Free at last!

From March 21 to April 19, Other and I did not leave our building. Our 29-year-old daughter had told us that she woke up every morning crying because she was so afraid we would die. I asked her what we could do to help her worry less. She said she wanted us to promise not to leave our apartment for any reason. Weirdly, her usually hands-off brother backed her up. So we foolishly agreed—even though we live across the street from lovely Riverside Park, about as safe a haven as there is in New York City right now.

We were faithful to our word, looking sadly through our windows like left-home dogs as our neighbors (and their dogs) headed into the park.

A month later, Other’s knees, one of which is made of metal, were aching from disuse, and we called a family meeting to plead for early release, just for walks in the park and just in the early morning or after dark.

Last weekend, two pale elderly people tasted afresh the air of spring. And every day since then we’ve strapped on our masks and our outdoor shoes and taken a walk.

After so long a stint inside, we had some sharp impressions:

First, the trash has all but disappeared from the lawns and walkways—and even the garbage cans. In the cans, there’s just a low layer of little green bags filled with scooped poop, with maybe a discarded surgical mask looking startlingly like a menstrual pad. Gone are the paper napkins, cardboard coffee cups, and all the other detritus humans usually leave behind them.

Second, it’s true, young people don’t give a shit about old people—they jog and cycle with their faces bared to the wind, while their gray-haired compatriots straggle along in suffocating masks.

Third, what’s the deal with wildlife? During daylight, fat robins sidle up to us unafraid, and after dark, raccoons gambol along the parapets. And the rats—they are beyond enormous and totally fearless night and day.

It’s as if COVID has nourished and emboldened them as it has diminished and cowed humanity.

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