My Pandemic Time Brain
by Susan Miller
“Is today Tuesday or Wednesday?” my husband asks.
He wanders off without an answer.
Interrupting my train of thought.
Though these days my thoughts are not really a train.
A train has cars in a row, linked to one another
A train stays on the track until it reaches a destination.
My thoughts feel more like the just launched metal ball in a pinball machine
Wing-wanging, ping-panging randomly
From flipper to flipper, from bumper to bumper
Never sure what will light up next.
Will it be jackpot, triple points?
Or, will that silver ball circle slowly back down the drain.
Ping, I press my sore feet into the cool tile.
I poke at two big blisters on my heels
Massage the red arthritic joint near my big toe.
Should I hike tomorrow? Worry the decision.
Do I need different socks, shoes, medication, a new body?
Ping, I sit at the computer and research arthritis.
Branch out to Zappos for hiking boots.
Then remember an email I didn’t send.
Then detour to the kitchen to look at the refrigerator.
Then go outside to water the plants,
First slipping bare feet into my clunky outside shoes when…
Ping, the silver pinball misses my flipper and slides precipitously,
And I have traveled to a different time.
I lay on the big bed in my grandparent’s home.
The room is dark and smells of cherry pipe tobacco.
Sunlight streams from one small window,
Framing Grandpa who sits in his chair.
Specks dance in the air over his grey hair
Sparkling in the sun like fairy dust.
My fingers twist and untwist tiny balls of fringe on the chenille bedspread.
I lay on my stomach.
Watch his two hands lift one leg; then the other,
As if they were too tired to do this on their own,
Place them gently on a worn footstool,
Untie the laces of his polished black leather shoes with tiny holes,
Place them side by side on the wooden floor,
Roll down his long black socks folding them like two sausages.
Then lean back in his chair, wiggle his naked toes and sigh.
Another ping. I catch the pinball in a knick of time,
Before it circles the drain.
Spring-loaded, I plunge it back out
Wondering where it will land this time.
While I’m waiting, I touch my face,
Feel the wrinkles that I know are there,
Smooth back my ponytailed, two-toned, ‘pandemic grey’ hair.
Grandpa looked ancient to my child-self, I think.
Bet he was younger when he took off those shoes than I am now.
What will my grandkids remember of me when they look back?
I feel the sadness wash over me when I remember
How many months it has been since I’ve seen them.
Will they remember me only with a yellow Zoom square around my face?
Ping, the phone rings, a friend who is sick wants to talk.
Before I know it, another day is gone.
June disappears when I’m not paying attention.
My calendar reads July1st.
How has this happened?
I haven’t done the laundry, organized the garage, or even made the bed.
Ping. A baritone electronic voice announces
“You get to play again.”
I look back up at my husband,
Who has somehow returned,
For an answer his question.
“Today is Wednesday, it’s definitely Wednesday.”
I tell him as if I know for sure,
As if I am certain.
Bells go off!!
My ‘pandemic-time pinball brain’ pings, ping, pings again and again.
For another day, for another month.
For who knows how long.
