The Year of the Plague
If you were to tell me at the beginning of the year, I would have had my last dance class in February, I would have laughed in your face. If you were to tell me that it was my last dance class because of a disease that makes it impossible for us to breathe (you know, the most important aspect of dance) I would have thought that sounded a little bit like The Andromeda Strain, a rather-famous FICTION book by Michael Crichton, I read when I was 13.
Well here we are. I don’t have much to say. This year has been shit. I’ve spent the year waiting for dance to begin again. Which it hasn’t. I’ve been studying and applying to schools. I feel as if I have forgotten most of everything I once knew about dance at this point and it might be close to impossible to regain it all again.
I am currently sitting on the beige carpet in my room, right in front of the electric heater, watching the beginning of the Seattle rain outside of my bedroom window sighing and trying not to think about our current second wave of lockdowns. I am drinking a strawberry protein smoothie while studying, although I feel my thoughts wandering back to dance class over and over again. I look down at the navy and orange pinned striped house shoes I’m wearing, as I smile at the thought of normal times and when I had bought them at the local Japanese dollar store in downtown. Most all stores have closed and downtown is a boarded-up nightmare. A lot different than the bustling, pristine and prestigious city it once was.
My life isn’t anything like I thought it was going to be this year, or heck, the last ten-twenty years. My family had changed, friends had changed, my energy level…MAJORLY changed and I felt the ever present vice grip of the thirty something year old lingering decision of —to get married and have kids—tightening around my entire body.
*****
I watch the traffic roll haphazardly by, as everyone commuted to their holiday gatherings today, although we were instructed not to celebrate the holidays because of the virus. The street in front of my house sounded like a major highway opposed to the residential street it was.
The corner store opens at 8:00 and all the alcoholics — that live outside or up the street in strange housing — roll up around that time to get a 40 as they talk on their phone loudly and state that they have their lives together and how they are not going to get locked up again. Who they are talking to or trying to convince on the phone is a mystery, as they pop the top on their can and stagger up the street. This is the same corner store one of these outcasts attempted to murder a clerk, for no apparent reason, besides to rob the place. The lady was in her early seventies and a little rough around the edge, but none the less, she put up with working at that store all of these years. I was walking by that day. I had just got out of ballet that morning and I had saw her inside, watching soap operas on the television as I looked at her and thought how she was sweet and old lady like, despite her gruffness. An hour later, I saw a bunch of police officers outside and I went out front and saw a crumpled body laying on the ground as a passerby told me someone was definitely hurt. I saw glass all over the place and the inside was trashed with blood on the ground. A guy had came in and cornered her while she was stocking the shelves and beat her in the head 122 times with metal handcuffs (I’ll spare you other details, but it was premeditated). The Budweiser beer vendor happened to be coming in and couldn’t see through the door because it was boarded up because of a previous break in and he ripped open the other door as he started to tell something wasn’t right. He dragged the lady out of harm’s way and stopped the assaulter, along with the help of another passerby, by pushing the door shut until the police arrived. The vagrant then unsuccessfully tried to rob the store, panicked and fled on foot out of the back door and was caught a few minutes later. He said there was no motive. The lady miraculously survived and I saw her a few months later as she said hello while sheepishly looking around her. She told me she was moving and gave me a half smile and that was the last I ever saw of her.
Around 8:00 am is also the time when the construction workers appear out of nowhere, parking smack dab in the middle of the road, blocking free flowing traffic and blaring Christmas music while loudly unloading a bulldozer. I sigh as the ten minutes of peace and quiet I had on my front porch reading a book is shattered, yet again, by them. I can’t help but harbor unholiday-like thoughts, while watching them laughing erratically, at nothing. I asked if they were going to be here tomorrow, and they all ignored me, not even turning to acknowledge me. One guy (who must have been new) responded after seeing I was being ignored and said they would be off until Monday. I sigh with relief at the thought of a noise-free weekend. This would be the first time they will not be doing construction since the pandemic started ten months ago. The surrounding neighborhood yearned desperately for silence since we all have been stuck inside since February, unable to leave, and the construction workers have laughed and sang their way through their work, texting all day and maniacally crashing through the property with large machines, not caring at all about anyone besides themselves. Everyday, seven days a week, they appear out of thin air, in loud and lifted trucks that seemed more flashy than necessary, parking in our properties tenants parking spots and blocking the entire front of our building and the allies. I’m sure they were happy to be employed during this crisis, but never once did they take a weekend off and spent most of their time going to the corner store to get a lot of candy and soda (which I thought strange for grown men). The one that laughs a lot buys 40s. They have thick Eastern European accents. They have no care for anyone, or anything, and break all rules of noise ordinances by coming too early and leaving too late. They have become my quarantine arch nemeses, and I have more than once went over and explained people are working from home or were sick, could they please keep it down, while they looked at me with utter disregard saying they don’t speak English. I would glare back and say I have heard them speaking English every single day and wasn’t buying it for a second. (I mean who couldn’t hear them?! They were so loud!)
I also was quite uncertain why they were building the condos anyway. Everyone had left the once desirable and thriving neighborhood due to the pandemic in addition to the (rather poorly timed) collapsing bridge; the only outlet out of our neighborhood, turning our neighborhood into an instant island.
Where it was once impossible to buy a house or rent an apartment, now was flooded with vacancies and “Move In Specials” that it felt like a different neighborhood, altogether. Those units would sit desolate for the unforeseen future, just like the others surrounding them. NO ONE made it illegal to ban construction during lockdown when not a single person could leave and go anywhere else, and everyone was stuck working from home, at all hours.
**
I ate at least three-day-old dairy free mac and cheese with tuna and a glass of Cabernet, watching Sex and the City and zoning out. I would tire of my daily runs around the neighborhood, my daily smoothies and lifting weights aimlessly in my living room. I used these nights to paint my toenails and relish in adult hood, or as much as one can for a pandemic. I yearned for the old days, as much as the next person. I said hello to my neighbors every now and then. The ones who never spoke much, would bring my packages over. We were a bit of a cohort during this time and I enjoyed saying hello to them.
I would wander up the streets on my days off of working and studying to the coffee shop that is built inside of a house. Since the pandemic it has converted to a to-go window and a barren inside. I would say hello (although there was also loud construction being performed outside that coffee shop as well) and try to find some solitude by sitting on the far side of the outside tables, reading a book or writing down my thoughts for the week. I stared at the masked faces of the others, as their eyes revealed distress, defeat, hungover-ness, a joy of being outside and out of the house, or laughter at the sight of one of their friends…from 6 feet, as mandated.
This year is one for the books, I found myself thinking repetitively. Quite literally. Write it down, I would think. How it feels. What it looks like. The stages of progress and regress. That fleeting feeling of joy we had when got to see others for one whole month and it was snatched away again, as another lockdown was enacted. The closing of so many businesses that I thought would never close. My old coworkers calling to tell me how they are coping. My family going through their own waves of panic and then relief. The sitting inside and waiting. The fake-sounding optimistic phrases plastered in the yards and windows of the local houses. I would tire of seeing them after months and months of running around the neighborhood. The hot streaming tears that would pour forth from my eyes as a covid test swab was shoved sharply into my upper nasal cavity. I watch people file through the makeshift cattle stalls made out of storage unit cubes, awaiting their turn. I would try not to stare as they got tested as well, but it was hard not to because it was obviously unpleasant and mostly surreal. And when it was my turn I looked out and saw everyone staring helplessly back at me.
One week I’m at work and sometimes I’m not because of the pandemic. One day I think dance studios will open and then they don’t, and won’t until a vaccine is here. I think all grocery store employees and delivery people should receive a purple heart and a million dollars, instead of minimum wage and a few compliments every now and then. I’ve made it to all of my doctor, therapist and dentist appointments, despite the challenges that are present. So far, I’ve avoided the VID. Will I ever dance again? Only time will tell and by the look of it, it’s not in my favor.
This is my life this year, and that’s okay.
