How Do We Connect and Reconnect?

Sliding Doors

On the 200th day of quarantine, Loren was once again awakened by her dog, Champ. She lived in a high-rise apartment building and had to take Champ on his daily morning walk. Still groggy from her sleeping pill, she had never cared how she looked in the morning. But that changed a week ago because she ran into Freddy, her mystery handsome neighbor from the seventh floor.

The apartment building has a strict elevator rule of two people only. She did not understand the logic, but abided by the rule. While waiting for the elevator, she immersed herself in her hobby of people-watching. She noticed

Freddy picking up a package and she decided to wait for the next elevator. Freddy briskly walked up to the elevator area. He was clean-shaven and tall. Who shaves during the pandemic, she thought? He started to pet Champ. She was not sure if that was his way of striking up a conversation. A young mother approached the elevator with her two toddlers. Loren and Freddy silently brokered a tacit agreement to let the mother take it while they waited.

Although Freddy only talked about the dog, Loren was not sure if he was flirting with her. Was she supposed to ask for his number? Invite over a stranger? She decided not to do either. Was this her ‘sliding doors’ moment – and she missed it? It was like her favorite romantic movie where the protagonist changes her fate. She imagined a future with Freddy. But what kind of adult still goes by Freddy? The pandemic was getting to her, she thought.

She marked on her calendar “day 200 of quarantine and no Freddy”. Was she destined to be a castaway in the sea of strong women? Or would she meet her Freddy after the quarantine?

Valentine's Day Party

Going to the party was her idea. Another sad attempt to fill the deafening silence – a void that engulfed her marriage – with people, drinks and loud music.

You must applaud her valiant efforts. A month ago, she bought wooden signs for the house: love, family, and home. It was as if she wanted to post reminders of what her marriage once represented. She filled the king-size bed with decorative pillows. They used to think the bed was too large because they cuddled in the middle and didn't need the extra space. Now, they sleep on the edges and the decorative pillows became a wall of boredom, which separated them.

Her husband drove home early. He knew that she probably had prepared his light snack and left it on the counter. She knew how he liked to eat before going to parties. It irritated her, but she accepted it like his many other quirks. He imagined how she laid the suit and the shirt on the bed hours ago. She probably picked three different (but very similar) black dresses to try on: the silk strapless, the one with spaghetti straps and the one with long zipper at the back. He knew that she would try them all on and that he would have to feign interest when she asked for his opinion. He rehearsed what to stay on his drive home.

That night was different. She was just stepping out of the shower when he came in. He always loved her wet hair. She never liked her husband’s spontaneous behavior; she liked schedules. But that night was different. She didn't yell at him as he tossed his suit and all the decorative pillows on the floor. Missing the party was his idea – a successful attempt to reclaim their happiness.

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