this side of Christmas

Quarantining with covid, it turns out, looks a lot like isolating from covid.

Lots of me-time.  Lots and lots of it.

And with all that time, you become a world observer, stuck at the window or in front of the jumbotron over the mantel.  What you observe is a proliferation of sides: the covid believers and the conspiracy adherents, those who protect themselves in the mask and those who protect their rights from the mask, savvy entrepreneurs riding the virus boom and those evicted when the boom drops. 

Telly confirms it is no different in the household he commandeered to protect his granddaughter Ally from her covid-infected husband.   

“Scottie and I are opposite each other on so many issues,” he says from the second-story window in the hallway, “I practically have to pull back to the scale of ‘the greater humanity’ to get us on the same team.”  He shakes his head.  “You would think in a household of two, you would find more commonality.  At least we share Ally.” 

After Telly locked out of the house the greatest common denominator between him and his son-in-law, Ally (the common denominator) was unwilling to involve the police to regain entry to her own house, for fear of her grandfather being incarcerated for taking her husband hostage.  She finally agreed to swap living quarters temporarily if her grandfather promised to give her updates on him and Scott whenever she asked. 

“Now, I love the kid but she’s wearing me out,” Telly complains above our heads.  It’s uncommonly warm, this day before Christmas.  So he is able to keep the window open for our little visit.  “Every hour and into the night.  My granddaughter’s concern borders on mania.”

“She’s just worried about the two men in her life,” I tell him.  “Maybe that would go away if she had a cat.”  I reference the cat in my lap.  “Cats are great for worrying about.”  Toby turns where he sits, modeling a seasonal sweater that makes him look like a miniature green conifer with LED lights.  When Tabby, my eight-year-old neighbor, saw me leaving the house with the cat, she ran after me to put the sweater on him.  Then she followed.

“She can have my little brother,” Tabby says and giggles.  The girl is on a first-name basis with her parents, which still seems a little odd to me.  It is, I have learned, definitely odd to her parents.  “I doubt Dan and Alice would care much.”  She doesn’t giggle this time.

“I like dogs,” Big Jeff says and holds his up dog Micro.  “I like little dogs.”

“All dogs are little next to you,” Telly says.

Big Jeff laughs.  Tabby giggles.  Toby grooms.

Ally, on the other hand, maintains a steady level of irritation.  “I’m right here,” she snaps.  “You’re all talking about me as if I weren’t right here with you.”

Right here is a circle of chairs culled from a few back yards and placed under the window Telly is leaning from.   

“You don’t look so good,” Ally says to the face in the window.

“You mean I look ninety-two years old?”

“See?” she appeals to the circle.  “This is what I have to deal with.  Grandfather, I’m just thinking, this is day four and most people start having symptoms by now.”

“You’re assuming I’m infected.”

“Yes, I’m assuming!  You stopped wearing your mask the moment you locked me out.  Do you have a death wish?” 

“I am fine.  If I have it, I’m asymptomatic.  Okay?  That person you married, on the other hand, is improving a little each day.  Right?” he calls, presumably to the patient in the house.  “It’s our hourly report, Scottie.  Say something I can pass along to everyone.  Oh, okay.  Scottie says he’s going to retire his MAGA hat and learn to love everyone.”

We can hear a man in the throes of phlegm struggling to speak.

Telly laughs.  “That guy tears me up.”

“Grandfather, please don’t taunt him.”  Ally has confided in me that she is afraid her very blue grandfather may be trying to deprogram her exceptionally red husband.  “I love Scott,” she tells me.  “Red warts and all.”

“You know,” Big Jeff wonders out loud.  “I think I could like a cat.”  He looks from Toby to the little dog in his lap.  “They’re both cute and furry.  Cats are about the same size as a small dog.”

“That’s kind of what I told our patient,” Telly says.  “I pointed out to him that most Democrats look and act a lot like most Republicans.  Unfortunately, those that blur the line rarely make the news.”

“I like Republicans too,” Big Jeff says.

“You are a Republican,” Telly says.

“We’re very likeable people.”

Toby raises one paw and makes a likeable head-petting motion toward Jeff’s dog.  Little Micro proceeds to wet his owner’s lap.

“Oh GEE,” Big Jeff says and stands up.  “Every time he gets outside his comfort zone!”

“He is right on your lap,” Telly points out.  “The cat’s six feet away.  How small is his zone?” 

For those of us who are not Jeff, it is strangely satisfying, after months at home, to partake of any entertainment that is not on the television.  For Tabby, it is downright hilarious because it hits right at home.

“That’s just like Sir Francis,” she says.  The remark is just jarring enough to turn the conversation.

“The navel officer?” someone asks.

“The philosopher?”

“The plumber?”

“My brother,” she says, just amazed how poorly grown-ups are at guessing.  “He pees at lot.”

“He’s just two,” I hasten to explain Sir Francis’ prolific output.

Big Jeff says he’s going to take Micro home and change.  “A fondness for dry pants is another thing I suspect Republicans and Democrats share.” 

“Thanks for stopping by,” Telly shouts.  “And Merry Christmas.”

Tabby looks reminded of something and tells us she probably needs to leave too.  “I told Dan and Alice that EVERYONE has to be in bed tonight by eight o’clock.”  She reproduces for us the same stern expression I am assuming she gave the family she isolates with.  “In bed by eight, they have told me my whole life or you might not get what you wished for Christmas.”

Ally smiles real big and asks the girl if her parents know what her gift wish is.

“No,” Tabby says.  “Another thing they tell me is be careful about who I trust with personal information.  I figure wishes are personal information.”  We nod in agreement.  “So, I mailed a letter to Santa and told him I need a bicycle.”

“You need a bicycle?”

“Sometimes Alice forgets to pick me up.”

After Tabby leaves, Telly says, “Poor kid.  Sounds like she’s having to grow up pretty young.”

Ally says she probably needs to get ready for work.  “I’ll be back before the morning, but...”  She stops and stares at the LED lights on Toby’s Christmas sweater.  She stares until the tears remind her to blink.  “Sorry,” she says and wipes her face on her arm.  “This is just not the Christmas I was expecting.”  She shrugs.  “I guess I’ll leave and let you two talk about me in private.  Tell Scott I’ll be checking in,” she calls above her.

“He already knows,” her grandfather says lovingly.

When she is gone, I ask Telly if he is really feeling okay, or if that’s just what he’s telling Ally.

He thumps his chest with a fist.  “I feel as strong as a ninety-two-year-old ox.  And it makes me wonder about all the reporting we hear on the virus.”

“Don’t tell me you think it’s a hoax.  The proof is right there in the house with you.”

“No.  It’s not that.  Scottie is definitely infected.  The thing is, he takes so many vitamins and supplements no germ or virus should be able to survive in his environment.  Shoot, I’m ninety-two years old.  To be more at-risk of dying from the virus, you practically need to be dead with the virus.  How do I not have it?”

“Maybe you’re not giving it a chance,” I say sarcastically.

“The incubation period is greater than four days, but I really thought that by now I would at least have a runny nose.  I still have a full box of tissue by my bed.  Unopened.”

“It sounds like you’re complaining.”

“What I’m saying is, I don’t feel a thing.  Except—”  He stops to check behind him.

“Except what?”  Now he’s got me worried. 

“Loch…I’m tired of the sides.”  For the first time in four days, the old guy looks like he might be coming down with something.  “If I try to have a conversation with Scottie—you know, to help pass the time—all he does is contradict every statement I make.  I even agreed to watch Fox News with him and stick with the script.  But same thing.”  He leans against the windowsill. 

“You do sort of have a history with him.”

“I know.  And right now, there are new sides for Ally and me.  I’m the at-risk and she’s the professional healthcare giver.  And it makes her absolutely deaf to anything I say as her grandfather.  If I ask her about work, she asks for my temperature.

“Now, I can talk with Big Jeff.  That guy can talk about anything without taking offense.  I love that about him.  But I can’t tell you how many of our conversations were ended abruptly when someone had to go change into some more dry.” 

I laugh, expecting Telly to laugh with me.  But when he frowns, another side is drawn. 

“I can’t even enjoy my games on TV anymore because it’s all about taking sides.  It doesn’t work without sides.”

There is no one else in the zone from the second-floor window to the circle of chairs.  Just Telly, the cat and I.

“I miss coming down to your house and talking without sides getting in the way of meaningful talk.  Even stupid talk.  The three of us are real good at that.”

Toby smiles to be counted.

“That day is coming,” I tell him.  “Until it does, Rapunzel, Toby and I know where your tower window is.”

He laughs.  “I appreciate you stopping by, but you should probably head home, too.  It’s getting cooler.”  Even so, the old guy doesn’t look ready to be left alone.  “Before you go,” he howevers, “maybe you could do me a favor.  I shouldn’t need a reminder to tell me what day of the year this is.  But let me see that Christmas cat one more time.”

I hold Toby up, high over my head, and he poses cat-fully in his Christmas tree sweater.

“That is the most ridiculous…most beautiful thing I can see from this window.”  He sniffs. 

“In that case—” 

I remove the sweater, much to Toby’s relief, and hang it on a branch leaning over the circle of chairs.  Then I hit the switch for the LED light show to begin.

“That’s nice.”  He sighs on high.  “Merry Christmas Toby…Loch.”

“Merry Christmas, Telly.”

Putting your best Christmas side forward.