Alone

Margeret looked out of the balcony window/door. The glass was smudged, reminding her that time was of the essence to clean. Somehow, though, the thought of getting up and getting to work pulled at her body, and she felt her fatigue. She sat down. 

The year was supposed to be something special. Margeret had just succeeded in saving for the trip to Italy, the one that she and her mother had spoken of taking together for years. But then the virus happened. The panic happened. And then she was gone. 

This was supposed to be for you, Mom. 

Margeret sat on the side of her hip, legs tucked up underneath her, and a strand of yellow hair fell into her glistening eyes. She brushed it away without hesitation, but her mind was elsewhere. Her gaze was glued to the vast Appalachian mountains that were nestled in the fog from the rain. It was nearly April, and the showers had come early this year. 

Maybe the sky needs to cry, too, she thought. 

Social distancing had been in place. The president had begged the country to pray. Margeret didn't know what to say to God. Perhaps he needed more angels? Maybe that's why she had to go, too. 

In Tennessee, the rain and the wind were fickle lovers. They would clash, and then they would be gone, and then before you knew it, the horizontal rain would beat on the glass with fervor. The rain had stopped now. The breeze blew cold air against the glass, and though Margeret wore a heavy wool sweater, she felt the chill in her bones. She thought to herself, I'd like a friend, too. Now the wind and I are alone. 

Margeret fixed a cup of tea. Times were tough, and though she would have loved to own a kettle, she made do with simply microwaving her water for a few moments before allowing the tea to steep. It took her a moment to decide between green and black. She chose black. Just a drop of honey. Back to the window. 

The steam from the cup began to fog up the glass. She used her index finger to draw a heart. Margeret brought her eyes to the mug, the one that Mom had given her years ago from her trip to Spain. It had been one of a set, but time and carelessness had left only one. It read, "Life is My Favorite Adventure." Margeret sighed. The heaviness in her chest was crushing. Her head ached. And though she didn't want to think about it, the sore lump in her throat tugged at the recesses of her consciousness, begging for attention. She denied it satisfaction. Maybe the warm and healing properties of the tea would soothe her. Or maybe, just maybe, this was something that time would have to fix. 

She had always loved the view from this window. When you could thrust your gaze beyond the powerlines and lazily-filled parking spaces, your eyes would pick up on the beauty of this side of the country. The rolling hills, green with the promise of new Spring life. The large Oaks, like sleeping giants, their branches still bare. The old white wooden churches that stood on the flattest ground they could in this region. The churches that were no longer welcoming worship.

She set the tea down. It was too hot yet to drink. And she didn't want to look at the mug anymore. 

Travel had been canceled. Italy was no longer on the table. In fact, in these uncertain times, nothing was sure as it had been. Panic-stricken consumers crashed into shops and bought out everything that they could find. Bread, baby formula, even toilet paper was just an empty aisle in an increasingly empty marketplace. Customers would fight over the last desired product with their fists out. Would-be entrepreneurs took to Craigslist to sell these items for double, even triple the amount that they were worth. And people paid. When a person is scared, he or she will pay. One way or another.  

 Black Friday, Black Plague, Margeret thought. Look at that, I've made a little joke. A bitter smile barely lifted her lips. There was nobody to laugh with. 

And all of a sudden, it came. The wind had found the one it loved or loved to hate. The rain pitter-pattered on the glass, aiming directly for her silhouette. 

Margeret looked out the window. The glass was still smudged, though it didn't really bother her. Nothing mattered anymore, not like it used to. She plopped down on to the floor, suddenly feeling so heavy. So burdened. The tears sprung forth before she could choke them back down. She allowed her voice to give power to her sobs. Maybe a neighbor would hear. These walls were not the most insulated. Shame nearly caused her to quiet herself. But then again, she had not heard anyone in just over a day. Maybe there was nobody home. So many had to work, had to help the economy. Had to face the virus for money's sake. Margeret's job had been terminated for now. You do what you have to do, even when it hurts. 

Margeret stood, tears painting her cheeks, and fiddled with the latch. It always got stuck, and for some reason, the handle had been installed backward. With a tug and some gumption, the door slid back. She set one bare foot onto the rickety wooden foundation of the balcony. It was wet and it was cold. She stepped out with her other foot and closed the door behind herself.

The rain tapped against her body. It caused her fluffy sweater to select a side of her body to glue itself to. Her old gray yoga pants were slipping and sliding as she moved. She was beyond desiring physical comfort. Margeret closed her eyes as the water droplets from Heaven mixed with her own production. The rain hid her tears. And suddenly she didn't feel like she was spilling her sorrow by herself. 

Margeret thought about prayer. Maybe the president was right, and maybe it was time to pray. But perhaps God was too busy sorting through angels. Perhaps in this time of upheaval, God just wanted to be alone.