When COVID Comes Home

This is a brief post about someone who might have COVID tonight. The SHE in my ME story. The one who made a house into a home, the one who got away. The one we don’t talk about. The one I left behind when I started all over again. Her.

Tonight she texted me heartbreaking news: The doctor’s office where she worked/works at, the owner tested positive for COVID. She doesn’t have any major symptoms, but she’s running a half-degree warm. She’s quarantining herself, and my anxiety left shoots through the roof. For the next 24 hours, I’ll be terrified of every text, and I’ll be terrified of every silence. We’re both freaking out about what the next 24 hours might mean.

Neither of us are dumb enough to think that a virus will bring us back together. We’re better off as friends, and we both know that. But she doesn’t have anyone else to call, and there’s no one else I’d rather hear from. And now maybe she’s sick. Maybe she’s in trouble. That’s one more lifeline that might fray in the fire of a global pandemic.

I didn’t want to talk about COVID before. It wasn’t personal, it wasn’t right for me to talk about it. But now Coronavirus has come home, and I can’t think about anything else.

Writing is the key. Just have to find the lock.