I Miss Eavesdropping

How do we come together when we’re so apart?

Coffee, made and served by someone other than me, a week before March lockdown. Photo by author.

Tell me again what it’s like to sit in a cafe on a January morning, the sky still on the verge of daybreak here in the Pacific Northwest when light appears at 7:30 a.m.

Tell me about the people sitting at surrounding tables: individuals hunched over laptops and porcelain mugs; a booth of friends meeting to share stories about their controlling bosses, a concert, the thundering fatigue of parenthood, a recently run marathon.

Remind me of the music, the alternative radio fare that mixes, say, Nick Drake followed by an unrecognizable hip-hop/techno mashup I’d only ever appreciate away from home.

The Forgetting

Since the advent of covid, I’ve been so focused on other things — the best covid-avoidance protocols; my dwindling productivity, growing ennui, the election, a country’s polarization, some recent hope.

What I’m acutely aware of missing is a constant menu: seeing family members who live out of state, especially my mom; my co-working space, talking to colleagues, seeing clients in person, being out of the house during the day.

I miss being with friends more intimately, holiday gatherings, entertaining, ferociously cuddling my grandkids to the point of eating them whole…