Nothing” by Ellie Lever

NOTHING Nothing. There was no one walking outside, no cars on the street. The city had fallen asleep, waiting for the trauma to end. The whole world held its collective breath, not wanting to spread the plague any further. And that was what we did during Quarantine. Nothing. We sat inside, remembering how to be a family. “Just roll the clay out like this, Dad. Now you take the fork and make scratches...and now put it on top!” The little cup that he was building slowly grew taller, wider, taking shape as his hands slowly grew more skillful. Nothing. Long, long hours of being at the table, board games spread out in colorful glory as we laughed and won and lost and won some more. Nothing. We stepped outside our front doors, remembering how to be neighbors. There were people walking now, people that walked past and waved and smiled and stopped to chat from a safe distance. People that we’d never known and never cared to know...until we thought we might lose them. People who could finally take the courage to find out the color of their neighbors’ eyes. “Could I play with you?” The boy asked, bringing our baseball back to us and tossing it expertly into the air. “I don’t have a glove, but I’d like to play.” Nothing. “Hey! Do you guys live here? On this street?” The man asked us enthusiastically, waving to us from where he stood on the sidewalk, his wrinkled cheeks dimpling as he grinned. “Yes,” we replied, smiling back. “Me too! I live just down there in that house. I’ll see you guys later!” He continued walking up toward the church building, and moments later we heard his cheerful voice ring out again. “Hey! Do you guys live here? On this street?” Nothing. The lady who lived a few houses down regularly brought her toddler up to our porch to see our little dog. One day, we went out to talk to her and ended up spending hours on the front walk laughing, talking, cursing the plague, smiling, and reconnecting. Nothing. The city stretched, beginning to awaken from her slumber, and we began to remember how to be a community. Cars drove by, and people waved. Colorful and hopeful messages appeared on the sidewalks. “We are so excited to have you back!!” The signs on local businesses read. “We’ve missed you!” Masked employees and customers scrunched their eyes at each other, smiling behind their face coverings. “You can go ahead of me!” The woman waved us and our over-full grocery cart in front of her. She stepped back to the six-foot distance marker and looked up at the fluorescent lights. Her cart held less than ten items. We did not know her, and she did not know us. And yet, the pandemic that had swept the world had somehow brought these strangers together, to a place where we had a common ground and a drive for increased connection. Nothing? No. It was definitely something.

FIND the corresponding mural by Brandy Sorenson on Historic 25th Street near Needlepoint Joint and Pig and a Jelly Jar