David and I saw each other in person last Saturday, the day before Easter, for the first time in at least three weeks. Work assigned him the week off – something kinda normal, not virus-related – and he needed to drop the truck off at work, with a plan to bike home.
I met him at the garage entrance for my building. We put his bike next to my car, and he put on some warmer layers and walking shoes. We were both wearing masks; I was also wearing gloves, and offered a pair to him. Fully sorted, we walked up to Fort Tryon Park.
This was a variation of my ongoing dilemma: do I invite someone in to my apartment, potentially violating the sanctity of cleanliness, or do I meet them outside, exposing myself to contamination? I know on the one hand that I am overreacting to the possibility of contagion, but on the other hand – the virus causes a terrible illness, and there is a non-zero chance of contracting it with every exposure to the outside world.
Well, I wanted to see my boyfriend, and at this point, there were some risks I was willing to take.
Walking along, we learned a new normal of monitoring spacing between us and Others; silently judging groups that spread out in a wide line, like volunteers looking for a missing person in a field, or groups of children or young people, randomly veering in and out of the flight paths of others. Some parents admonished their children to stay near. Some work masks, and others did not.
In the park itself, we felt things were a bit crowded on what previously might have been a normal day. We walked through the flower garden and quickly ventured down to one of the overlooks, gazing at the bridge and the Palisades across the water. It was a beautiful day, nary a cloud in the sky, bright with the promise of spring.
We continued on, following a path I don’t believe I’ve ever walked, taking the opportunity to explore as well as avoid the more commonly used paths. Eventually we connected back to the main route and went up some stairs to the Stan Michels Promenade, where we sat on a bench and David had the lunch I’d made for him – three-bean chili served over rice and eggplant, in a thermos jar.
We compared notes on making the chili, since we’ve both given it a shot. We also talked about roasting vegetables, and listened to music coming from a boombox not far away. I danced a bit, posing more than dancing.
On we went, until we decided it was more crowded than we cared for, and we walked back towards my neighborhood. Along the way, I wanted to stop at my local grocery store, and as we walked up the sidewalk from the east, the sun in our eyes, I turned into the store and there was a woman gatekeeping there.
We hadn’t realized there was a line, snaking back in the opposite direction, to the west. A well-spaced, orderly line of people wearing masks, under the scaffolding for some building work being done next door. I apologized; I felt like a jerk. Across the street we were able to discern the line for another grocery store.
Because of social distancing, it’s hard to make out the lines. They look like a series of people waiting for a ride pickup.
On we went, defaulting to my original plan of stopping at the Korean bodega. Here, there were two men standing outside, separate from one another, but they were not a line. I went inside and was able to get the things that were missing from my grocery order earlier this week, plus some additional items I figured I might need sooner rather than later. Korean bodega for the win.
We wanted to keep walking, so we proceeded to the bottom of the hill and walked over the pedestrian overpass to the bike path along the Henry Hudson Parkway. Usually I take this route walking or riding to the boathouse, but today we turned south and proceeded down the switchback that leads to the shoreline and the Little Red Lighthouse. All the while, still wearing our masks.
We passed some young men working out together, and a couple of skateboarders were at the top of the hill waiting for traffic to slow enough that they could ride down. We saw equipment at the base of the bridge tower, presumably related to the refurbishment project high above.
At the Little Red Lighthouse, the tide was low and we clambored down to take some pictures of each other in front of the lighthouse. We made light of the requirement for social distancing, staging each other in poses implying the presence of the other.
By then, the evening hours were creeping in, and David would still need to bike home, preferably in daylight. We made our way uphill, retracing our steps, across the overpass and to the garage, where the beginning occurred in reverse: he took off layers down to his biking clothes, put on his cycling shoes, and everything left went into his backpack. We said goodbye, both noting it was a special afternoon.
I picked up a package from my doorman, and once in my apartment followed my usual protocol: coat and outer layers, as well as shoes and socks, removed in the entrance; mask removed, keys and wallet dropped on the floor for later cleaning; gloves peeled off, followed by a thorough soapy washing of hands, arms, and face.
That was our afternoon together.