Where am I?

Where am I?

Where am I? I know where I am in the most literal sense of course. I am sitting on the leather couch in the small room off the kitchen, hearing the crackle of kale leaves as they sizzle on the surface of our Le Creuset cookware, smelling the starched, green leaves mixed with the chicken dinner that waits for me on a small red plate, humming the songs my mother hums as she prepares her own dinner. It’s warm and quiet. The only other sound is the soft muttering of my brother, sitting on the kitchen floor, maybe translating a line of French poetry or studying a fiery French progressive like Arthur Rimbaud, who he likes to tell me about, and the occasional noises of daily life - the hum of the microwave or the soft gushing water from the tap.

Outside my window the calm, dark sky hangs above us, cool and cloudy. I know that, beyond my sight, there are the large, rolling hills of the Shenandoah Valley, nestled in the Blue Ridge mountains in the nearly invisible mist of Virginia’s quiet scenery. I’ve spent my whole life here. So much time that I forget the beauty of it, so readily recognized by the tourists that traipse through the small town streets and reside in the Bed and Breakfast next to our stately house. It’s a popular place for visitors with its large houses and proximity to the light bustle of downtown, only a two minute walk away. It’s a beautiful street, lacking the slight snobbery of some of the larger houses a couple blocks over, who like downtown but dislike the ever constant flow through the small rented apartments at the end of our street.

There are good, honest people on our street. Maybe they have other things to spend money on, or they’ve had a cast of bad luck, but that doesn’t mean that they are less worthy of friendship - many of them are the brightest, sweetest souls you’d ever meet. I’d take them, and the friendly chats that take place between our front porch and the sidewalk, over many people who consider themselves in a better position. I try to say hello to everyone I meet. I learned this, as my brother did, from my parents, especially my mother. There is not one person who passes by our porch without receiving a cheerful “How are you?” from her. I’ve always liked that.

A lot is different at the moment of course. People are a little less friendly. A little more wary. It’s hard to smile at people with a mask on and we keep six feet between us and visitors at all times. We order our groceries online, picking them up without contact. We still smile as best we can and wave though, and people still smile and wave back to us, at the grocery store and on our street. Maybe some people wouldn’t but we still do, and the people we live near do too, making contact on weekly walks around the now empty downtown streets or trips out of the house for essentials.

It’s a hard time for local business and relationships. My brother and I like almost nothing better than to sit in small coffee shops, reading or talking while the rich smell of coffee and hushed chatter drift over our senses. The people who run them are sweet and hardworking people, many have been there for years. There isn’t a single store open anymore though, a couple run take-out orders, but not many. We hope that most of them will come back, but a fair amount of shops have already been forced to close their doors, particularly the poor stores who only opened their doors a couple months or weeks before the closure. There is a certain quiet beauty about the hushed streets though, almost untouched by cars or people, and a shared humanity with anyone who does happen to be passing by. We’re all in this together.

So that’s where I am. In a sweet little town, in a sweet little house, talking to sweet, small-town people. But mentally and emotionally? Most of the time, that’s not even close. I spend my time in high towers and low valleys, rushing waters and dark caverns, encircled by the books I love. Sometimes I’m rushing through the Great Depression or a WWII tale of bravery and terror, and sometimes I’m following imaginary creatures through dark, enchanted forests. When I’m not reading, I’m listening to audiobooks, or discussing my latest literary finds, with my family.

I may not be able to explore the world physically, as I yearn to, but I can go everywhere in the wide, excited eyes of my mind and soul. Sure, we have problems that bring me back to earth. Like how my dad just lost his job because his company is going under, and there’s just not a demand for construction right now. And how my brother had to attend an online graduation, and will receive his diploma in the mail. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do now. And how my mom had almost finished a course to get a job for the first time since her first child, and now she can’t take the exam. And how my first prom was cancelled, and I’m going to have to apply to colleges without being able to visit or tour them, only adding to the stress of not knowing what I want to do with my life.

But that’s only half the story, and there are so many positive things in my life because of the unforeseen situation we are in. Like how I’m getting enough sleep for the first time in months, which is massive to me because I suffer from Chronic Fatigue, and a full 12 hours sleep is like a fantasy. And how I get to spend so much time with my family. And how I bake all the time now. And how I appreciate things that I took for granted before, so much more than I used to. And howI have time to watch the news. And how my self esteem and body positivity is skyrocketing because negative stereotypes aren’t being pushed down my throat, and I don’t feel the need to spend every second of my time on Instagram. And how I have time to read as much as I want whenever I want.

There are many things that are hard right now, but I am so incredibly lucky. I sit in a warm, happy house with good food and resources. Despite the fact that we lost our main source of income, we still have enough money to keep our house and feed ourselves, and pay for me to go to college and my brother to go to grad school. We have closets full of clothes, a house full of furniture, the technology to write this, and the Wifi to send it. So guess where I am? I’m experiencing the world from my bed one book at a time, eating brownies, and smiling. That’s where I am.