"Look Up, Not Down" by Andrea Santo Felcone

Ever since this whole surreal thing started, Aimee Lee found herself in one of two places, either sitting on the couch (in the mornings) staring out the window, or sitting on her fire escape (at night), staring at the night sky. Her thoughts were always the same: It was crazy to think just 6 weeks ago the streets below her would have been teeming with people. Today, you were lucky if you saw one person--one sad, confused person, wearing a mask, dodging around corners. Weeks ago, that observation would have fit the description of a bank robber, today, it was every model citizen, trying to outrun a deadly virus.

“Worry looks down. Faith looks up. Look up, not down.” That’s what her mother had said, so that’s what she’d do to get through this: “Look up, not down”. Had the sky always been this clear? Or did the sky know, like all of Nature itself, that the world could use an extra shot of beauty? Let’s face it, the “old normal”—wasn’t all that great: school shootings, global warming, a culture obsessed with digital devices. In that world, no New Yorker worth her salt would ever “look up”. But, now, all bets were off. “Up” was “down”. “In” was “out”. Every hour Aimee Lee felt like she was walking through molasses … yet the days flew by. None of it made sense. So, she spent part of each night in quarantine, doing as her mother advised, “looking up” … up at the stars.

If she was still going to the office, she’d be the first one there. She always was. Now, though, everyone was working from home, and they were swamped. Before the pandemic, few people had heard of “Zoom,” now it was a household name, like “Instacart” and “Tiger King”. Her boss, the President of “Zoom, NYC”, (and also her ex), was so overwhelmed, she almost felt sorry for him. The fact that he video-conferenced her, on a piece of technology she had helped to refine, to break up with her, well, that spoke volumes.

That was the last straw. Nothing like a global pandemic to re-evaluate priorities. Aimee Lee was moving back to the small town she grew up in, Abergavenny, Pennsylvania, population 7,003. Her mother was ‘isolating alone’ (redundant, but true), and felt she couldn’t stand it any longer. Somehow Aimee Lee had been chosen by random sample to receive the antibody test. She’d just found out that weird virus she suffered back in January--that had been the virus that shall not be named--and she now had antibodies swimming around in her blood. Aimee Lee didn’t know if she should be happy about this or not. It was unnerving knowing this thing had been in her system. Her mother took it as a positive sign and asked Aimee Lee to move back in with her. Now, the two would “isolate together” (the oxymoron of the times).

“Mom, I’m getting in my car now, so I should be in Abergavenny in about an hour.”

“Don’t forget to pack your masks, gloves, bleach…. And don’t even think of getting in the car without wiping down the door handle, steering wheel…”

“Mom, I’ll be fine. See you soon for the all-time ‘hug of hugs’”.

Thoughts of her mother flooded Aimee Lee’s mind as she drove out of the city. The poor woman kept such a tidy house there’d been nothing to do during the quarantine. The last time they spoke, she had been trying to get the furniture indentations out of her carpet, “fluffing the divots,” as she called it. (Marie Kondo would be proud.) Aimee Lee, on the other hand, had accumulated so much stuff over the years, she never imagined a point where ‘divot-fluffing’ would be a daily activity—even in the kind of free-time a quarantine presented.

“Abergavenny: One square mile of happiness”, the painted sign announced. Everything looked smaller than she remembered. Just as she pulled up to her childhood home, she noticed a truck, a few doors down, driving off. Truck engines, leaf blowers: these were the only remaining sounds of comfort and normality. This truck, even though it was green, was like a rare black swan…. The Peapod grocery truck. For one minute, she thought, through the side mirror, through a mask … she saw… no … it wasn’t, was it?

After the “hug of all hugs”, she finally caught her breath enough to ask her mother:

“Was I imagining it, or was the guy driving the Peapod truck … Tony?”

“I was wondering how long it was going to take before you noticed.” Aimee Lee’s mother grabbed her again and squeezed her, couldn’t help herself. “Yes, your high school sweetheart is now a hometown hero. Delivering groceries. He’s the talk of the town.”  

Aimee Lee hadn’t thought about Tony Gibraldi in years. Tony was married, wasn’t he? She thought she’d seen something on Facebook. His broad shoulders and closely cropped brown hair, the beginnings of a beard, his “look” suited the pandemic well. But, she had stopped having real feelings for Tony ages ago, right?

“You know, Tony’s recently divorced. His wife left him when he decided to stop working for the bank, and do something for the community. Gold digger. Serves her right if Tony winds up making more money in tips as a Peapod’s delivery guy in this awful thing. Anyway, I always thought you and Tony made a cute couple. And guess what?”

“What?”

“Last night, I stayed up ‘till 1:00 a.m., and I got a Peapod delivery for two weeks from today!” Aimee Lee’s mother giggled and gave her a little wink.

***

Two weeks later, after wiping down everything with a fresh bleach wipe, Aimee Lee’s mother handed her a bowl of oatmeal…. “Shall we play?”

“Sure, Mom.” This was her mother’s favorite part of their ‘new normal’ routine.

“O.K., what’s the first thing you’re going to do once that adorable Dr. Anthony Fauci produces the vaccine?”

“Mom, it’s not just Fauci, there are teams of people working on that vaccine, but O.K., fine, well… I wish I had a better answer, but I’m going to the Cookie Crumbles Café to get one of those giant hot chocolates with the inch-thick whipped cream on top, with an equally giant chocolate chip cookie. I just love how perfectly vintage and sweet the décor is in there.”

“With Tony?”

“I don’t think Tony’s the least bit interested in me.”

“Aimee Lee. How can you say that? For goodness sake, you do realize we are the only people--of everyone I know--who got chicken delivered—boneless, no less. That didn’t just magically happen. Just so you know, I got another order, set to come in five days from now. Plan your sweatpants accordingly….”  

That night, Aimee Lee decided all those semi-annoying “live your best pandemic life” people who kept reminding us that we could make something special out of this unique time in history; they were right. Why not shed what she didn’t want from her old life, embrace what she did? She decided texting was out … she wanted to write Tony a letter and confess how seeing him again (from her perch inside her living room window) had reignited her feelings. When she was done, she placed it on the front step, anchored by one of her “kindness rocks” just in time for his grocery delivery.

***

Today was the day. Tony would get her letter somewhere between the hours of 1 – 3 p.m.  and as such Aimee Lee decided she’d spend a bit more time on her “Pandemic Beauty Routine”. Having grayed early (in her mid-twenties) her roots were now out of control. Unfortunately, her Madison Reed order was held up, latex gloves being in short supply. Maybe she’d just wear a giant headband, and call it a day? Or, some make-up? (Was touching her face a bad idea? Was Dr. Birx wearing make-up? Oh, that was it! … She’d detract from her face with a beautiful scarf!)

***

“Mom! Mom! Come here!”

“What is it? Are you O.K.?”

“Mom, I’m fine, it’s not that. Something amazing just happened! Before he left to get back into his truck, Tony picked up my letter, and just before he walked away, he pressed his hand against the glass of the window… and so I pressed my hand against the window “to meet” his hand, and we stood like that for a full minute, before he released his hand. I think that must mean something, right?”

“Aimee Lee, of course it does! I told you he still had feelings for you! I’m so happy for you! And when that adorable Dr. Anthony Fauci…”

“Yes, Mom, I know, when the Adorable Dr. Anthony Fauci single-handedly creates a vaccine, my dreams will materialize.”

Aimee Lee practically floated over to the TV where Andrew Cuomo was giving his live update. The curve was flattening, although the numbers were still horrific. Her heart hurt for New York and the rest of the world and anyone who lost a loved one. Any chance she’d have with Tony would have to be in a considerably distant future. She silently prayed Tony would be O.K.. Then her brain did what it always did in crisis, it went to something inconsequential: Cuomo looked nice when he smiled.

***

Two weeks later, after picking out a different Birx scarf, and pushing her auburn hair up into a messy bun, (she needed a haircut so badly), she sat in front of the window awaiting Tony. The more she thought of him, the more she realized he bore a striking resemblance to that hunky Cameron Mathison. Odd that she’d never realized that before. She was seeing so many things with fresh eyes these days.

If this all played out the way she hoped, she wouldn’t have to engage in online dating the way her friends were. What a horrible prospect that was. And in a pandemic, what was the point? Everyone’s profile looked the same: “Hobbies include: hand washing, grocery procurement, bleaching.” That was all anyone did these days.

Surely, Tony’s hand on the window meant he returned her feelings? Honestly, she couldn’t even bring herself to go outside anymore, so in person conversations weren’t an option—even if she wanted to, she couldn’t face him. Mom was in the high-risk category, Aimee Lee couldn’t take the chance.

“Aimee Lee, can you ‘suit up’ and get the mail?”

Aimee Lee put on her mask and gloves, spritzed bleach around the outside of the mailbox, got the barbeque tongs and reached in for the mail. What she didn’t notice, in this awkward process, was Tony’s letter slipped and had fallen behind the hydrangeas, and was no longer among the bills and the stimulus check…. When the letter was finally found two weeks later, it then had to sit in “quarantine” for 24 additional hours….

Surely if Aimee Lee had read Tony’s note sooner, things would have turned out differently. She would have realized just how strong Tony’s feelings were, how he had never stopped loving her. (Perhaps if Tony had communicated in a way that didn’t require such long quarantine times—could he have etched his feelings in copper?) But, as the letter sat, so did Aimee Lee, staring blankly up at the night sky. Still “looking up, not down”, but filled with more worry than faith. The stars shown beautifully, as she considered switching to Instacart….

***

“All right, I’ve heard just about enough, there’s NO WAY to make this work! Who is going to watch a Hallmark Movie about a Global Pandemic? Exactly no one, that’s who. And, really, do you honestly think we’re going to convince Cameron Mathison to be a part of this?! Honestly, you two need to lay off the sauce during working hours….”

And with that Art McCallister, head of Hallmark Movie Channel New Projects, got up from his desk and walked away from his Zoom meeting. It would have been a great and dramatic ending to an excellent tirade, had everyone been looking up, not down--but that wasn’t the case. And so, that meeting would be remembered in perpetuity for what Art had forgotten (what he always forgot during these meetings), he wasn’t wearing any pants.