Covid at 19

Ch. 1 Maddie

When I was ten, my babysitter (who never would've been hired if my mom knew how she acted when she wasn't babysitting us for beer money) vented about not getting the lead in the high school play. "I got screwed without getting kissed," she'd said. The words, spat with such vengeance, stayed in my head, although I had no idea what they meant.

Now I know.

I've finally hit my stride halfway through freshman year at Cascade University. First quarter was bumpy. Homesickness, procrastination, loneliness, hating my classes, procrastination, a slug of a roommate. Did I mention procrastination? But now I'm almost through second quarter and have managed to eke out grades that will ensure I can keep my scholarships. I've switched my major from computer programming, which is "so employable" here in Seattle but mind-numbingly boring, to sociology. Don't ask me what I'll do for work when I graduate, but at least my classes will finally be interesting. I'll figure out what to do for a career later. And how to tell my parents.

Speaking of people, I've also finally started making some real friends. I grew up on an island. One high school. Only fifty-two people in my graduating class. I know everyone. And when you've grown up with all your friends, you don't learn how to meet new people.

Of course I didn't realize this until I was faced with ten thousand new people. That's three thousand more than live on my entire island.

Turns out, I suck at meeting new people.

I'm not exactly the first person you'd gravitate toward at a party. You know the type: beautiful, bubbly, always knows what to say. That's not me. I'm more of the stand-and-observe type. The smile-and-say-hi-but-have-no-idea-what-to-say-next type. But now, six months in, I've finally got a group. Found my "people", probably 'cause I switched majors. I no longer eat all my meals alone.

So, yeah, I've been feeling pretty optimistic about my new friends. And about my classes next quarter, finally having a major that interests me. Like I've finally started to grow and expand as a person.

And now it's all ripped away because of some invisible army that's taking down the world. Who'd have thought the world would come to a standstill not with nuclear weapons or bioterrorism or cyber warfare, but by a stinking virus? What is this, the Middle Ages? How low tech can you get?

Mom said we're supposed to stay in our cars on the ferry to limit exposure, but after a two-hour drive I need fresh air. It's cold out here on the deck and the wind turns my hair into mini whips.

The ferry dock recedes in the distance as we head into Rosario Strait. Everything is gray. The water. The sky. Even the normally green islands dotting the sound are deadened with a charcoal hue as if Mother Nature has succumbed to depression.

I will not cry. I will see this as an opportunity. What other choice do I have? Curl up and waste the next six months feeling sorry for myself for this crap "historical moment" I'm living through?

Tempting. But, no. I've gotta do something.

A quote comes to mind, something I've seen carved onto one of the brick buildings at school. Be strong and courageous. Maybe that'll be my new mantra.

I throw my head back and dare the wind to take me down.

I inhale a last frigid blast of air and leave the outer deck. The cabin door's handle is cold as I fling the door open and I immediately regret that I didn't use my sleeve to grab it. Now I'll have to stop and wash my hands before I head back to the car.

Increased paranoia. That's my new normal.

As I leave the bathroom I stop short at the sight of a rumpled human rising from one of the bench seats. Something about him is familiar. He pulls his hood off his head and now I know why. 

I hate that guy.