Pathogen

Thursday Afternoon

Curfew is abolished; no one is supposed to leave their apartments. I guess the six p.m. curfew wasn't good enough and more people woke up sick. The news is still reporting cases but I don't want to watch or listen. I guess the outbreak didn't feel real until now. Confining myself to my building was, until yesterday, a choice. Then I went to Central Park with Dave and it's like—it's like the world exploded. Or imploded. Imploded is a better word.

It happened faster than I thought it would, but the headline I saw online read:

Virus More Virulent and Deadly than Previously Thought:

Death Toll Rises, New York City Quarantined

I kind of wish I read more dystopian novels, though Dave thought those people would be the first to kick the bucket. Do I have enough moss? Do I have enough dandelions? What if I get a UTI? How many dandelions should I eat?

I just did an internet search. Dandelion is actually way more useful than I thought. Not only does this super weed (there are super foods, so there can be super weeds, though I guess it sounds a bit like really strong pot, and now I'm imagining a joint with a cape on) treat and prevent UTIs, but it's also great for aches, bruises, skin issues, and stomach problems. I wish I'd gathered more dandelion. Even if I outlive this outbreak–no, when I outlive it—I'm going to stockpile dandelion. It'll save me a fortune at Duane Reade.

I had to stop watching the news. They went off-air at eleven a.m. and besides, I started to have a genuine panic attack. I'm talking tingling face from hyperventilation panic attacks. Racing heart, blurred vision panic attacks. This outbreak is actually real. I turned to the internet next but I had to stop. I unplugged my computer. I wandered around my apartment for a little while. Changed my sheets. Thought about how wasteful it is to wash sheets that have only been on the bed for a couple of days, but what if Dave has the virus and got his virus germs on my sheets?

Dave and I fucked. There's no way I don't have the virus if he had it.

I went to his apartment and knocked on the door. He opened it and kissed me, then talked about how all of this was wild. He said he had to work—do people still need websites in an outbreak? An epidemic? A pandemic? I guess it's how most of us will have to work, from a distance. Dave promised to come over later. I caught a peek at his apartment and it's actually kind of cute in that way bachelors have of not hanging anything on the walls or using curtains and blinds so it looks like no one really lives there. But I mean, the place has got good bones. I gave him a kiss and went back to my own apartment down the hall.

Dave and I don't share a wall. There's one place between our apartments. I don't know who lives there except that they work third shift. Probably why we've never met. I wonder if they have toilet paper or if Dave brought them moss, too. I bet he's considerate like that.

I wandered around my apartment for awhile, but the place started to feel small in a claustrophobic way, so I sat down and picked up the book I'm editing. Update: the main character harvested dandelions. I feel connected to her now, and a little jealous. She has a basket full of them. I got through the dandelion chapter and then looked out my window.

Nothing but concrete and cobblestones. No dandelions growing in the sidewalk cracks, either. Crestfallen, I opened my fridge and picked up one of the now wilted plants. I stripped its leaves. My internet research said to blanch and sauté them, like spinach.

Dandelion leaves sautéed in olive oil are not only delicious, but promise a healthy digestive tract. When you can't go to the ER or clinics for mild illnesses anymore, you've got to do your best to stay in tip-top health.

I texted four friends to tell them about dandelions: Grace, another editor at work; Mara, my childhood friend who lives in North Carolina because she couldn't stand the winter anymore; Ciaran, who I met in college when we were both trying to vye for the top grade on all our lit tests; and Annie, this cool girl I met when I was part of a bowling team. I can't bowl, by the way. I think my highest score ever was 90. Annie's was 220. I didn't tell any of them about the moss or Dave.