Wednesday, June 3, 2020

As I pass the school, a torrent of children barrels out of a side door and into the fenced-in yard. The first two girls to emerge hide behind a massive trash bin. When most of the rest are outside, they jump up and yell. The other kids scream. The girls laugh and join them. At the other end of the schoolyard, a dozen kids stand in a straight line. Their teacher stands with them. The girl in front runs to a post a few meters ahead of them then back. She hands something like a baton to the boy who had been behind her, then heads to the end of the line as he runs to the post and back. At the entrance to the supermarket, three old men sit in folding chairs, not talking. I stand in front of them until one gets up and scans my forehead. It wasn’t the one I had expected. An old woman comes out with a small shopping cart. Another of the men stands and picks up his cane. They walk away together. While I wait for the elevator at the end of the day, a man, woman, and boy emerge from the dermatologist’s office. The elevator nearest them opens. I step toward it, but they get in first. I step back. I don’t need to squeeze in with them. They see me and realize that I’d been waiting for the elevator before them. The woman apologizes. I tell them it’s OK. They step out and hold the door open for me. I get in and smile at them. I don’t know if they know that I did. Smiles get lost when we wear our masks.