My backyard doesn’t have lights, so I pace back and forth in near darkness. My vegetable garden is a shapely shadow pumping out the aroma of fresh cucumber and tomato. From the back door of my house and all the way across the yard to my garage, I trek to and fro. I ponder the sirens, and my neighbors fear of possible home invasions due to the ongoing socio-political uprisings that we’ve seen and can hear. All this happening during an ongoing pandemic.
In the shadow of my backyard, I simmer in a widely publicized and debated quarantine. In moments of stress, when my kid is finally asleep, and my wife rests beside her upstairs, I finally get a chance to focus on my own thoughts. Hence, I’m outside, quietly pacing around the yard.
My phone flashes. It’s another one of my white friends giving their Black friend a chance to speak. Also, I’m a pretty damned interesting guy, so they want to hear my opinion.
I tell this particular friend, “Hey, man, are you healthy? How’s the family?”
I’ve been a writer for most of my life and I still don’t have the language to make this a meaningful conversation. I don’t have the language to center the both of us in this moment. There’s too much space between us. There’s too much of too much. I know, but they won’t agree, that our friendship started before we met. Their history and my history didn’t prevent us from flourishing next to one another. But in the future, their history and my history could destroy us, because although our communities merged or attempt to do so, once we recognize the two different communities the Venn diagram is partitioned, and then we’re at odds.
What I’m learning from being in quarantine, what I’m learning from having time to focus and debunk myself and those around me, is that the process of becoming a better society is not the solution. I’d argue it’s part of the problem. But only part of it.
I hang up the phone, press open my garage door and flick on the light. My garage is cobwebs with dead spiders. It’s dust adding a layer of neglect to what is stored in here because we care about it so much. The boxes underneath the long wooden table along the wall are proof of another lifetime’s baggage lingering. You can’t just get rid of the stuff. Where does it respectfully go? Who has time to deal with it the right way?
I punch the garage door opener on the wall. The mechanism that opens the door is metal on metal. Wheels and chains pull a heavy door up a track, to me, no less amazing than mysteries of the pyramids. I know nothing of some of the simplest things around me, but as I bring in my yard waste bin, I’m confident in one thing: I don’t want anything in my garden to die prematurely. I’m not choosing strawberries over leeks. I’m not choosing tomatoes over cucumber. Kale does not come before the squash. They do different things and you need to maintain them differently. I don’t need to make any of them as good or better than the other. It all just needs to grow. Making what is growing better doesn’t recognize its limits that make it exactly as it should be in its specific environment. That would be the point with all these different things wouldn’t it? Let them grow as they should, and they can still be maintained properly in the same soil. Feed them, water them, give them shelter and they will produce what they’re meant to produce.
I learned and was affirmed of that in quarantine.
When my daughter starts her day, that’s when I start my day; therefore, right now it’s late. I twist the knob on the back door, push it open and tip toe inside. My back door leads into the kitchen. This must be what a burglar feels like. I’m going to rob the freezer of its ice cream.
Every night it gets late. It sounds so simple but it’s worth saying that every day comes to an end. When you wake up you must be ready to do the simplest of actions. For me, during quarantine, I need to be ready to receive people, even on the phone, for who they are. They can’t receive me unless I receive them. That’s respect. For me, in quarantine, I also need to be prepared to pace my yard and keep a steady mind on my family, no matter where they are. And, when it comes down to it, when it comes right down to it, I need to recognize and maintain my garden. I know. Not as easy as it sounds.
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