Going Viral, page 7
I don’t have time to analyze it too much, because those blue dots are going again.
Sadie:
So, elephant in room. Or elephant on fire escape. Why did you give me your number? Did you want to know why I was crying?
Yes, I want to know, and I want to do something to make it better. I hate seeing people cry. But I don’t want to be nosy.
Clarissa:
Only if you want to tell me.
Sadie:
Well, aren’t you considerate.
She’s not flirting, I tell myself again. This is just a totally normal conversation between two people in lockdown during a pandemic. I don’t write anything back. The blue dots don’t appear. And I definitely don’t look across the street.
But, finally, the dots are back.
Sadie:
Well, hopefully you won’t regret saying that.
I want to tell her I won’t regret telling her anything, honesty is the best policy and all, but I don’t.
Clarissa:
I won’t.
Sadie:
Good.
And then she tells me why she was crying. She and her mom were just in the process of moving from Massachusetts to an apartment a few blocks over. Sadie took a bus to her aunt and uncle’s apartment, the apartment across from mine. Her mom was finishing up packing and wrapping up things at her teaching job, but then the lockdown began. It’s been more than a month since Sadie has seen her mom, and she doesn’t know when she can see her mom again. She doesn’t mention a second parent, or any siblings, and I certainly don’t ask. She talks about her friends, though, and says they are all back home in Massachusetts, and they’re tired of listening to her complain about missing her mom, especially because one of them has a grandparent sick with the virus. And she says talking to them makes it all worse, anyway, reminds her how far away she is from her old life, from her mom, from life before this virus. She just realized she could actually go on the fire escape a few days ago, and she said it’s now her favorite part of her aunt and uncle’s apartment.
She writes this all over multiple texts. When I think she’s done, when those blue dots aren’t on my screen, I wait a few seconds before replying.
Clarissa:
I’d cry too. Like, way more than you did. Like, ugly-cry, snot everywhere cry.
I sneak a glance up across the street, and her head is back. She’s laughing.
Sadie:
Thanks. I needed that.
Clarissa:
Anytime.
And I mean it.
Sadie:
Whew, that was a lot. I need some sleep.
Sleep. I’ve forgotten about sleep. And time. It’s already after midnight. We’ve been texting for almost two hours.
Clarissa:
Me too.
I’m about to put my phone down, but there’s another text from her.
Sadie:
Um, don’t think you are off the hook so easily. I want to hear about you tomorrow.
Clarissa:
About … me?
Sadie:
Yes, you! I know I was doing a lot of venting, but I don’t want you to think I’m one of those people who only talks about themselves.
Clarissa:
Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?
Sadie:
Haha.
Good night.
She closes the curtain, and I close mine, and I flop onto my bed, wondering what I’ve just started.
Likes: 310
Comments: 37
When my alarm wakes me up the next day, something else has replaced that irritable feeling I couldn’t shake yesterday. Something … good. I stretch in bed, and when my feet bump into each other, I don’t want to crawl out of my skin. When I get out of bed, I don’t trip on something on my floor, don’t stub my toe on anything.
I pick up my phone, and as I stare at it, trying to figure out how much time I have until my first class, a text pops up from Vanessa. Instantly the good feeling is gone, replaced by something else entirely. As I read her text, her apologizing, her saying how hard everything is, her saying she wants to talk to me, I realize the feeling I have is guilt.
I tell her I want to talk to her too. And I do. I really do. But our first video classes are about to start, so I know it’ll have to wait.
I quickly check my email and social media, saving Babble for last. I click on my latest post and—
Thirty-seven comments?!
Oh my god.
I skim through the comments as I brush my teeth.
Yay!! I knew you guys would connect.
I think I might have goose bumps? Man, I miss having a life.
We know her name at last!
The plot thickens.
Okay, I was a little nervous at first, like Sadie was being all rude, but glad she redeemed herself.
Do you blame her for being rude?? Clarissa had a major staring problem, AND Sadie hasn’t seen her mom in forever.
Can’t wait to read moooore!
They have each other’s phone numbers?! That’s a huge step!!
What next, what next, what next?
I think Sadie has a crush on Clarissa.
I think Clarissa has a crush on Sadie.
Edge of my seat here for the next update!
I want a lockdown crush …
Oh. My. God. I shake my head, try to focus. I don’t have time to read any more comments, think about the post, or anything really—not if I want to eat. I go out to the kitchen and grab a granola bar. As I’m opening the wrapper, my dad walks out from his room, still in his pajamas.
“There’s my girl!” he says, and tries to give me a hug. I pull back, though, catching a whiff of his morning breath. “Sorry! I was just so excited about our little chat yesterday. You know we can talk about Vanessa—about anything—anytime, right?”
“Yeah, Dad, I know,” I say impatiently. My mind is still spinning, and I need to get dressed before school.
“You just give Vanessa a little more space for a few more days, a week, tops, and I guarantee things will be back to normal, maybe even by next weekend,” he continues.
“A few days? Next weekend? That’s a really long time, Dad.”
“What’s a long time?” my mom asks, coming out of their room. She’s already dressed.
I look at my dad, and he’s beaming. “Remember when we had our little father-daughter heart-to-heart? When you told me to give Claire girl advice?”
My mom pours coffee into a mug. “Yeah,” she says slowly, uncertainly.
“I told her all about space, how important it is to give in relationships. How that’s probably what Vanessa needs,” my dad says, clearly very proud of himself.
“Right …” My mom seems skeptical. She looks at my dad’s bedhead, his Bart Simpson pajama pants. “Sometimes we could all use a little bit of space,” she says quietly into her mug.
“Exactly!” he replies, oblivious. “A few more days of not talking to Vanessa, a week, tops, is what I told Claire, and things will be back to normal with them.”
My mom starts coughing and ends up spitting out her coffee. “I’m sorry,” she says, cleaning herself up with a napkin. “You told Claire not to talk to Vanessa for a few days?”
“Yeah!” my dad says, starting to look a little uncertain. “Or up to a week. It worked with you.”
“Oh, really,” she says, crossing her arms. “When was that?”
“When you studied abroad in college? We didn’t talk for a few weeks.”
My mom rubs her eyes. “That’s because we couldn’t, Joe. We weren’t fighting. We just didn’t have cell phones then, remember? And we ran out of money for phone cards.”
I check the clock on the microwave. Only a few more minutes until my class starts. “This has been a great chat, guys, but I’m going to get dressed.”
“Nice one, Joe,” my mom says.
“What? That was pretty solid advice!” I hear my dad say as I close my bedroom door.
I get myself dressed and ready for school. Just three more classes until I can talk to Vanessa. Maybe I can read through some more comments, try to process what everyone said about my recent post then too. I can do this.
I open my laptop, open my curtain, open my window … and the fire escape across the street is empty.
But I don’t have time to think about it, about anything, because my American history teacher is off and running with her lesson.
Somehow my morning classes fly by. And somehow I manage to focus on them, not just look out my window at the fire escape across the street the whole time. Not, of course, that I care if Sadie is out there or not. I’m just curious, trying to figure out her schedule, that’s all. Trying to figure out what that conversation, what my Babble post, was all about.
And then, finally, my forty-minute lunch break.
Almost immediately, I get a video-call notification, and when I accept it, I notice how tired she looks.
“Are you okay?” I ask. It’s disorienting to see her look anything but alert and happy.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, and then she starts to cry.
“No, I’m sorry. About your great-aunt. About making you upset. About never saying the right things.” I fight back my own tears. I feel like I should apologize for Sadie, too, since Vanessa doesn’t even know Sadie exists, but also for the Babble posts, since I don’t think she knows I’m on there, that I’m active on there, that I’m writing posts. But it doesn’t seem like the right time. And Sadie is a friend. Just a friend. I try to focus on what my girlfriend is saying.
“You just did,” she says, wiping her cheeks.
“Really?” I feel slightly relieved, but more than slightly guilty.
“Really.”
“At first I just thought maybe you were mad about the brownies,” I say without thinking.
She looks surprised. “What brownies?”
“The ones my mom and me made.”
“Why would I be mad about the kind of brownies you and your mom made?” she asks, confused, wiping her cheek.
Now that I’ve said it, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. “I don’t know. You just seemed mad at first.”
I catch myself looking out my window, toward the fire escape across the street, but I can’t see anything. Or anyone. I try to shift around for a better view, but then Vanessa starts talking again and I look back at the screen, trying to concentrate on my conversation.
“Well, I wasn’t, obviously,” she says.
“Right, obviously.”
And we just look at each other. I stay focused on my screen, don’t look out my window at all.
“I really am so sorry about your mom’s aunt. Your great-aunt,” I finally say.
“Thank you. I’m sorry too. I’m sad she died, of course, and sad for my mom. It’s just … this is all so …”
“Hard,” I offer. “So hard. This new life we’re living. I know; we’re healthy, we’re young. And I’m still really sorry about your great-aunt. I’m not trying to take away from that at all. But it can still suck for us, right? Like, I think we’re still allowed to be upset about this. Right?”
Vanessa looks like she’s considering what I’ve just said, but she doesn’t say anything yet.
“Look,” I go on, “I miss you. So much. And not knowing when we can see each other again? It’s just crummy. More than crummy. And like I’m just thinking about other families, separated, who can’t see each other. And it just makes me sad.” I know this would be the perfect time to tell Vanessa about Sadie, who can’t see her mom, but I don’t. It feels physically impossible for some reason to let myself talk about her.
Vanessa looks surprised. “That might be the most I’ve ever heard you say about anything!” I think she means it as a compliment, but I don’t like how it makes me feel. I’m trying to think what to say, how to tell her that, but she keeps talking. “Anyway, yeah, I think we’re allowed to feel sad. I feel like we’re still allowed to feel our own pain, right?”
“Exactly,” I say. “It’s really, really hard not seeing you in person. Not knowing when I can see you again.”
“I know, babe. I miss you too.”
“It’s not just missing you. Which, believe me, I do. These video chats are just so … hard. And if there is no end in sight? It makes everything even harder.”
“What do you mean, hard? Is your service not good? I’ve gotten pretty lucky so far with my reception. I’m glad my dad upgraded the Internet speed when he did!”
“No, the service is fine,” I say. “Sometimes the video chats can just be a little …” I try to think of the right word.
Vanessa looks confused. “A little what?”
“Unsatisfying?” I try. As soon as the word escapes my mouth, I realize it was the wrong one.
Vanessa frowns. “What do you mean? Am I not interesting enough for you?”
“No, no, that’s not it at all!” I say quickly.
“Okay, then what do you mean, exactly?” she asks, still frowning.
“I … don’t know.” I regret bringing it up.
She crosses her arms. “No, clearly you do.”
“It’s just … sometimes, when the chats are over, I end up feeling worse than before?” Vanessa opens her mouth to speak, but I say, “No, that came out wrong too. I just mean … part of what I love about having you as my girlfriend is touching you, kissing you, seeing you. Like, in person. And I can’t do any of that, and who knows when I can, and sometimes I feel like the chats remind me of that—what I can’t have anymore.”
Vanessa exhales hard again. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Claire. I feel like we’re incredibly lucky. To have access to the technology available to stay in touch from afar. I know it’s not the same as seeing each other in person, and I really miss that so much—I do. But I also feel like we should be grateful for what we have. It seems like it’s way better than the alternative, which would be not seeing each other at all.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I say. I want to say, You’re right, as usual. But I don’t.
We look at each other over our screens again. Vanessa breaks eye contact first, and I hear her typing something. She’s quiet for a second, reading something.
“What are you reading?”
“Just an article about social distancing for people in relationships.”
I look at her, waiting for her to say more. “Um, why?” I finally ask. Then it dawns on me. “Wait. You mean we could see each other?” I ask, confused. “Like in person?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she says, distracted again, reading something else on her screen. “I mean, we can’t go to the movies or anything, but we could go to the park. We’d have to wear masks and stay six feet apart, no touching. Like, going to the grocery store. Or like when you go for walks with your mom, like how you don’t get close to anyone.”
“Oh,” I say. “But do you think it’s safe? I mean, I know social distancing is okay for running errands and stuff, but like seeing each other would be different … right?”
She gives me a look, and I’m once again impressed and amazed at how much more knowledgeable Vanessa is than me in all things pandemic.
So I look up “socially distant dates,” and soon I’m looking at illustrations of different people, all wearing masks, engaging in different kinds of activities. There are masked people walking in a park, masked people sitting on a picnic blanket, masked people on bikes, even masked people on roller skates. They almost look like normal pictures of people on dates, except that all the people are wearing masks, and there are huge gaps of space between them.
I click back over from the articles to Vanessa. She’s staring right at the camera. “How long have you been watching me?” I say, feeling myself blush. I don’t know why I suddenly feel shy.
She smiles. “Long enough.”
I smile back. It’s so nice to see her smile at me.
“Soooo … what did you read?” she asks.
“I feel like maybe I have some ideas for socially distant dates.”
“Oh, really,” she says. “What did you find out? How does one go on a socially distant date?”
“Do you own a pair of roller skates, by any chance?”
Her smile starts to fade a bit. “No. Do you?”
“No,” I say. “I have a bike, but it’s in the basement of the building. And my parents don’t let me use it in the city.”
Vanessa says, “Babe, no offense, but maybe you’re overthinking things? Maybe we could just go on a walk or go to the park or something?”
“Yeah, that’s true.” I clear my throat. “Vanessa, will you go on a socially distant date with me?”
Vanessa laughs. “I’d love to.”
I hear shuffling by my bedroom door, and then I remember—my parents!
“Wait, are you sure your parents are going to be cool with this?” I ask.
Vanessa looks surprised. “Why wouldn’t they be? We won’t be close to each other. We’ll have masks on. We’ve all been in lockdown.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I say, but I already have a hunch that convincing my parents to let me see Vanessa is going to be challenging. Convincing my mom especially.
A date with my girlfriend where we can’t touch each other or kiss or hold hands or even stand close to each other, where we have to wear masks over our faces. And one I’ll have to convince my parents to let me go on. It’s not much, but it’s all I have. So, I’ll take it.
I smile at Vanessa and say, “Can’t wait.”
“Me neither,” Vanessa says. “Today has already been a better day. No matter what, it’s a new day, right?”
And it does feel better. It really does. “You’re so right.”
We smile at each other, Vanessa’s blue eyes sparkling, until she says, “Time for class.”
I shake my head. “Right, class.” We talked for so long I didn’t have time to check my Babble post, read any more comments, but suddenly none of that seems important.
My afternoon classes go quickly, too, but I don’t see Sadie on her fire escape at all. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved. I don’t have too much homework, so I manage to finish it up before dinner between texting here and there. Sadie doesn’t make any other appearances on her fire escape.
