Pandemic Walk

24 Pandemic Walk first edit 4/3 4:00 PM

I was sitting in my apartment, staring out the window. Yesterday, I was sitting in my apartment, staring out the window. The day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Ten days quarantining myself, along with everyone else at Van Schoonhoven Senior Apartments. I used to walk everyday. A half a mile to the village, stop at McGreivey's for beer, and a half mile back. I was doing pretty good. But I haven't walked in ten days. I have a hard time getting out of my chair and walking to the bathroom now. I need to walk. I need to keep moving.

This sitting around stuff can't be good for me. When I get up, my joints ache. I should go for a walk. You won't get any argument from me. Really? That's a first. Well, because for once in your life you're not wrong, that's the first. Just shut up. Fine. Fine.

I looked out the window. It was sunny. The sky was blue. I looked at the weather app on my phone. It was 52 degrees, forecast to go to 56. Damnit, I'm going for a walk. To hell with this quarantine.

I got up from my chair with difficulty. Everything from my hips down hurt. I hobbled to the closet. Which coat? Well, I think I'll just wear a tee-shirt with my lined jacket over it. And a baseball cap instead of my wool Irish tweed cap. That should do it. I grabbed my wallet and keys, and my cane and camera, and out I went.

“Why hello Mr. Gibson!”

“Hello Mrs. Sciocetti,” I answered.

“Going for a walk are we?”

“Yes. We're going for a walk,” I said too quickly, cutting her off. That wasn't nice. At all. So I stopped.

“I haven't seen you leave since the quarantine started,” said Mrs. Sciocetti, staying the required six feet away.

“No,” I replied, “I'm trying to follow the rules, but I think I should be able to go for a walk if I don't stop anywhere or talk to anybody.”

“I think that would be fine,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “We all trust each other to follow rules.”

“Well, I'm glad,” I said, “but yesterday, my door buzzer went off. I answered it. It was UPS. Without thinking, I hit the button to unlock and open the door. As soon as I did it, I knew it was wrong. I ran out my door and I met him at the outside door to the building. I told him that I would take my packages, and he said that he had them on his hand truck and ran down the hall to my apartment, number five. I ran after him. I opened the door to my apartment as he was setting packages down. I pushed them inside with my foot. I reached to grab the remaining packages on the hand truck and he said they weren't for me and went rushing down the hall. So I think I broke some rules.”

“Well, yes it does,” said Mrs. Sciocetti. “But let's pray that he and his packages didn't have any viruses.”

“I washed my hands right away, for more than the twenty seconds they recommend,” I responded weakly. “I hope everyone did.”

“Oh, I'm sure they did, Mr. Gibson. Now you don't worry about it and go for your walk,”

“We will,” I replied and went out the door.

No Richie. Good. I don't want to ride, I want to walk. I need to walk. Don't get me wrong, I truly appreciate him giving me rides. I don't understand how he just shows up like he does. And why isn't he here today? Is it the quarantine? Is he afraid of the virus? Is he sick?

I was at the end of the driveway. I took a right down Middletown Road/Sixth Street... I need to find out where the road ends and the street begins... and I shuffled along. The road/street was as busy as ever, it seemed. It took me several blocks before I could cross the street down close to the church hall. Damn kids were driving too fast and I was walking too slow. I had to cross when absolutely no one was in sight, and even then I had to pick up my pace. But I made it.

I hung a louie at Division Street and headed down the hill. St. Mary's School is closed. Just like all of the other schools. And I read that they won't open anytime soon. Governor Cuomo is going to waive the 180 mandated school days requirement. That's a good thing. Cuomo's doing an outstanding job, all things considered, I think. In spite of all of the disorganization at the federal level. He is rising to the occasion. For one of the few times in my life, I admire a politician. He's good.

Coumo said to congress "This was the time to put politics aside and partisanship aside. This is the time for governmental leaders to stop making excuses and just do your job. Do your job. We're one nation."

Strong words.

As I got to the bottom of the Division Street hill at Fourth Street, a woman came up Fourth and took a left onto Division Street. “Six feet!” I said with a smile. She smiled back. It was a weak smile. It was my lame stab at humor. I think she understood that, but she didn't think it was so damn funny.

I got close to Broad Street. The Valero was open. Two kids rode up on bicycles and went inside. Kids have no clue. Social distancing kids! They didn't hear me because I didn't actually say it out loud. But I thought it.

McGreivey's kitchen was going great guns. I could smell the cooking and it smelled real good. Good for them. The Fordian folks are doing as best they can to patronize local businesses. They know their friends and neighbors are hurting. Without the allowed take-out and delivery, these places would be gone pretty quickly. From my years in business, I know that the bills keep coming in. Sure, maybe you stopped your advertising, which in turn hurts those businesses. Maybe you laid employees off and such, but bills come in and income doesn't.

This crisis brings out the worst in some people, but the best in most people. I firmly believe that.

When I got to the intersection of Fourth and Broad Streets, I stopped. I looked around. A fella across the street was walking his dog. Virus or not, dogs still have to be walked. There was a couple waiting across the street to cross Broad. I hope they live together. Social distancing! Quarantine! There were still many cars driving around. Could they all be going to essential jobs? Or doing permitted errands, like grocery shopping? I wonder. But since everything is closed, they must be.

I took a right. As I passed McGreivey's I noticed there was a handmade sign on the inside of the door. The instructions of how to call for pick-up meals was written on it. Part of the instructions, including the phone number, was obscured by grill-work on the door. I should tell Art McGreivey about that.

It was hard to believe, but walking up the slight hill towards St. Mary's church slowed my pace even more.

Everything was closed. The antique shop, the hair salon, the bakery, the sign shop, I've got a mule and her name is Sal..., even the rectory and St. Mary's church looked closed. Of course, I didn't check the church because that would involve climbing stairs... Wait! Don't tell me. Break a hip. Am I right? Just shut up.

Now I had to cross Broad Street again, and again people were driving just too darn fast! I got almost to the convent before I could cross, and at that I held up a car coming. Too bad, you can just wait a minute. I was gearing up to shake my cane at them, but then the car slowed way down. Almost stopped, waiting for me. As I looked at the driver, she gave me a friendly wave. I waved back friendly like. I'm not sure why. Virus and all, you know. Everybody is scared. Who has time to be friendly?

The rest of the walk was uneventful. I knew I was walking slow and I tried to pick up my pace. I tried, but I couldn't. Geez, I hope I make it. What happens if I can't take another step? Don't think about it. Just put one foot in front of the other. Step. Step. Step. Step.

I did that, and was on autopilot. I didn't think of anything. I just looked at my feet. It was like when I ran cross-country in high school. You stop thinking of anything. You just run. You run and breathe. Run and forget what hurts. You run. When you get passed, by another runner, you don't care. You run your own race as best you can.

And that's what I did. An before long at all, I was at the driveway into Van Schoonhoven Square Senior Apartments, and I took a left, and it was slightly downhill. Downhill. Yes! I've got this. I can do it.

As I got there, the mailman was leaving. I waved my key under the automatic sensor and the door opened. Without me touching it. I held my key as I made my way to my mailbox. I opened the mailbox door and I had mail. A catalog of all of the take-out and delivery businesses open. Well, that may come in handy.

I got to my apartment, tossed the magazine on a table to sit for a couple of days for any attached virus to die, and went to the bathroom to wash my hands while I sang the happy birthday song. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a monkey and you are one too. That takes about twenty seconds. You have to wash your hands for twenty seconds, the quarantine guidelines say.

Happy friggin' birthday.