As I head back to my temporary music room, I notice the whiteboard on the fridge and pause to scribble a number one on it. Maybe it’s odd to want to count the days we’re quarantined or isolated here, but the whole situation is odd.
It takes me an hour or so to turn the bonus room into my temporary music studio. Once I have everything organized, I try to get some writing done, but I know it’s a lost cause tonight. I’m too keyed up. It makes sense to feel disoriented, I guess, after the sudden turn my life has taken over the past few days. The midday nap probably didn’t help either since it feels like it should be much earlier in the day.
My phone rings with an incoming video chat request.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, sitting back on the couch.
“Patrick, is that you? You’re all blurry.”
She’s pixelated too. “Yeah, let me try to get a better signal.” I’ll have to get on the WiFi after this, and I hope it’s not terrible.
The signal sucks in the music room and in my room but improves as I head down the hall. Mom finally comes into view when I sit at the kitchen table. “Now I can see you,” she says. “Where are you? Can you honestly not get home?”
“No, I can’t cross the border. I’m in Kentucky.”
“Kentucky! What the hell is in Kentucky?”
Laughing, I prop my phone against a vase in the center of the table. “The only available rental house I could find on two days’ notice.”
“Are you okay?” She doesn’t give me time to answer before she continues. “Because I’ve been seeing some horrible stuff on the news that America is going to be worse than Italy and China. That they’re going to lock everyone down and—”
“Mom.” She blinks at me. “I’m fine. I’m going to be absolutely fine. Yes, the predictions here don’t look good, but I’m staying in a house with no neighbors in sight. It’s outside a small town. I’m not going to come in contact with anyone and risk getting sick.”
“Do you have food and water. Everything you need?”
“Enough to last ten of me through the summer.”
She nods, looking a little relieved. “Is it a lockdown?”
“I don’t think that’s what they’re calling it here, but they’ve closed everything except grocery stores, pharmacies, and places that sell the essentials. The governor is asking everyone to stay home unless they’re in need of something. People aren’t supposed to be out unless they’re getting a little exercise or taking a drive. It’s not like they’re stopping people. There are no soldiers in the streets or anything, so don’t let the hyperbole online scare you. I’m safe. I promise.”
Geneva walks into the room and hesitates when she sees I’m on the phone.
“I still hate the idea of you being alone there. Who knows how long this will last?” The tremor in my mom’s voice is heartbreaking.
“Actually, I’m not alone.”
Mom tilts her head with a sigh. “Oh Pat, tell me you didn’t take one of those awful groupie girls with you.”
Geneva picks up the water bottle from the fridge she was reaching for, a giggle escaping her. She spins around, covers her mouth for a moment, then mouths, “Sorry.”
“It’s not a groupie, Mom, Christ.”
“Oh, was that her? Well, let me say hello.” Shit. I glance up at Geneva who wears a smirk. She shrugs, waiting to see what I want to do.
“Geneva, would you like to say hi to my mother?”
She walks over beside me where she can be seen. “Hi Mrs…” A questioning glance is thrown my way. She probably thinks Thorn is a stage name.
“Just call me Maggie.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Genna.”
Mom smiles from ear to ear, and I already know whatever comes out of her mouth next is going to be embarrassing. “I’m happy to meet you, Genna! You’re a pretty thing. How did you and Patrick meet? On his tour?”
“She’s not a groupie, Mom!”
Geneva laughs. “I’ll let him explain that. I just wanted to say hi and tell you he’s right. We’re in a good place here. Surrounded by woods in a beautiful house with a pool out back. We aren’t roughing it.”
“That’s so good to know.”
She gives a wave and walks away, tossing a grin back over her shoulder at me as Mom keeps talking. After a few minutes of explaining our situation, I’m able to turn the conversation to her. “How are you guys? Are you getting stocked up? Just because they closed the border doesn’t mean it won’t get bad there too.”
“Oh yes, we have everything we need. So far, they’re asking us to use social distancing, stay six feet away when possible, and I’ve had to take down some of the tables in the café to keep to those rules.”
My next question is useless because I know the answer before it ever leaves my mouth. “What about Dad?”
Mom flaps her hand at me. “Oh, you know your father. He thinks it’s a lot of nonsense and exaggeration. But he’s home all the time now that he’s retired anyway.”
We talk for a few more minutes and by the time I hang up, I think I’ve assuaged most of her fears. Moms. I’m grown. But she still worries after me like I’m a kid.
Geneva sits out on the screened porch, bundled in a hoodie with a throw blanket tucked between her and her laptop. It’s early spring and still chilly at night. She looks up at me when I step out the door.
“Hey, sorry if I put you on the spot.”
“It’s fine. Your mom seems nice.”
“She is. If you need me to declare your safety to your parents, I’m happy to reciprocate.”
The quick smile on her face doesn’t reach her eyes. “Not necessary, but thanks for the offer.”
It’s a sore spot I didn’t mean to touch. Maybe her parents aren’t alive. I know next to nothing about her. Time for a change of subject. “Do you know the WiFi password?”
“It’s written on the notepad in the foyer.”
“Thanks.”
Leaving her to return to her work, I find the password, and get my phone connected to WiFi, along with my laptop back in the music room. I’m relieved to see it’s a solid connection with fast speeds. If we’re going to be stuck here, there’s going to be a lot of streaming going on.
Despite my midday nap, exhaustion creeps over me again. Those few hours didn’t make up for the chaotic days before. My eyes slam shut the second I crawl into bed.
The first week passes in lulls and spurts. It’s strange to be away from people, other than Geneva, and it’s rained almost every day, making it impossible to take a walk or do anything outside.
Most days it’s easy to forget what’s going on out there, especially if I don’t check social media. It feels like I’ve just found a secluded place to work, and since songwriting always hijacks my brain and takes me away from the real world, it’s not out of the ordinary to feel a little off when I set it aside to eat or rest.
The disinfectant spray and hand sanitizers we’ve placed strategically around the house are a reminder, though they aren’t getting used much since we haven’t had to leave.