In Florida, the temperatures have soared into the 80s. With my former fitness routines out the window, I take advantage of the cooler temperatures in the morning and evenings to walk around the neighborhood. I aim for 5000 steps per walk, tracking it on my phone, to reach the recommended allotment of ten-thousand steps daily. Who recommended that and when? I have no idea and lack the curiosity to look it up. It’s a round number, a goal, and is as good as any.
Some others in my neighborhood have established similar routines. I pass mothers with strollers, fathers and sons, couples. There are not many of us, so it is not crowded. We give each other a wide berth, wait at crosswalks for each other to pass, cross to the opposite side of the street if we find ourselves heading toward each other on the same sidewalk, smiling and waving to show that it’s not personal. There is a sense of solidarity in this.
But also, I realize, we tell each other, with our smiles and waves, that it’s okay, we’re not a threat, because under the bucolic ambiance, the lush green grass and the Spanish Moss hanging from the trees, there’s a sense that civilizations’s hold on would-be predators is less than it was. The cats in the neighborhood have grown bolder. With car and foot traffic diminished, they sit in the middle of streets and watch the humans with brazen, insolent expressions. One day a cat follows me for a block. The few cars, especially in the evenings, can also have a sense of prowling. They drive slowly, and the drivers, often single men, don’t make it a point to smile and wave.On Saturday evening, a car honks as it turns the corner near me. The man behind the wheel looks at me as he passes, at a moment when there are no other pedestrians around.
That same night a friend in LA posts on Facebook about walking alone when a car with a group of honking and whistling men made a U-turn and headed back in her direction, until a couple on foot turned a corner into view, scaring them away. The online conversation that follows discusses what it means to live in a world where men have no sports to watch, no bars to prowl, no gyms to work out their aggressions.
On Sunday morning I take a walk and pass a well-muscled man. We share a street spacious enough to go wide. Unsmiling, he maintains course the way some men do, even on crowded sidewalks. Such men seem to feel that they are not asserting territory—that would be unnecessary—they are merely occupying what is theirs. Probably this man bearing down upon me is not concerned with me at all. Probably he is immersed in whatever content is coming through his ear pods. Probably he is not even aware of our passing, of my veering—but I am aware for both of us.
I’m distracted by fellow pedestrians, but also by my own ruminations. Though Paul and I know better than to read the news on our phones upon waking, we do, and in bed this morning Paul has shown me an article with graphs depicting, by state, at what point the health care system might or might not be overwhelmed depending on the amount of social distancing implemented.
In one scenario he shows me, the curve in Texas is hitting its peak the week we’re scheduled to leave.
“Huh,” I say, “Do you think that means we should go earlier after all?”
Our conversation is mostly a rerun of a conversation we had just three days ago, with one new addition: “I just don’t want us to get stuck in Texas,” he says.
I’m confused. “Why would we get stuck in Texas? We’re in our car, we’ll just drive through it.”
“What if they do terrible at containment and the other states decide they don’t want people coming in from Texas?”
As soon as he says it, I can see the dystopian timeline where things get bad and states in disagreement about measures start closing their borders.
So as I walk down our tree-lined street, my brain is continuing the conversation on its own: But we have California IDs, certainly they would let us in, right?
Half a chapter of War and Peace has gone by without my noticing.
On Monday, March 22, more than 24,000 coronavirus cases have been reported in the U.S., with over 10,000 of those in New York state. Also on this day, Senator Rand Paul tests positive for the virus, and makes the news for using the gym and swimming pool while waiting for his test results. And Senate Democrats block a proposed 1.8 Trillion dollar relief bill, claiming that it is aimed more at helping corporations than people
On this same Monday, one student and one faculty member in our college are reported to have the virus, and Alachua County, where we live, mandates emergency “stay at home” orders effective at midnight. In accordance, UF reduces on-campus personnel to those identified as essential.
On Tuesday, March 24, in reaction to Wall Street executives warning of another Great Depression if America doesn’t get back to work soon, President Trump talks about “opening up the economy” by Easter, which is April 12. Elsewhere in the world, Prime Minister of India bans 1.3 billion people from leaving their homes, and, after some initial resistance from the organizers, the Summer Olympics in Japan are postponed for a year.
On Wednesday, March 25, the senate passes a 2 trillion dollar relief package. It’s announced that Prince Charles has Coronavirus.
On Thursday March 26, the U.S. takes the dubious honor of the lead in Coronavirus cases: 81,321 and over 10000 deaths. Three million people apply for unemployment benefits. Florida requires visitors from New York to quarantine for two weeks after arriving.
On Friday, March 27, Trump signs the $2 trillion economic relief plan. Prime Minister Boris Johnson of Britain tests positive for Coronavirus.
On Sunday March 29, Trump extends the federal governments social-distancing guidelines until the end of April. A plane from Shanghai touched down at Kennedy Airport carrying 130,000 N95 masks, 1.8 surgical masks and gowns, 10 million gloves and 70,000 thermometers touches down at Kennedy Airport. It is, we’re told, the first of 22 such shipments.
As of Sunday evening 141,096 people in the U.S have tested positive for the virus, and at least 2469 patients with the virus have died.