A Thousand Times A Day

By Katherine Marx, Oakland, California, U.S.

My husband flew to China for work, a week before our shelter in place went into effect. He was supposed to be gone three weeks, but it has been over a month, and it looks like he won’t be returning for several more months.

I am quarantined with a teenager. It is just she and I, the dogs, and the cat. This teen is my daughter, my friend, my binge-watching TV companion, my work out buddy, and my therapist.

We don our masks and take long walks with the dogs, avoiding people as we zigzag through the neighborhood. I try to think of interesting things to talk about. We want to discuss the future, but we cannot make plans; the future is unknown. She talks about her frustration with online classes; I tell her what she should do, she seems annoyed. I complain about my transition to online classes, she listens, I think she might be annoyed, she has heard it all before. She tells me about her Minecraft game, and how she stayed up ‘til 2 am playing online with friends; now I am annoyed. I comment on how crowded the streets and sidewalks are, she rolls her eyes. She quickens her pace so as to not walk with me. We take deep breaths until one of us changes the subject, and then we are walking together again. We share how much we miss her dad.

Back at home, she is hungry … so am I. We look forward to eating. She wants to bake; she makes a mess and doesn’t clean up. She makes messes everywhere. I bite my tongue and clean-up the mess, happy to have something sweet to eat. I go back to my studies, my work, my cleaning; she goes back to hers.

Each day is the same. Each day is a routine that we create to survive. Each day we forgive each other a thousand times without saying anything. Each day I am so grateful for my teen.