The Rory Flynn Guide to Life and Other Stuff: #3- Surviving Quarantine, A Personal Diary
The last entry in this series begins the same way so many of my other experiences have; me waking up very confused in a hospital bed. This time, however, I think I’m more likely to die of pure humiliation than physical injury.
Just look at me going on about people freaking out and doing crazy things under pressure, then I’m the one who ends up sleep walking, taking suggestions from a houseplant, and psyching myself up to the point of a nervous breakdown.
As usual, my mom (who got here about an hour before I came back to my senses) sees things a little differently. After yet again patiently waiting about ten minutes for me to wonder out loud why the universe has taken it upon itself to label me with a giant, flashing target, she offered me some wise words.
And, as usual, they were exactly the words I needed to hear.
“You know that one really annoying song about life being a highway?” she asked, taking my hand in hers. I nodded. “Well, highways have potholes.”
So simple. So direct. And therefore that much more embarrassing.
“Ugh, I feel so…so stupid,” I murmured, looking away from her.
“As much as we hate it, embarrassment can be a pretty effective form of education, can’t it?”
“Look at it this way. In your very first entry, you wondered what you might take away from this.”
“Yeah, and now I know exactly what not to do during a global pandemic.”
“See? There you go. You also suggested that we, your readers, might learn something about you too. Want to know what I learned?”
I didn’t, really, but I nodded anyway.
“I learned that there are a lot of people out there who care for you and want to help you, including your family. Why didn’t you let them?”
I bit my lip. “I…I thought I could handle it myself.”
Mistakes were made, obviously.
“And that’s where we come in. We’re human. It’s perfectly normal to be unsettled or even a bit terrified at the moment. Plenty of people are trying to navigate those very same feelings. But…” she tapped my shoulder for emphasis, “just because we’re distancing doesn’t mean we won’t come running when you need it. You said yourself that we’re in this together and I happen to agree. No one should have to face this alone.”
“I was afraid of getting someone else sick.”
“I’d rather get sick knowing you’re okay than spend the rest of this quarantine worrying about why you’re not answering your phone or emails. Especially after all those posts about a talking plant.”
“Okay, the plant didn’t actually talk to me, it just…” I groaned, scrunching my face. “Never mind. I think it’s getting donated after this is over.”
“Unless it doesn’t survive.”
“Huh? Why wouldn’t it survive?”
“You won’t be home to water it.”
“Because once I spring you out of here, you’re coming home with me.” She held up a hand, immediately halting my inevitable protest. “Nope, sorry, it’s non-negotiable. Your dad and I already talked about it and, while you may be an independent adult, we’re still your parents and you’re still our son. We want you where we can see you for the next few weeks.”
“Weeks?” I started, then closed my mouth when I realized how wonderful this idea sounded.
The entire world is on hold. No work or other obligations to worry about. Nothing. I can escape my apartment, spend time at home with my family, and maybe even recover enough dignity to be able to show my face around Sutherland again when I get back.
“You need the rest. Besides, I have got to have someone other than your father to critique Peter Jackson’s interpretation of The Hobbit with. He just doesn’t get it.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I still am.
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