it's a jungle out there
You’re dressed in a fabulously flattering new ensemble. Your hair has been coiffed in an uncharacteristically cooperative way. Your heart patters a little faster than usual, every fifth beat imbued with nervousness; all the others bubbling with excitement. An event you’ve been anticipating for months commences today, and you can hardly wait to make your grand entrance.
And if that giddy-making gala has you loitering on a scuffed linoleum floor in the grocery store pharmacy, biding your time until a masked stranger arrives to jab a needle into your arm, well, I think it’s fair to say you need to get out of the house more often.
I most certainly do.
Nestled into this Northwestern valley, we relish our quiet rural life, but the commute to and from parks and beaches, stores and services does create an extra challenge when it comes to planning for outings or appointments. Add to that nearly a year of limited mobility due to multiple foot fractures, and, before we realized it, twenty-two months had passed since I had last left the house—and that most recent excursion had been for an immunization as well. But, on April the second, after several delays this year due to snowstorms, migraines, and other unexpected calamities, Dennie and I breached the threshold into the world beyond so that I could finally receive the bivalent covid booster she'd already gotten half a year ago.
Sadly, yes, I was absolutely exhilarated to be there...in a typically cluttered pharmacy, in a finer than typical market. I thought we'd be in and out in a flash; there was no one ahead of me.
Time, apparently, holds no meaning in this strangely tranquil place.
Still, as we lingered among the condoms, the cough suppressants, and overgrown heaps of covid tests, there was something intriguing about it all--a most peculiar bipedal species the likes of which I hadn't seen in ages. In that secluded corner, I waited. I observed. I was Jane Goodall taking my first steps into the rainforest of Gombe, Dian Fossey settling into the Virunga Mountains. I watched as these familiar creatures roamed their natural habitat, rarely interacting with one another. Though previous documentation indicated animals of a highly social nature, most of these remained solitary. A few traveled in pairs or even family groups, collecting what appeared to be provisions for later consumption. They were ingenious, utilizing functional tools that took the form of great baskets with wheels, no doubt permitting them to carry more than their limbs alone could manage. Suddenly, tension filled the air. Two dominant females approached the last remaining can of disinfectant spray. Their eyes met, irises flashing a warning, a threat, a dare, from one to the other. I stood back, fully obscured within a jungle of prophylactics. Mine was a purely scientific study. It was not my place to intervene. I feared a violent altercation, a cloud of blinding aerosol fumes released in the tussle. If only I'd brought my camera. What a rare sighting! What a documentary I could make! Guerrillas in the Mist. Yet it came to nothing. One female backed away, a show of submission that may well have spared her life. The other pounded her chest triumphantly, leaving the scene with her prize in hand.
For fifteen--maybe twenty--minutes, I waited. I watched. After nearly two years, at last I coexisted among my own kind. There they were, hunting, gathering, carelessly coughing and sneezing into the open air without a modicum of concern for their fellow primates. Ah, humanity! How I haven’t missed you. Okay…maybe I did a little. Then one of them stuck me in the arm with a very sharp needle. I couldn't be cross, not justifiably. I had been, quite literally, asking for it.
Stay safe, stay vaccinated, and never, ever stop reading.
Special thanks to PrintYourArt for the jungle imagery used in this blog.