New Normals

           I woke up, looking at the clock. I was going to be late if I didn’t get up soon, so I begrudgingly got up, mad at the world. It was hard to be late for something I just had to log in to, but it happened more often than not. At least it was Friday. The day before the weekend. A break from doing nothing but because I never leave the house anymore, I usually just feel more exhausted after the weekend. Burnt out. Tired.

           I hate this. I know everyone does. I brushed out my hair and put on an appropriate shirt, leaving my pajama pants on. I walked across the bedroom to my bathroom and splashed water on my face, patting it dry with a towel. It’s as good as it’s gonna get. I sighed, then went into the living room.

           My “office” wasn’t an office. It was a desk that I somehow managed to fit between my couch and the wall, smaller than most desks. I didn’t think I would need a bigger one. A year ago, I thought. A whole year. More than a year. I hate this.

           I opened my laptop and typed in my username and password for my laptop, then for my email, then for my virtual conference center. Too many things to remember. I was right on time, a shock to me. The meeting covered information that could have been sent through an email and my face hurts from smiling for two and a half hours for the camera. Cameras on, what a stupid rule. With a wave, I clicked the door with an arrow and left the meeting. I began to do my actual work, motivation lower than yesterday.

           I need to do something this weekend. I need to get out. This apartment was going to drive me mad. It already has. Some things are opening up, some restaurants, maybe some bars. I looked at the digital clock nestled in the corner of my screen. It flashed 1:03 PM. I needed to eat. I don’t think I deserve to eat. I haven’t done anything. But I’m hungry and it’s lunchtime. I get a slice of bread and toast it, adding honey. I walk around my apartment, circling and pacing to do something.

           I sat back down, feeling sluggish, and began work again. I heard cars and birds outside, some dogs. Welcome noise, signs of life. Hope that more and more sounds will fill the street one day. One day soon. My phone buzzes, I ignore it. It buzzes again, and I pick it up, thinking it’s a work call. It’s not.

           Swiping the screen, I answer my college roommate. She tells me about this new winery and cidery that opened across town, that there’s a special tonight. Steal the Glass, she says. A whole group is going, my friends since sophomore year of college. It’s last minute, she says, but everyone’s going to try to make it. She lives ten minutes past me, the opposite way of the winery and offers to split the cab with me, she and the bright yellow car will pick me up on the way there and drop me off on the way back. I wanted to do something. I told her I would love to, she’s leaving her apartment at 5:30. 3:27 PM the clock blinks.

           Two hours. Two hours to get ready to see people I haven’t seen in years, some in part to the pandemic, some just because life went on. I wrapped up what I was working on, some project that I had really already finished but was just detailing. A project I had grown to hate. I clicked out of it and switched on my speaker. I needed a shower. I needed to come back to life.

           I needed to be raised from the dead after a year.

           With music blaring, I got in the shower, giving myself a good clean, something I needed. I let the steam wrap around me and soften my skin. I scrubbed away the dirt and work-week and didn’t even want to try to remember the last time I washed my hair as suds ran down my face. This was nice. Showering to do something felt nice.

           I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around myself before opening the glass door, stepping into the foggy bathroom. I didn’t wipe the steam off the mirror, I couldn’t look at myself right now. I would pinch and poke and refuse to leave my bathroom out of spite for looking like I did. It wasn’t bad, people told me, and I really don’t think it was, but I knew my mind. I knew the tricks it could play and I knew looking at myself with clothes on would be the only way I could leave.

           I brushed out my hair and wrapped it in a second towel, walking to the closet. Alexa told me the time was 3:49 PM. Two racks of clothes. I never realized how many clothes I had, at the same time I never realized how little clothes I have. Nothing to wear. Well, nothing I want to wear. Ok, one thing at a time. Pants or a skirt. I’m drinking, pants are a safer bet. It was full springtime in the south, warm nights and warmer evenings. Muggy. Buggy. Definitely jeans, no sticking to chairs or laminated taxi seats.

           Straight leg light jeans it was, and I threw them on the bed. Shirts. Long pants, so a short shirt. Maybe a body suit. I rustled through my closet, finding a tan, one shoulder strap body suit. I think that should do. I picked out underwear and jewelry and put it on. Throwing the towel on the side of my bedroom door, I walked back into the now clear bathroom. Ok, this outfit was good. I didn’t hate it.

           I unwrapped my hair and got out my dryer and straightener from under the sink, plugging both in. I don’t think I’ve dried my hair in months. The brown strands felt soft when I was done. I pulled back half of my hair and straightened the bottom section, spraying it with hairspray before bushing it through. I did the same to the top section before putting on makeup. Face makeup was something I hadn’t used in months, and I wasn’t sure I di everything right, but it looked ok. Maybe my eyebrows were a little crooked. I stared into the mirror. Were they?

           I don’t think so. Well… I leaned over the counter. No, I think they’re alright. 4:41 PM, Alexa told me when I asked. I sprayed hairspray lightly onto my face, I didn’t have setting spray. Lotioning my arms, I left the bathroom. Why did I get ready so early, now my nerves are building up. Oh boy. The butterflies were fluttering full force. I don’t think Lacey will care how I look, but I don’t know who else is coming. But they’re my friends, I know them. They like me for me.

           Oh, God, I feel nauseous. Other than errands like the bank and grocery store, I hadn’t been out. And now I’m going out out. Ok, I can do this. I wanted to do something this weekend, and this fell into my lap. I’ll be okay. I think the last time I went out to a place like this was my senior year, right after graduation. No way it’s been almost two years. Thinking about it, I realized it had been. Once I finished school, I worked. I went out on a few dates, went to some restaurants with friends, but this was something new. Something foreign. This was a big step. A glimpse at life past the pandemic. This was welcomed. This was needed.

           The nausea didn’t pass. I should eat. But what if there’s food at the place? If I eat now I won’t be hungry there, and if I don’t eat now I could very well pass out from nerves. Oh, and alcohol. Should I drink? Yes, Lacey and the cab. I can drink. I pull a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and throw it into the microwave. A snack. It’ll hold me over. I’m really hoping there’s food there. I text Lacey, something I should have done five minutes ago.

           Relief slides over me; there are appetizers and bar snacks. She says she’s just waiting on the cab. I open the microwave, shaking the popcorn bag before ripping it open. I look around my apartment. I loved it when I moved here after graduating, and I still do, but it’s not just my apartment. It’s a sick bay, an office, a place to exist. I don’t know if I live here anymore. My lease is up soon, maybe it’s time to move. No idea where, but it might be good. I have some savings. I liked the idea. Maybe a two bedroom, so I can have an office space, something separate. Good storage. Yes, I liked it.

My memory and attention span both sank as the months went on, so I opened notes on my phone and jotted down the idea. Lacey should be here soon. I balled up the brown popcorn bag and threw it in the trash. I went over to my entryway and plucked a mask off one of the hooks and threw it into my purse. My phone chimed and Lacey was here. Quickly, I grabbed a bottle of liquor and took a sip, wincing as it warmed my throat. I clicked my tongue, putting the bottle back. Grabbing a jacket, I left my apartment and locked up. Down the hall, down the stairs, out the door. It was still light out, an almost golden glow settling across the city.

I saw the cab across the street and waited for traffic to lull before crossing the road. I opened the door and was greeted by Lacey, giving me a huge hug as I slid in the back next to her. We talked the whole ride to the winery, like I was expecting. She’d been struggling too, but her office was in-persona nd remote hybrid, so she was able to go into work most days. Talking over text every day wasn’t the same as talking in person. It felt good.

After fifteen minutes, we pulled into a parking lot, already getting a little full. Lacey handed the driver a wad of cash before opening her door and stepping out, me right behind her. I told her I would get the cab fare on the way back, an easy way to split it, something we used to do all the time in college.

The cab zoomed off and we walked toward the door, propped open with a sign advertising the promotion tonight. The inside was industrial, concrete floors and metal framing, wooden beams exposed on the ceiling. Warm lighting made it feel welcoming. I felt safe. Bistro tables and longer, rectangular tables were spaced out inside, most full of people laughing. There were garage doors along the back wall, six in total. They were clear and the four middle ones were open, exposing the back patio. We put our masks on before going inside. Lacey walked right across the hall, confident as ever. She had gone out. She had bitten the bullet before. This was the first time I brought myself to. I followed her out back, and we snagged a wooden picnic table that was under the overhang.

Without sitting, she went back inside before emerging a few minutes slater with two glasses of white wine and a paper menu. Not a minute later, the res of the group arrived. We hugged and talked and laughed, and they insisted on ordering two bottles for the table. We decided on some appetizers and I went to the bar with Angie to put the order in. A stage inside was now occupied with people moving cords, bringing chairs up, moving speakers. We walked back to the table where more conversation and laughter flowed and stories were told. Soon, live music floated through the air and hot food was brought out to us. I ate, not caring not, even thinking. I was having a good time. It felt like it used to.

More wine was ordered and consumed, and before we knew it, it was nine o’clock. Last call was made and tipsily, Angie raved about this party downtown. We were all having such a good time, and had enjoyed a good bit of wine, we all agreed. Charlie called an Uber and before we knew it, we were spilling out of it outside of a bar called “Harmon’s.” We could hear the music from the sidewalk and there was a line outside the door. Angie, confidently, walked up to the bouncer, pulled down her mask, and talked to the man before he looked at us and waved us in. Not knowing, and frankly not caring what magic she worked, the four of us joined her and walked inside.

Now, this was a party. Could it be a party at a bar? Oh, stop thinking! Dance! I don’t know if I thought it or if someone yelled at me, but I listened. Kristi grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bar and handed me a red drink. Vodka cranberries, our drink of choice in school. It wasn’t packed like the bars used to be, but it was still something that had become so foreign to me. The crowds, the music, the energy. I felt alive.

The night went on and eventually, Lacey and I ended up in a cab, headed home. Charlie, Kristi, and Angie all left together and texted the new group chat when they each made it home, me doing the same, and lastly, Lacey. We promised we would do this again, hopefully it would become something regular, something we could plan on. Something normal. I don’t remember changing into my pajamas, eating a bag of potato ships, or watching Mamma Mia last night, but I remember waking up this morning and feeling the soreness in my cheeks; tender and a little bothersome. Soreness from smiling real smiles. Soreness I would put up with again and again. I loved it.