By Joshua Sipkin
Tuesday | March 17, 2020
It was a few minutes before 7 p.m. when I left my apartment for the first time in 24 hours. Probably closer to 29 but, for now at least, that’s just a triviality. Hangovers and bad weather weekends kept this from being record hibernation time but for lots of reasons, shared by us all, this one felt much longer. But there was trash to take out, bottles to recycle, and fresh air to breathe.
On the way downstairs sounds of idle chatter coming from another apartment suddenly were significant. Made so perhaps by heightened senses dully sharpened from all that solitude. A lonesome pet picking up the sound of house keys two blocks away. Ah, other people are still alive.
Greeting me upon reaching street level was the sight of various packages strewn about the base of the mailbox wall. Not one to snoop unless expecting something, for some reason I checked the names. Good thing, too, because sure enough one was for me.
Que? What the heck is the Makeup Mall in New Hyde Park? Ohhh, must be the Fresh stuff I ordered off Amazon. Thought that was coming Thursday. Cool. Two extra days then, of their wonderful Age-Delay Eye Concentrate. Ironic, isn’t it, to be so excited about turning back time while desperately wishing it forward. To whenever all this becomes history.
Checked the mail, just in case. Junk, for this or that. Forget a global pandemic, nuclear obliteration could come yet those direct mail placards would still show up in our mailbox. Neither snow nor rain nor mushroom cloud.
Then noticed my New York Times hadn’t been delivered. Oh yeah, it’s Tuesday. It never comes on Tuesday.
Stepping outside was bizarre, most noticeably because of the genuine happiness in seeing cars and buses roll by. Just a smattering but still, nice to see. It is astounding to grasp the normalcy we barely notice.
Those precious moments of placidity lasted till the corner, where stood the wine shop merchant passing paper bag pickup orders through the bars of his shuttered gates. Sobering.
Crossed the street and walked into the familiar corner deli, looking to see if they had any paper products. But first had to play matador to get out of the way of the barreling, hooded, sunglassed, putting-his-earphones-in man self-importantly barking to the cashier that his boss was on the phone and he was going outside to take the call. Some things never change.
Got napkins and tissues before heading down the block for a fountain soda Diet Coke. Can’t stop, won’t stop, how stop?
The serenity of the street, and how’s that for more irony, was immediately interrupted by Mr. Phone Call pacing and shouting. Some things never change.
But then I looked across the way and stopped in my tracks, taken in by the stunning sight before my eyes.
Perfectly not making sense in a world not making sense, with the calendar still saying winter, against the contrast of urban backdrop, amid its still barren neighbors, stood a bright tree in full bloom. And in that split second everything was alright, even if just for a moment.
It was a sight for sore eyes, a salve for sore spirits, and it was a reason to smile. It was a sign of spring and spring means hope and hope springs eternal. Even if a few avenues west there was no parade today. Even if a few miles north and east there will not be baseball in a couple of weeks. Even if, well who knows what else if. And who wants to think about it. It was a reminder of all that once was good and could be again. Will be again.
The photo proves it was there, this lighthouse guiding the city ship. But it would be easy to believe this tree planted itself just for that trip to the store. Easy to believe nobody else saw it. Easy to believe it isn’t there right now. Easy to believe it was a mirage, a rose in the desert.
Nothing quite as uplifting, or beautiful, as a rose.
