It was like an episode of The Walking Dead, minus the zombies.
“How’s it going?”
I jumped up into the air and almost out of my skin. Isaac.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He was sitting in a lawn chair right in front of his garage.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Probably the same as you,” he said. “Taking a break. How’s everybody doing at your place?”
“My mother’s working from home, but I hardly ever see her, and my father is working so much he’s hardly ever home.”
“Same here,” Isaac said. “My mom working so much, I mean.”
“I thought the police wouldn’t be so busy with everybody staying home.”
“There’s been a few break-ins at stores that are closed. And it’s not always easy getting people to follow the new rules about not gathering in parks and public places.”
“How did you like today’s lesson?”
“I hate Zoom.”
“You hate that Miss Fernandez figured out how to mute everybody’s microphone,” I said.
“I don’t like that she learned how to mute my microphone.”
“I think she might want to figure out how to keep doing that when we go back to our regular classroom.” I was giving him a hard time, but the truth was, I missed his fooling around in class. He always made me laugh.
“Don’t give her ideas. I just want to go back to school.”
“You? The guy who cheered for the longer break?”
“Yeah, but it’s been so long that I’m missing school. Well, at least, I’m missing playing sports and hanging with my friends and joking around and having lunch together and—”
“So nothing to do with actual learning.”
“School has almost nothing to do with school,” Isaac declared.
We saw someone come around the corner on a bike. As the person got closer, I realized it was better than “someone”—it was Reese! Isaac got out of his chair, and we both walked down our separate driveways toward the road. Reese stopped in front of my house—a safe six feet away. It was amazing how quickly we’d gotten used to the new rules.
“Hey, Reese,” I said.
“Hey. It’s so nice to be outside! I like the quiet. Do you know what it’s like to have both parents at home trying to work?”
“Twice as bad as having one?” I offered.
“It feels like one of those exponential things, way more than double. All the teachers are trying to figure out this online-education stuff as they go. And they also have to deal with parents telling them they’re doing it all wrong,” Reese said.
“Miss Fernandez is doing a pretty good job,” I said. “I don’t love the screen part, but she is making the class interesting.”
“I hate Zoom,” Isaac said.
“You hate that Miss Fernandez has figured out the mute button,” Reese countered.
Both Isaac and I started laughing. “Quinny just said the same thing. Am I that predictable?”
“These days you’re about the only thing that is predictable,” I said.
“Speaking of that,” he said. “Time to update.”
He pulled a piece of bright blue sidewalk chalk out of his pocket and walked onto the street. We watched as he added a stroke to mark the eleventh day.
“Has it really only been that long?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“It feels like it’s been forever.”
We all stood there—spread out—staring at the tally marks. The chalk on the driveway made it all seem more real.
“Is it just me or did you two find the assignment to explain flattening the curve totally confusing?” Isaac asked.
“No, I get it,” I said. “My mom was telling me about it last week.”
“I was a bit confused,” Reese admitted.
“Well, Quinny, maybe you could explain it to me,” Isaac said. “You did a great job last time. Remember? Back in the olden days, when we had a classroom?”
“I can try,” I said. “Go grab that cake pan your mom uses to make cinnamon buns, and a pitcher full of water and, um, an action figure of some kind.”
“You’re screwing with me, right?”
“Only one way to find out. Besides, are you doing anything else right now?”
“Point taken.” He ran into the house.
“It’s really good to see you,” Reese said.
“We were just on Zoom together!” I replied, surprised.
“Yeah, but it’s different in person. It’s nice to spend time face-to-face.”
“You’re right. It’s good to see you too. How’s your grandmother doing?”
“She’s okay, but they told us there are two staff and five residents who have contracted the virus now. They’re in isolation. We talk to Gran on the phone every day, but I wish we could see her.”
“I hope this doesn’t go on much longer.”
“Does anybody really know though?” Reese asked.
“That’s the worst part. How many more tally marks does Isaac have to add before it’s over?”
“Your father would know better than anybody, wouldn’t he?”
“Well, he’s saying nobody knows for sure, but he’s still certain we’re doing the right things.”
Isaac reappeared, carrying a plastic jug and the metal pan. He was going so fast that some of the water sloshed out of the pitcher and onto his pants. “Oh, great. Now it looks like I peed myself!” he cried. “Where do you want this stuff?”
“Put them both down on the driveway.” Reese and I watched him do that. “Now pour all the water from the pitcher into the cake pan.”
“There’s too much in here—it’ll overflow.”
“Just do it.”
Isaac picked up the pitcher and started to pour. He kept going until the pitcher was empty and the pan was full almost to the top.
“Wow. I didn’t think all that water would fit in there,” he said.
“It’s the same amount of water in both, but it’s spread out in the pan. That’s what it means to flatten the curve.”
“And why is that important?” he asked.
“Did you bring the action figure
?”
He pulled a small plastic Spider-Man out of his pocket.
“Make him stand up in the pan.”
“Again, are you just screwing with me?”
I smirked. He put the figure in the pan.
“See how the water is only up to his knees? What would happen if he was standing at the bottom of the pitcher? With the same amount of water in it?”
“Assuming he couldn’t swim, he’d be underwater, in big trouble,” Isaac said. “So what you’re saying is that we’re trying to flatten the curve so we don’t drown Spider-Man.”
“Or anybody, especially old people. And we have to make sure our hospitals don’t get too crowded, so doctors and nurses can take care of those who are infected.”
“I get it now. But boy, would you have looked stupid if I’d brought out Aquaman!”
“Ha ha. You’re the one who looks like he peed himself, and I’m the one who would look stupid?”
“I better get going,” Reese said. “Guess I’ll see you on Zoom.”
I wished I could give her a hug. I watched her ride off.
I turned to Isaac. “Hey, so I’m going in to make lunch for me and Mom. Do you want to join us?”
“You’re not inviting me in, are you?”
“Not inside. But Mom and I could eat in our backyard and you could eat in yours. Like a strange kind of picnic,” I said.
“Normally I’d tell you how lame that is.”
“And now?”
“This ain’t normal. See you in twenty minutes.”
Chapter Eight
“Good evening, Mrs. Singh, your dog is looking particularly nice today,” Isaac called out.
Mrs. Singh and her dog were walking by our houses. Isaac and I were sitting on our separate chairs on our separate driveways. Watching the world go by.
“Thank you, Isaac. I was the one who gave him his new haircut.”
“You did a great job,” I added. “Do you think you can loan Isaac’s mother your shears so she can do his hair?”
Mrs. Singh laughed. “He is looking a little bit shaggy. But aren’t we all?” She put her hands up to her center part. “Look at how my roots are showing!”
“I think that stripe looks cool,” said Isaac. “Have a great walk.”