what if these are my better days?

What if these are my better days?

Maybe I like the sleepy streets. So quiet you can hear the sigh of a bus driver.

I revel the sound of birds tweeting through clean air. I feel pristine wind through my unwashed hair. My content smile spreads left to right, like the swerving of my bike through the drowsy Harbourside. I weave through pavement posts, tall trees, and floating pedestrians.

Riding through isolated streets brings fresh freedom. I can roam as fast as the wind, unreserved in my path.

I no longer tire of people who have absolutely no obligation to look behind them for an an amateur-cyclist. I no longer cringe at the bike bell rings.

What about if I enjoy social distancing? The absence of the ‘can I just squeeze past’s , ‘do you mind if I just’s or ‘sorry, can I quickly grab the’s.' Maybe I relish this new normal, the sleeve sneezes, the elbow bumps, the ‘after you’s, contactless, the contactless everything.

People have been practicing patience, kindness, the piano, baking sourdough…

I have been practicing meditation, what it’s like to be truly alone and how to paint the walls without getting paint on the ceiling.

Strangers smiles seem less intimidating, less questionable.

The truth is, undoubtedly yes, I want the pandemic to end. But truthfully?

I’ve experienced guilt free annual leave in the comfort of my (newly painted) living room. And I’ve always been a post-holiday blues artist.

Day #1 Post Pandemic

I awake and open the window to my first floor flat; I leer at the colourful row of houses in the distance on the hill. Orange, pink, yellow, blue, and white, a pastel rainbow of concrete. The moon shines silently above them.

It’s 7:00 a.m. and the sky is still waking up, undecided whether to wear blue or grey. Wisps of white cloud decorate its abundance. I notice an plane moving softly through the transcendent mass, its vapor ripples draw a line under the weeks that have passed us by.

I get ready for work, indecisive like the morning sky. It’s been a while since I’ve had to fashion something other than leggings or joggers. I pick out a grey jumper from the wardrobe, put on some mascara to trick my tired eyes and take my bike ready for the morning commute.

It is when I step outside the big blue door bounding a block of red bricks, I realise things are different. The neighbour above me who normally sits on his balcony having his morning cigarette and coffee is not there. He is back to work too. We used to chat about the news updates and the films we had been watching, I wonder if we will see each other again? He works nights and weekends at the airport, I work 9-5 Monday – Friday. 9-5 Monday – Friday, 9-5 Monday – Friday.

‘Back to work today?’ My downstairs neighbour walks out of her front door carrying a dribbling bin bag and a burden of guilt following the early morning bluster.

I smile and nod:

‘It feels strange, I think I’ve forgotten how to do my job!’ I turn to the little girl.

‘And you’re back to school?’

The little girl who has been my quarantine companion and god send during the time of uncertainty and Joe Wicks work outs, does not smile back at me. Instead, she sulks, her chin jolts inwards towards her neck as dramatically as her arms fling over one another in front of her.

The same little girl who for weeks now has been cheerily calling my name from the garden up to my balcony, asking me to watch her blow bubbles and witness how high she can bounce on the trampoline.

She is wearing her red school jumper, wardrobed and unspoiled for months. Within minutes of putting it on, coco pops kamikaze'd themselves down her front, leaving the same sticky remnants that decorate the kitchen table.

I reminisce upon our pre-lockdown ground to balcony conversations:

‘I wish my hair was yellow like yours.’ (She wasn’t far off; the hairdressers did warn us all to not reach for the box dye.)

‘I can’t wait to be an adult; you don’t get told off when you’re an adult.’

‘I don’t like corroraviwus, I am really bored of corroraviwus.’

‘How do you spell EN AYCH ES?’

Now she is looking at me, wordless, as though she is angry, like its my fault society has to return to ‘normal,’ my fault lockdown has been lifted.

I wish them both a good day and set off on my bike.

I am cycling down the road past the other blocks of flats, red bricks, grey bumpy concrete, the newer builds with their large tinted windows and flat roofs. I cycle away from the rainbow row behind me, along the brown river and into the busy city. Traffic lights seem to stay red; the roads are backed up with cars and tired faces, the air seems thick with somberness and sincerity, a heavy mist of car emissions and passenger emotions.

Pedestrians, people, everywhere. Have there always been this many people on the way to work? Perhaps I just didn’t notice before. So.many.people. Class loads of children cross the roads to re-learn. A woman wearing a grey skirt, white blouse, and pair of orange Nike trainers, presses the traffic light prompt 10 times over. The light stays red for a little while more.

More bikes, more students, more commuters, more than I remember. Cars beep and hoot, their engines tapping impatiently like the foot of a primary school teachers. Runners pass by, red faced and breathless. Even the river is rushing by. I pedal a little faster to catch up with it. I slow down as an elderly gentleman and his wife hunch over the groggy air and walk towards me.

I reach the now hectic Harbourside, intertwining unwillingly through the city’s snoozing citizens, the sound of their morning alarms still ringing in their ears.

Our office is at the top of a steep hill. I get off my bike and begin to wheel it up the long street of uninhibited restaurants, reworked vintage clothing shops and record, home ware, and gift stores. The peeking sun lights up their neutral signs and reflects off windows like pastel laser beams.

Owners and store managers smile as they take down the COVID UPDATE signs, and delightedly remove the sorry we’re closed scribbles, flipping unflipped-for-time signs to ‘Come in we are open!’ The signs smirk at their reinstated roles. A shop owner beams at me through the window, I see a green polka dot dress I like the look of. The sun forces itself through the grey sky, shunning me to work…and telling me I must come back for the dress.

My favourite bookshop is having its window display re-jigged. The lady looks content – her glasses fall down to the end of her nose and she giggles to herself as she pushes them back up. She is wearing a banana yellow jumper with a blue scarf hugging her neck. Her dolly shoes slip freely off the end of her heels as she kneels to dust off the remnants of lockdown neglect.

Café sublime greets me with the welcoming smell of pastries and hot milk. I feel the sun on the back of my neck. The regular big issue seller with the long hair and crooked teeth smiles a sincere smile like that of an old friend.

‘Good morning, happy Monday, happy every day!’

I reciprocate his grin and re-listen to his words ‘happy every day.’ Mondays haven’t felt like Mondays for a while. But why were they different to any other day before?

Ah! My favourite café/restaurant. I’d forgotten all about it! The smell of their pre-prepared lunch time falafels enters my nose like the perfume of a favourite aunt. I peer in the window and two workers are laughing and subtly jigging to the morning radio. A tall gentleman with round glasses and a fashionable moustache ruffles the dreadlocks of his energetic co-worker.

I reach the top of the hill and look up at the tall grey office block I haven’t seen in weeks. I lock up and walk up the silver steps, taking the lift to the fifth floor.

‘Really good to see you!’

‘So good to see you too!’

The room buzzes with smiles and cheers and pats on backs and long-lasting hugs, and hair ruffles and high fives and laughter. I didn’t realise how much I missed this. Humans. You get used to missing people, but when you see them again, you realise how vital they are for your life and well being and for bringing vitality and variety to your life. Zoom just didn’t quite cut it.

I sit down and log into my computer. A little overwhelmed by my furlough induced email count. The radio hums in the background and the department intermittently sing along like an amateur office choir. We all giggle and smile coyly to ourselves…it’s the little things we’ve missed.

‘Fancy a cuppa?’ My manager asks, her hand rests comfortingly on my shoulder.

‘Yes please, that would be great!’

‘One sugar and dash of milk isn’t it?’

‘Yes, thank you! I’ve missed your teas!’

I wipe down my desk with a lemon scented wipe and open my notebook to a fresh new page.

My best friend comes to me from her desk and secures her arms around me, we both squeeze a little tighter.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ you look great!! I got our favourite, crumpets! Shall we have them at 10?’

‘Thankyou! You too! SO much! You look bloody fantastic!’ I say, my arms outstretched holding hers so I can have a better look at her face, now it’s not pixelated.

She wears a pastel yellow blouse. Her fringe falls perfectly above her plucked eyebrows, framing her pretty face and pink cheeks. Her nails are painted pink and yellow and I’ve never noticed how blue her eyes are.

Our head of department stands up from his corner desk. We sit there intently as if listening to a coach before a football game. Some company updates and a few jokes. One about how he hasn’t missed us at all and another mocking his lock down facial hair as he strokes his index finger and thumb over his chin. The room fills with coy smiles and joyful laughter.

‘All jokes aside though guys, it’s great to see you all. Let’s get back to it!’

I’ve never seen him so sincere, so happy to be in a particular moment.

My manager places a cup of tea on my lemon scented desk.

‘There you go my lovely,’ her smile as warm as the mug she places beside me.

I feel a glow in the room. I look around, soaking up the explosion of colour, smiles, hair, clothes, shoes, faces, freckles, skin, backpacks, coffee cups, desktop screensavers, glasses cases, post it notes and highlighter pens. The luminosity of humans being surrounded by humans, the radiance of smiles being exchanged, the warmth of human contact, a cup of tea made ‘just right,’ by someone other than you.

You know what? I think to myself…. I could get used to this.