Ihourane Yasmine, Khemisset. Amani walked down the cobblestone pavement, looking straight ahead, even though her squinted eyes begged her to avert her gaze from the blazing sun. But Amani wouldn’t, because the sight of the nearly empty street sent shivers through her spine. It was the first time she left her grandparents’ apartment ever since quarantine was announced because of the coronavirus, but deep down, she wished she could be like her friends, wishing to not carry the weight of her grandparents’ lives on her shoulders. She shook her head and pushed the thought in a far corner of her mind, focusing on the grocery store that was getting closer and closer. Making her legs and hands shake. She realized that if somebody took a look at her petrified figure, they’d wonder what a sixteen year old girl, with a strong immune system was so scared of. Only they couldn’t know the same girl would go back home to a diabetic grandmother and an asthmatic grandfather for whom it could be deadly. It hit her as soon as she crossed the door, the fear radiating from everybody, how someone would warily glance behind him every now and then to make sure nobody was too close, the shopping carts overflowing with food. And even as she left the store, the scene of an old woman covering her mouth with a scarf, rummaging through the empty racks, followed her all the way home. And it was those thoughts that lingered in the air, daring her to keep thinking, as if the dread that was making her heart explode through her skin wasn’t enough. As if crossing the apartment’s door wasn’t a challenge in itself. Her grandparents were seated in front of the tv, watching the news that only seemed to get worse day after day. So when she was asked how it went, she nodded her head and faked a smile; too scared to recall the hollow streets, the void that stripped their neighborhood from any sign of life, and made her way to the kitchen. As Amani returned to the living room, after thoroughly disinfecting everything she could have touched, she silently sat across from her grandmother, who was engrossed in her thread and needle, absorbed by her little world of hoops, beads, and fabric. “Grandma, I’m scared. I’m so scared” Amani let out, as if whispering the words would make them any less true.
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