Lockdown | Conor Mason

The Weight of the World

I rolled over in bed and smashed my hand on top of my screeching alarm clock.

I closed my eyes again, squeezing them against the midmorning seaside sun. I sighed. What what was on for today, I thought in my half-asleep haze. Those promo sessions for the new song, right. I'd better get up and showered, catch an early train...

Then I remembered. I drew my hand back and hugged it around my bare chest. Yes, there would be promo, but there would be no leaving the house, because the world was withering from disease.

That oh-so-familiar feeling blossomed in my shoulders and rose coldly up my neck. Everything was a wreck. The virus. The lockdown. The masks. Things were falling apart around me, and I was completely powerless to do anything about it.

Shivering, I pulled the comforter up around my shoulders and rolled over to wrap my arms around --

My arm landed softly on the mattress, and its empty blanket. I pulled in a deep breath, wondering when this would ever stop happening. The bed was mine and mine alone now. That familiar cold ooze slid from my neck over my scalp, and began to tingle.

Enough. I know how to deal with this, I told myself. I rose quickly, smoothing and straightening the comforter before popping on a t-shirt and a shorts. I padded into the kitchen.

As I made the coffee, I focused on grinding the beans, filling the French press, boiling the water. Soft tofu goes in the pan, a dash of salt and turmeric. Bread in the toaster. Slowly my mind relaxed. As the toast popped I started to hum, then sing softly.

I moved to the kitchen table, just a few feet from the small galley kitchen, and placed my breakfast plate on the green tablecloth. Only then did I realize what I was singing. I was surprised at myself. I usually don't sing our songs at home.

I allowed myself a little dance, scooting sideways along the wood floor, moving my shoulders to the rhythm.

"I could use some magic...Come on Crowley, let me in."

I stopped mid-slide. I'd know that bass part anywhere. I looked to the wall for a moment, then felt myself grinning ear-to-ear.

As I sat to eat. I stopped singing and simply listened to the sound of my own song, playing in Amelia's flat.

In the darkness it had been hard to make out her features, and when I'd seen her in the day, of course she was wearing a mask. So I could barely picture her face. But I remembered clearly her eyes, wide and deep, and at first so at odds with her nervous exterior.

She'd listened quietly while I told her about the band. I'd said more than I intended -- had basically given her our entire history -- and she'd relaxed, asking about our touring life and how lockdown was affecting us.

Which, of course, I didn't know how to answer. We thought lockdown would be two weeks, then a month...now who the fuck knew.

The cool tingles started again, and I stood up. I nodded my head along to the sounds of Painkiller coming through the wall. She listens to albums in order, I thought. Always a good sign.

After my diatribe, I'd managed to get her talking about herself, and she seemed to feel guilty at everyone's struggles, because her work had barely been affected. She was an editor at a publishing house, so spent her days reading and revising book manuscripts, which she could do from anywhere. I'd asked if she missed her office.

"Not a bit. I tend to hate people. I mean..."

I'd laughed, and she'd squirmed a bit, then admitted that she did miss a few friends from her job.