Time out

Outside.

A golden patch of lawn crunches underfoot. Its short, thick blades crackle and break, looking like the freshly strewn straw of a gardener bent on greenery replacement.

I am no such gardener. There aren't any seeds hidden from the heat or the-hunt-and-peck hunger of the visiting catbirds and cardinals. 

Any water that douses this spot has been chlorinated and displaced by the kick-splashes of the resident Quaranteens. 

That's how they think of themselves these days: Children of Isolation. 

I had dragged my chair to the patch of blonde grass when the sun moved over. As I sat there kicking my feet so that the desiccated lawn itched the dry skin of my soles. I try to feel the fortune of space and a pool and a yard full of weeds. 

But summer has arrived early and cemented us in place.

Not being able to move is exhausting. 

This lethargy, heralded by a new and unsettling spring fever, continues its slow burn under separate, unequal magnifying forces.

We can't sustain anything but anxiety and dread.

Time has a way of dulling other senses.

Not thinking about it is the only release.

We manage to breathe a little easier. But just a little. Filling our lungs before dipping below the surface and bobbing up. The water is still cold but it is not unpleasant after a dunking first shock.

I'm not in the pool. I'm just remembering the sensation. Like taking a deep breath and inviting a bitter stream of cigarettes smoke to fill my lungs.

The rush of relaxation that followed is the real memory it conjures. The weightlessness of the deadly air that escapes.

They have trouble picturing me - their mom - as ever being a smoker. 

“It seems that you should have been smarter than that,” says the older one as the younger one nods in agreement.

I think about telling him the stories about children who would follow trucks that belched a pesticide fog into the air to save them from mosquito-bourne illnesses.

Nothing about the olden days seems sensible now that we have all this time and space for reflective dread.

Though … I still wish I could give them little pieces of my childhood. The ones that were private and empty of adults keeping guard.

Our children aren't really much different than we were, I think.

Blue-lipped and determined, they sluice between the deep end and the shallows until night falls, and the first wave of mosquitoes set down to feast on the adults. We swat at our ankles absently as we keep a more careful watch over the fill level of each other's Quarantini glasses. The events taking place in the pool attract our attention only when voices get louder than ours.

Screams only irritating because of their exaggeration.

The real dangers are always silent. Always the thing you didn't even know to worry about.

My golden grass looks gray in this light.

I swing at the air and slap at my ankles, announcing to the splashers the golden hour has passed. It's time to go inside.