Escape from New York

Well, hiiiii friends. Things have certainly taken a turn, haven't they? Hope and your loved ones are staying safe and sane and in good health.

I'm writing this from Seattle, where I've moved (?) for the foreseeable future (?!). Almost two weeks ago, I made the difficult and frightening decision to get on a plane and come back here to ride this out with my sister and her family. It wasn't a risk any of us took lightly — we knew that there was a chance that I'd bring the virus (or more of the virus anyway) to this household and to this city. But coronavirus was already all over Seattle, our mom was sick with it, I was unraveling alone in my tiny Manhattan apartment, and my sister could use a hand cooped up with two young kids. There weren't any good options, so together we picked what seemed like the best bad one. And here I am, in a spare bedroom in Rainier Beach with a view of cedar trees and the lake, significantly more together than I was two weeks ago. Which feels like something at least.

I wish I could give you a better snapshot of where I was mentally before I left New York, but I can’t really because it's a blacked-out swirl of fear and stress and anxiety: barely sleeping, surviving on snack foods at odd hours, unable to focus for more than 15 minutes on anything, even the dumbest TV show I could find (the Dynasty reboot). Some of you might be able to relate. Mostly what I remember are the hours I spent paralyzed in bed, unable to do anything but scroll through the news and cry. Getting out and walking around the city calmed me down for a while, but after things started getting locked down, the daily walk became almost as upsetting as everything else; the eerie emptiness of the SoHo streets, the block-long socially distanced lines outside the grocery stores. It was a dark timeline and I wanted out of it desperately.

We finalized the decision at 8:30 on a Saturday morning; I bought a 4:45pm flight with miles and started packing for a trip with no end date. I filled three suitcases with all the clothes I owned and strange unnecessary things, like books and pantry supplies and my yoga mat, and then rethought the wisdom of checking bags and packed a few soft, stretchy clothes into a carry-on. I remembered my toothbrush and passport, but forgot deodorant and the notes for an essay I was supposed to write. Most of my belongings are still piled on my bed, a snapshot of that morning's chaos gathering dust for when I return. My other sister in NYC came by to take my cat. I have every expectation that my houseplants will die. 

It was a warm spring day in New York but the mood in the city was bleak. The wave hadn't hit yet but we could all see it on the horizon. My Uber driver and I were both wearing masks. Halfway to JFK we heard an alert on the radio that all flights had been grounded indefinitely, so he pulled over and I called the airline. Confusion abounded; we determined it was misinformation after a stressful 15 minutes, and it only amplified the end-of-days feeling. JFK was empty in that unsettling way of all airports in the middle of the night. The atmosphere was tense and everyone was scared, from passengers to TSA agents to Hudson Books employees. I could see my bottomless fear reflected in their eyes. We sat as far apart as we could in the boarding area and waited quietly, CNN blaring apocalypse updates in the background. 

The plane was maybe half full. I asked if I could move to the empty front row and the flight attendant said I could for an $85 fee, which I agreed to but she never ended up charging me. They’d suspended service and were only serving cups of water but I was too scared of contamination to accept one. Honestly body was flooded with so much adrenaline and fear that I couldn't do much of anything but obsessively hand-sanitize the gloves I was wearing and stare out the window at the frozen country below me, thinking about our toxic mass passing over these small towns and wondering when it would eventually reach them too. It was a long, grim six hours. I cried with relief when I finally saw the Cascades peeking out of the clouds at sunset. Still, even once I'd finally reached the safety of my sister's house and wiped everything down and washed my clothes and showered, it took me most of the night to stop shaking.

I've been better since I've been here. It helps to have my people around, especially little people who demand attention and do cute things a lot. I'm checking the news only once a day. I've been running, cooking, doing yoga, staying in the moment. My mom seems to be in recovery, and my dad is still healthy, and my sister and brother-in-law and kids and I are all still healthy, so we're cautiously optimistic. This statement might seem ridiculously naive to me next week.

When this is all over I have every intention of returning to my life in New York, though things have changed so rapidly and so profoundly in the last two weeks that I don't think I'm alone in wondering if this will ever truly be over. Or if After will have any resemblance to Before. I just keep thinking about that pile of clothes waiting for me in my apartment, and trying and failing to imagine the version of myself who will walk back in there someday and put them away.

How are you holding up?

All the hugs we aren't allowed anymore,
Anna