I walked out of the house and took a deep breath. Deep breaths were good. They calmed me down. We’d started online classes this week, and I’d just finished a lesson with Miss Fernandez. I didn’t know why I found the Zoom sessions so stressful. Was it that I was staring at everybody? No, it was that I felt like they were all staring at me.
My father had left before I’d gotten up. I’d heard him go. My bedroom was right above the garage, and I could always hear the motor of the automatic opener purring and then the door itself grinding and groaning as it opened or closed.
My mother was upstairs in her new office, working away. She was wearing earbuds, so she couldn’t really hear me, but she was speaking so loudly I could hear her throughout the entire house. I’d seen her briefly at breakfast, but that was about it before she’d headed upstairs to start work.
I looked around. Our street had never been what you’d call busy, but today there was absolutely nothing happening. Nobody out walking their dog, nobody on their bike, no cars. It was like an episode of The Walking Dead, minus the zombies.
“How’s it going?”
I jumped up into the air and almost out of my skin. Isaac.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He was sitting in a lawn chair right in front of his garage.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Probably the same as you,” he said. “Taking a break. How’s everybody doing at your place?”
“My mother’s working from home, but I hardly ever see her, and my father is working so much he’s hardly ever home.”
“Same here,” Isaac said. “My mom working so much, I mean.”
“I thought the police wouldn’t be so busy with everybody staying home.”
“There’s been a few break-ins at stores that are closed. And it’s not always easy getting people to follow the new rules about not gathering in parks and public places.”
“How did you like today’s lesson?”
“I hate Zoom.”
“You hate that Miss Fernandez figured out how to mute everybody’s microphone,” I said.
“I don’t like that she learned how to mute my microphone.”
“I think she might want to figure out how to keep doing that when we go back to our regular classroom.” I was giving him a hard time, but the truth was, I missed his fooling around in class. He always made me laugh.
“Don’t give her ideas. I just want to go back to school.”
“You? The guy who cheered for the longer break?”
“Yeah, but it’s been so long that I’m missing school. Well, at least, I’m missing playing sports and hanging with my friends and joking around and having lunch together and—”
“So nothing to do with actual learning.”
“School has almost nothing to do with school,” Isaac declared.
We saw someone come around the corner on a bike. As the person got closer, I realized it was better than “someone”—it was Reese! Isaac got out of his chair, and we both walked down our separate driveways toward the road. Reese stopped in front of my house—a safe six feet away. It was amazing how quickly we’d gotten used to the new rules.
“Hey, Reese,” I said.
“Hey. It’s so nice to be outside! I like the quiet. Do you know what it’s like to have both parents at home trying to work?”
“Twice as bad as having one?” I offered.
“It feels like one of those exponential things, way more than double. All the teachers are trying to figure out this online-education stuff as they go. And they also have to deal with parents telling them they’re doing it all wrong,” Reese said.
“Miss Fernandez is doing a pretty good job,” I said. “I don’t love the screen part, but she is making the class interesting.”
“I hate Zoom,” Isaac said.
“You hate that Miss Fernandez has figured out the mute button,” Reese countered.
Both Isaac and I started laughing. “Quinny just said the same thing. Am I that predictable?”
“These days you’re about the only thing that is predictable,” I said.
“Speaking of that,” he said. “Time to update.”
He pulled a piece of bright blue sidewalk chalk out of his pocket and walked onto the street. We watched as he added a stroke to mark the eleventh day.
“Has it really only been that long?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“It feels like it’s been forever.”
We all stood there—spread out—staring at the tally marks. The chalk on the driveway made it all seem more real.
“Is it just me or did you two find the assignment to explain flattening the curve totally confusing?” Isaac asked.
“No, I get it,” I said. “My mom was telling me about it last week.”
“I was a bit confused,” Reese admitted.
“Well, Quinny, maybe you could explain it to me,” Isaac said. “You did a great job last time. Remember? Back in the olden days, when we had a classroom?”
“I can try,” I said. “Go grab that cake pan your mom uses to make cinnamon buns, and a pitcher full of water and, um, an action figure of some kind.”
“You’re screwing with me, right?”
“Only one way to find out. Besides, are you doing anything else right now?”
“Point taken.” He ran into the house.
“It’s really good to see you,” Reese said.
“We were just on Zoom together!” I replied, surprised.
“Yeah, but it’s different in person. It’s nice to spend time face-to-face.”
“You’re right. It’s good to see you too. How’s your grandmother doing?”
“She’s okay, but they told us there are two staff and five residents who have contracted the virus now. They’re in isolation. We talk to Gran on the phone every day, but I wish we could see her.”
“I hope this doesn’t go on much longer.”
“Does anybody really know though?” Reese asked.
“That’s the worst part. How many more tally marks does Isaac have to add before it’s over?”
“Your father would know better than anybody, wouldn’t he?”
“Well, he’s saying nobody knows for sure, but he’s still certain we’re doing the right things.”
Isaac reappeared, carrying a plastic jug and the metal pan. He was going so fast that some of the water sloshed out of the pitcher and onto his pants. “Oh, great. Now it looks like I peed myself!” he cried. “Where do you want this stuff?”
“Put them both down on the driveway.” Reese and I watched him do that. “Now pour all the water from the pitcher into the cake pan.”
“There’s too much in here—it’ll overflow.”
“Just do it.”
Isaac picked up the pitcher and started to pour. He kept going until the pitcher was empty and the pan was full almost to the top.
“Wow. I didn’t think all that water would fit in there,” he said.
“It’s the same amount of water in both, but it’s spread out in the pan. That’s what it means to flatten the curve.”
“And why is that important?” he asked.
“Did you bring the action figure?”
He pulled a small plastic Spider-Man out of his pocket.
“Make him stand up in the pan.”
“Again, are you just screwing with me?”
I smirked. He put the figure in the pan.
“See how the water is only up to his knees? What would happen if he was standing at the bottom of the pitcher? With the same amount of water in it?”
“Assuming he couldn’t swim, he’d be underwater, in big trouble,” Isaac said. “So what you’re saying is that we’re trying to flatten the curve so we don’t drown Spider-Man.”
“Or anybody, especially old people. And we have to make sure our hospitals don’t get too crowded, so doctors and nurses can take care of those who are infected.”
“I get it now. But boy, would you have looked stupid if I’d brought out Aquaman!”
“Ha ha. You’re the one who looks like he peed himself, and I’m the one who would look stupid?”
“I better get going,” Reese said. “Guess I’ll see you on Zoom.”
I wished I could give her a hug. I watched her ride off.
I turned to Isaac. “Hey, so I’m going in to make lunch for me and Mom. Do you want to join us?”
“You’re not inviting me in, are you?”
“Not inside. But Mom and I could eat in our backyard and you could eat in yours. Like a strange kind of picnic,” I said.
“Normally I’d tell you how lame that is.”
“And now?”
“This ain’t normal. See you in twenty minutes.”