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I can tell a lot about a person by how they walk down a street with no sidewalk. My husband, Robin, goes with the flow of traffic, much as cyclists do. He trusts that cars will drive around him — sometimes he’ll look over his shoulder to make sure. He worries about very little.
Not me. I walk against the flow, scanning as far ahead as I can, ready to jump the curb at any sign of danger.
That’s how I saw it coming.
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In the beginning some people referred to it as the “Wuhan virus,” as if China were to blame. Some scientists were already warning of global sci-fi type scenarios. But President Donald Trump assured us, “We have it totally under control.”
Still, I was uneasy. In early March, I found myself wary in Whole Foods when I saw someone who looked like they’d traveled here from China. I felt bad about that.
I’m a journalist. By habit, I scan about four newspapers online a day. Maybe it’s overkill, but I like to keep my finger on the pulse of what’s happening in the world. It’s how I prepare for oncoming traffic.
So, I sensed a tidal wave coming, even as the rest of my world behaved as if that wave had frozen in place on the other side of the Atlantic.
My daughters continued to drop their toddlers off at my house as they left for work, the college basketball season headed toward March Madness, and my husband nabbed great tickets for us to the upcoming Chris Stapleton-Willie Nelson concert at the new Globe Life Field.
My close friends expect worst-case scenarios from me, so when I predicted at one of our weekly meetings that one of us would get the coronavirus, they shrugged.
My husband listened to my warnings and nodded with a slight smile. He didn’t take me seriously until I canceled my ticket for our long-planned trip to California on March 4.
“Are you kidding?” he said. “You’re afraid to fly to California?”
A screener at the Los Angeles International Airport had tested positive for the coronavirus. That was enough for me. We’re both over 60.
My close friend June was taking her daughter skiing for spring break in Utah on March 8.
“You feel good about that?” I asked her.
“I haven’t skied in years,” she said. “I’ve been dreaming about this.”
Robin left without me for his business trip to California and I wondered whether I’d overreacted. June and her family flew to Utah to ski. I stayed home and prepared for the worst.
When Robin returned home from California, he found an enormous box of supplies from Costco on our front porch. It was filled with toilet paper, Tylenol, cold medicine, black beans, disinfectant wipes and rice — enough for our six grown children, their spouses and three and a half grandchildren.
He shook his head. “Really, honey?”
I called June on her way back from the airport to welcome her home. “How are you, and how was the skiing?” I asked.
“Perfect, until the last couple of days,” she said. “I’ve come down with a fever and chills and I’m aching all over. I think I have the flu.”
The tidal wave had reached my front door.