Sleep Walk

  The wind had a slightly different chill this morning. Empty, almost. In every memory I have of walking these streets, I cannot recall a single moment when silence filled the air. Downtown River Walk was an attraction to tourists and a culture for us locals. Only in the early hours of the day would the people ever be scarce, but it was never quiet. You could hear music playing from behind the closed doors of shops as they got ready to open for business; you could hear the clatter of dishes from restaurants that were preparing food for the day. Today, I got a glimpse of what the end of civilization would look like.

        Not a single person was around me. After living in a big city for two years, you get accustomed to always being part of a crowd of hundreds to thousands of people walking around you, creating so many memories that intertwine with yours, even if it only lasts for the amount of time it takes to walk by each other. You are connected with people from all over the world for being in the same spot at the same time. Funny, how we could miss something like this now that times have changed.

        It’s been 5 months since the first case of Covid-19 was reported in China. 3 months since the first case was reported in the United States. Then, on March 11, 2020 the World Health Organization declared Covid-19 as a worldwide pandemic forever changing our lives. Countries have ordered lockdown procedures around the globe in hopes of slowing and eventually stopping the spread of the virus. When the President addressed the nation creating guidelines, the country joined in on a practice that proved to be effective across the globe: self-isolating in our homes. And within a matter of a few days, it was almost as if the country-the whole world-just shut down.

  Every person who is living through this new way of life has been intertwined with an even bigger scope of people, ironically by practicing what is now called social-distancing. As I stepped near the river that ran through downtown, I couldn’t help but feel this was altogether a whole different place than how I once knew it to be. The river had trash accumulating; some restaurants had completely cleared out their entire outdoor dining furniture. Others, it seemed, waited until the last moment of being forced to close their business, not leaving any time to move their furniture to more a secure place.

 I heard a noise thumping that drew my gaze to look up to the street level of Margaritaville. As I glanced at the shutters thumping against the window with the force of the breeze, I recognized the area. I saw all of us, sitting around a table, drinks all around…just a group friends out having fun, embracing each other, within a very close proximity. How many other fun nights did the moon bare witness to? Has she also become as lonely as the day felt, with no one to shine her light for?

I continued walking in solitude through the River Walk. I came across a group of ducks. They were communicating with each other, how I envied them. They were looking for food, rummaging through the trash that ran through the still river. What would become of them with no one to give them food? Or without the help to keep the area that they habitat clean not just for us, but for all the living creatures that depend on a clean environment?

  There was a sign that I never noticed in all the times that I’ve been here. Perhaps the crowd is too large for a small and subtle sign. It was about a 4x6 post three feet above the ground.

     Built in 1938

  82 years. That’s approximately 4,264 weeks. 29,930 days. It has been a part of conversations that occurred during the second world war, part of conversations during the Civil Rights Movement, where people first heard of the attack on the World Trade Centers-this site has been through some of the nation’s darkest and most challenging events in history. But this, a virus-something undetectable to the human eye-is what evokes the feeling of the end.

  “Would you like a table?” I heard from behind me.

  Caught off guard, I turned around to sound of a voice with a familiar accent. He was a young boy, standing at least four inches taller than me, dressed in suit and bowtie. His black hair was slick back. I searched for a sign behind him to see what restaurant decided to open days before the lockdown is lifted.  

        “Would you like a table?” he asked once more. His accent, unaffected by the slang in today’s modern English, sounded melodic. Behind him, in big red cursive lettering, I read “Casa Rio” across the building. I don’t recall ever noticing this signage.

        “Are you serving drinks?” I asked.

        He hid a small chuckle behind a smile, “Yes, Miss. I believe we can accommodate that request,” he motioned his hand to lead the way inside the restaurant. As I entered, I heard a familiar guitar riff, one I’ve heard many times before. An old song, I remembered, from what sounded like the 50’s. "Sleep Walk," the name of the song came to me by Santo and Johnny. 

        He led me to a table next to two young women, with a cigarette in those old fashioned cigarette holders. They looked at me with incredulous faces, obviously because of my attire. If this was a swinging party or flapper themed get-together, they were definitely on point. “Would I be able to sit at the bar?” I whispered to the host, trying to avoid making these two complete strangers feel even more uncomfortable.

        “Most certainly,” he motioned his hand with a subtle bow in the direction I was to walk. A few paces to left, I saw the bar in the center of the main room. There was seating on all four sides of the bar, and I casually made my way to the closest seat.

        “What’ll be for ya?” said the bartender leaning over the bar. He was clean-cut, his hair parted on the right side, went slick across. He was not as dressed up as the host, but he did sport the suspenders very well. As I was about to ask for a menu with the specials, a gentleman to the right answered for me.

        “She’ll take a whiskey, Johnny. Neat,” he emphasized.

        I looked over to see a man in a relaxed fitted white suit and black tie. He had jet black hair as well, slicked back revealing a small widow’s peak at the center of his forehead. His mustache, as equally black as his hair, with thin above his lip. “Thank you, sir,” I responded.

        “You seem lost, I thought a whiskey would serve you some good,” he said to me right before he took a couple of puffs from his cigar. “Name’s Robert Hugman.”

        The bartender carefully set the drink before me as to not disturb the conversation and walked away. I raised the glass towards my new friend, “Thank you, Mr. Hugman” and took a drink. Very smooth, whatever this whiskey was, I haven’t come across a whiskey that tastes like this. He chuckled and took a drink from his glass. “I can’t believe this place is open,” I said looking around.

        “Well, you see, this is the first restaurant to open here. My office is right next door,” he pointed in the direction I assumed was his office.

        “Oh, you work next door? You’re opened as well?” I asked.

        He let out a chuckle, “Why, yes, darlin’. I’ve got big plans you see,” he took another drink from his glass, “this is just the beginning. You see in just a matter of time, people will be walking along this river here just like they do in Venice.” A big smile came across his face as he imagined his vision while he told me about it. “This is the first restaurant to open here, so it will be filled with more restaurants and shops too, and people from all over the world will come, too. Just you wait and see,” he said.

        “Hugman?” I remembered that name. I couldn’t for the life of me remember anything at all right now.

        “The one and only,” he finished the last of his drink and signaled the bartender for another. “I’m an architect.”

        I nodded in acknowledgment and had a few more drinks of my whiskey. I was taking in the realization of the new change the world was about to experience as I asked, “Do you think it will ever get back to normal?”

        The bartender dropped off my new friend’s drink and started polishing some glasses near us. “Normal? And what exactly is ‘normal,’ my dear?” he took a few more puff of his cigar.

        “The way it was before? Living life like we are an immortal species that can never become extinct?” I didn’t know how else to explain.

        He kept his glance on me, his face covered with the cloud of smoke coming from his cigar. He was relaxed back in his chair, with his left leg crossed over his right. A small grin curved at the edges of his mouth. He thought carefully about his response. “Do you think it will ever be different?” he asked. “Wars will only continue to be waged, disease will continue to inevitably spread,” he took a drink, “and yet we are still here.”

        He was right. After everything this world has faced, we are still here. After so many wars, so many lives lost fighting for civil and equal rights, after attacks on the country-we, as humans, adapt and hopefully learn in the process. Each one of those moments, the lesson to be learned seems consistent throughout: treat each other better. This was different. Not a war waged with people, but with a microscopic villain.

        I was pulled away from my thoughts as I now heard silence. I turned back to see what has become of the restaurant around me. The two high-maintenance women who seemed bothered by my appearance were gone, along with all of the dining furniture I saw when I entered the restaurant. There were no tables. No chairs. Just an empty space. I turned my glance to the bar, that had bottles placed on shelves was now completely empty. I looked down to see I was now standing, and the bar stools that went around the bar were no longer there, including the one I was sitting on. The bartender was no longer in sight, my new friend was not around.

        Suddenly aware of what I was experiencing, I made my way for the door as quickly as my legs could move. Once I made it through the threshold and back on the River Walk, I started to breathe heavily as my mind began catching on to what I just experienced. I threw my back against a tree and slid down until I reached the ground. Suddenly, footsteps were coming toward me. I looked in the direction the footsteps were coming from and saw him, in the broad sunlight. He looked down at me and brought his cigar to mouth, took a puff and let it out. Behind him, I noticed the plaque, honoring architect of the River Walk, Robert Hugman.

        He started to drift off in the air as he started to speak, the song "Sleep Walk" could faintly be heard in the distance, “The planet is trying to send a message, kid. She’s giving you a second chance,” he paused, “what will you make of it?”