Field Observations from My Pandemic Walks
"Time to go take a stupid little fucking afternoon stroll"
A painful juxtaposition this is, sheltering in place, bearing witness to mass death and economic collapse, all within the bounds of Seattle, a shockingly beautiful city.
An older gay couple across the way stop at the street corner and turn to me. One of them offers a hello and waves. “Hi there!” I say back. The three of us then turn to face a string of cherry blossom trees nearby. We admire their beauty, snap some pictures, then continue on our separate ways.
A neighbor plays the violin as I walk by. The sound is beautiful. I linger a bit to enjoy the music and the sun, eyes closed. Then, they stop. I look over and notice them open their window real wide. They continue to play. This time it’s more audible. I won’t ever know if they opened the window for me or if this were merely a coincidence. Either way, I stay a few more minutes to enjoy their indirect company from across the street.
I encounter what looks like a bundle of Scotch broom flowers in a neighbor’s front yard. Though pleasing to the human eye with its vibrant yellow perennial glow, Scotch broom is considered an invasive noxious weed here in Washington State. These flowers conjure up memories of a coffee shop I used to frequent back in Albuquerque circa 2012, Cafe Giuseppe. If memory serves, there was a small courtyard lined with, upon other plants, Desert Marigolds. When I was not riding a combination Adderall-coffee high and churning out essays inside the coffee shop, I would drink tea in the courtyard and lure in prospective sexual partners to vet. Once, an older Jeff Lebowski-looking fellow visited me from Decatur for a few days (we met in Albuquerque before he moved). I took him to the courtyard to determine our fate. He was charming and handsome enough, and I enjoyed the fact he favored me, but the thought of having sex with him grossed me out beyond belief. Much to his chagrin, we never fucked. A few weeks after the trip, he texted me asking why I wouldn’t have sex with him. I left him on read. I didn’t know why back then.
A man in what I’d wager to be his late thirties makes eye contact with me and lets out a full-bodied HELLO. I smile widely and whisper “Hey” in return.
I walk past one of the Little Free Library displays in my neighborhood. For me, coming across these always elicits feelings of tenderness and joy. I’m tangentially reminded of my friends here in Seattle. I keep telling myself that after the worst of this is over, my fear of touch will be overridden by my desire to touch and be touched, and that I will someday run towards my friends to hug them, picking them up and kissing their cheeks. A new friend, a tall blonde comedian (she’s dating a good friend of mine), comes to mind. I don’t know her that well, but feel a great fondness towards her. In this moment, I picture hugging her tightly and holding her face in my hands.
Black and white cats, crows, and small rabbits cruise the neighborhood streets. Lap dogs enjoy walks with their exhausted looking owners.
A younger pair walk towards me in the street as I keep distance on the sidewalk. The one with a stylish face mask says, “Nice overalls! I’m glad they’re coming back in style.” Indeed, I have been wearing the same pair of overalls for four, maybe five days now. I blush and say thank you.
In addition to the typical Seattleite yard signs that decorate my neighborhood (Re-elect Kshama Sawant, SEIU Healthcare 1199NW, Black Lives Matter, In This House We Believe X,Y,Z), a crop of child-made signs now adorn the windows and yards. One reads, “Justice for All.” Another: “Things will be OK.” On the sidewalk, the classic “Hi” is written in chalk.
It’s early evening, and I can smell the tranquilizing aroma of burning wood somewhere nearby. I think of last October, spending a crisp autumn evening with good friends at a fire pit nestled inside a corn maze. I historically tend to feel like the odd one out in most social settings (a learned disposition), however I felt more of a sense of belonging in this moment than I usually do. I hope more days like this are in store. The older I get, the more convinced I am that this is all I truly want in life. To belong with others.