Will you survive the real world?
3:00 p.m.
It’s the first day of freedom.
The scheduled MacBook alert reminds you that it’s time for yoga with Adriene. You swiftly dismiss it. “Not today,” you say to the computer, followed by an apologetic “namaste.”
You glance longingly at the almost-completed Atlantic Ocean jigsaw puzzle on the kitchen table. Only an hour until you leave to meet your friends.
4:08 p.m.
You step into the sunlight; the world glistens. The streets overwhelm you.
4:45 p.m.
You’ve arrived fifteen minutes early for a five o’clock start. You curse yourself for forgetting social etiquette.
Must stop thinking about that Atlantic Ocean puzzle.
5:12 p.m.
Your friends have arrived. Roars of welcome erupt.
You order a lager, just like you rehearsed.
Did they just look at you weirdly for ordering a lager?
You’re being paranoid. Just laugh; laugh when the others laugh. That’s what we do with our friends.
5:28 p.m.
These benches are so awkward. Nothing like the softness of your sofa.
God, I wish they had sofas here…
No, stop it. Don’t go there. This is what you waited for.
5:32 p.m.
Said lager arrives. God, that’s a large glass of beer isn’t it? It towers over you, full, menacing. Your hand closes around it. Your palms long for your kitchen tumbler.
Whoa that’s cold. It feels almost extra cold. Is that possible?
5:34 p.m.
I suppose that was refreshing.
You push out intrusive thoughts of your home coffee machine.
5:44 p.m.
Don’t mention your bread maker. Don’t mention your bread maker. Don’t mention your bread maker.
5.58 p.m.
I think I’m enjoying myself, you observe.
You’re drunk after half a pint.
6:10 p.m.
These nuts are so moreish. I can’t get enough of them. What did you say they were, honey-coated? That’s great.
6:15 p.m.
Now I’m the one offering to get the drinks. Look at me!
7.08 p.m.
God, that joke was actually funny. Here I am, laughing without inhibition, without terror!
8:00 p.m.
This beer really is delicious. It’s just different when it’s from the tap, you know?
Should we get a pizza?
9:00 p.m.
As if by magic, the ghost of quarantine-you arises before your eyes in harem pants.
For a moment you are reminded of the crossword puzzles, the smell of fresh bread, the Friends box set, the filled ice cube trays in the freezer.
But no. You shake your head firmly; it’s over now.
Quarantine-you places a hand on your shoulder, kisses you gently on the forehead, slowly floats into the setting sun.
As dusk falls you wonder if it’s the stacking of glasses and the shuffling of feet, or whether that really is quarantine-you, rustling in the trees, singing “na-ma-ste”…
