Dispatches from Quarantine:
Young People on Covid-19

Where am I? I know where I am in the most literal sense, of course. I am sitting on the leather couch in the small room off the kitchen, hearing the crackle of kale leaves as they sizzle on the surface of our Le Creuset cookware, smelling the starched, green leaves mixed with the chicken dinner that waits for me on a small red plate, humming the songs my mother hums as she prepares her own dinner. It’s warm and quiet. The only other sound is the soft muttering of my brother, sitting on the kitchen floor, maybe translating a line of French poetry or studying a fiery French progressive like Arthur Rimbaud, who he likes to tell me about, and the occasional noises of daily life – the hum of the microwave or the soft gushing water from the tap.

Outside my window the calm, dark sky hangs above us, cool and cloudy. I know that, beyond my sight, there are the large, rolling hills of the Shenandoah Valley, nestled in the Blue Ridge mountains in the nearly invisible mist of Virginia’s quiet scenery. I’ve spent my whole life here. So much time that I forget the beauty of it, so readily recognized by the tourists that traipse through the small town streets and reside in the Bed and Breakfast next to our stately house. It’s a popular place for visitors with its large houses and proximity to the light bustle of downtown, only a two-minute walk away. It’s a beautiful street, lacking the slight snobbery of some of the larger houses a couple blocks over, who like downtown but dislike the ever-constant flow through the small rented apartments at the end of our street.

There are good, honest people on our street. Maybe they have other things to spend money on, or they’ve had a run of bad luck but that doesn’t mean that they are less worthy of friendship - many of them are the brightest, sweetest souls you’d ever meet. I’d take them, and the friendly chats that take place between our front porch and the sidewalk, over many people who consider themselves in a better position. I try to say hello to everyone I meet. I learned this, as my brother did, from my parents, especially my mother. There is not one person who passes by our porch without receiving a cheerful, “How are you?” from her. I’ve always liked that.

A lot is different at the moment of course. People are a little less friendly. A little more wary sometimes. We keep six feet between us and visitors at all times and we order our groceries online, picking them up without contact. We still smile and wave though, and people still smile and wave back on our street. Maybe some people wouldn’t but we – my family and people on our street –still do. We always make contact with passersby on our walks around the now empty downtown streets that we occasionally take.

All the shops are closed, too. That was hard to adjust to. My brother and I like almost nothing better than to sit in small coffee shops, reading or talking while the rich smell of coffee and hushed chatter drift over our senses. The people who run them are sweet and hardworking people; many have been there for years. There isn’t a single store open anymore; a couple run take-out orders, but not many. We hope that most of them will come back, but a fair number of shops have already been forced to close their doors, particularly the poor stores who only opened their doors a couple months or weeks before the closure. There is a certain quiet beauty about the hushed streets though, almost untouched by cars or people.

That’s where I am, for sure. But mentally and emotionally? Most of the time, that’s not even close. I spend my time in high towers and low valleys, rushing waters and dark caverns, encircled by the books I love. Sometimes I’m rushing through the Great Depression or a WWII tale of bravery and terror, and sometimes I’m following imaginary creatures through dark, enchanted forests. When I’m not reading, I’m listening to audiobooks. Aside from those fantastical escapades, I spend the rest of my time discussing things, often my latest literary finds, with my family.

I may not be able to explore the world physically, as I yearn to, but I can go everywhere in the wide, excited eyes of my mind and soul. Sure, we have problems right now that bring me back to earth. My dad just lost his job because his company is going under. They were rocky for the last couple years and there’s just not enough demand for construction right now. My brother had to attend an online graduation, which fell short of being enough to recognize the massive accomplishments he succeeded in and the growth he has navigated, though they tried their best. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do now. My mom just finished a course to get a job for the first time since her first child, and now she can’t take the exam and has to wait for months to start working. I’m going to have to apply to college without being able to visit or tour, and that scares me.

But these negatives are not the only things in my life. I’m getting enough sleep for the first time in months. I have a chronic illness called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and my chronic fatigue can feel debilitating. But not right now. Right now I get twelve full hours of undisturbed sleep. I get to spend time with my family. I bake all the time, and I’m discovering that I’m pretty good at it. I appreciate things that I took for granted before, so much more than I ever did. I have time to watch the news. My self-esteem and body positivity is skyrocketing because negative stereotypes aren’t being pushed down my throat. I don’t feel the need to spend every second of my time on Instagram or my other apps. I have time to read as much as I want whenever I want.

There are many things that are hard right now, but I am so incredibly lucky. So guess where I am? I’m inside a literary universe, experiencing the world from my bed, eating brownies, and smiling. That’s where I am.