We are still in what-appears-to-be the beginning of the quarantine.

The neighbor emerges from her house, across the street.  We exchange waves and mouth pleasantries, but it is too far for the words to travel.  She takes a step and I take a few steps until we are just divided by the road, both held back from crossing by the social distancing directive and general fear of the virus.  Everyone is a potential carrier.  Its our new paranoid reality that keeps conversations separated by six feet. 

“Y’all holdin’ up ok over there,” the neighbor asks and shoves one hand into the pocket of her jeans. She leans her weight on one leg and waves at Little Legs with her free hand.  The people of the South are sweetly cautious like this, always under the influence of their sugary tea.    

“Oh yes, we’re doing fine.  And with plenty of toilet paper to last this thing out.”

Little Legs doesn’t understand the distance, he doesn’t care about the virus, and he doesn’t appreciate being held back from darting across the road to the big, friendly blond woman who is waving at him with an equally big, fluffy white dog barking from the fence next to the house. 

He gives a squeal of displeasure and tries to escape towards the dog.  I scoop him up with one arm, glad to have secured my offspring, I am reminded to inquire about the rest of her family.

“How are your son and husband?”

As I yell across the road, it occurs to me that I have not seen her spouse in at least a few weeks.

If only I could suck the words back into my mouth and swallow them down into my growing belly to be destroyed by stomach acid and save her from whatever she is about to relate.  The grimace on her face tells the truth before she says a word.

“My son is fine, doing well in school, but my husband died in January,” she explains with a shrug meant to be careless but looks pained, a defense mechanism to roll off and away from emotion.  

“I had no clue.  I am so sorry…” I trail off and mean to say sorry for not knowing and for not being a better neighbor, but instead say nothing.

She shrugs again and says simply, “He was in a lot of pain and now he’s not.” 

“Well, don’t be a stranger,” she says.  “I’ve got to be on my way to a doctor’s appointment.”

She leaves and as we shuffle through the grass back towards the house with the promise of a snack for Little Legs and a pledge to be a better neighbor. 

As it stands, the distance between us is far greater than six feet.

 

 

3 thoughts on “Social Distance

  1. Just shows how we isolate ourselves daily just being too busy to know what’s happening with a neighbor just across the street. When hurricane Wilma hit our area and the power grid down for three weeks along with phone and everything. It was October so blessedly cool considering, and everyone was outside. Met neighbors I never knew I had because we were shaken from our routines of living in AC and only leaving the house to go to work, come home and get groceries for most of the week.

    Definitely makes one sad to learn a neighbor suffered a loss you never knew of. I’ve had that happen too.

    Be safe, take the normal precautions to avoid getting viruses and I expect we should all weather the new one until it runs its course. At least I hope. And, guard closely our vulnerable ones.

    1. I have met more neighbors during this period than in all of the time we have lived in this area. I just wish it was under better circumstances. Stay home and healthy!

      1. That’s the way it is sometimes. May we hold on to those new friendships when life returns to normal. Be well too!!

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