Thank you.

This is the community’s collective thank you to the healthcare workers who are taking care of us all.

Night falls. The streets are quiet. I walk to the drugstore ten minutes before closing. There is nobody around except for a man mopping the floor. Masking tape marks off two meter distances along the aisles and where the line would be at the cashier.

With gloved hands, I take a box of expectorant from the shelf. I smile and mouth a thank you at the pharmacist but realize they cannot see my expression behind my mask.

Russell’s cough is not improving. He coughs up masses of thick mucus. I rub his back and make him tea and pancakes and soup.

I read a light novel that includes banalities such as choosing a dress for the senior formal and changing the offerings on a restaurant menu. I file my taxes, even though they are not due for months. I empty a drawer and organize the contents.

The yellow police tape wrapped around the children’s playgrounds.

The vast swaths of empty shelves at the grocer.

“At least you still have a job.”

“At least you have a partner with whom to isolate.”

“At least you are healthy.”