Lockdown

A short story by Lis Angus

“Where is he?” For the sixth time in half an hour, Fay pushed the curtain aside to peer out the window. By now George’s pickup truck should have been coming down their country road, but there was no sign of him. He’d gone into town to pick up her asthma medicine, and she’d expected him back a while ago.

She’d been pacing restlessly through the house, trying to calm her breathing. By now she’d been into every room countless times since he left.

At the window again, she watched two kids romping with their dog in the back field. She was pretty sure they were from the farmhouse next door, though she and George hadn’t met their neighbours yet. Schools had been closed for a week already, and those two had been outside every day, roaming the woods and fields out back.

The phone rang, and she had to scurry to answer. It was George. “Sorry, Fay, I had a flat on the truck. Drove over something, I guess. But when I looked for the spare, it wasn’t there. Not sure why. I’ll call the gas station in town, see if they have a tire that’ll fit.”

Fay felt panic rising. He wouldn’t be home for a while. She’d have to wait for her medicine.

She hoped her shortness of breath actually was asthma—not a symptom of the virus. She and George were in the vulnerable age group.

She’d woken that morning with a tight feeling in her chest, the constricted breathing she associated with an impending asthma attack. They’d phoned the drugstore; good thing she already had a prescription on file. And drugstores were an essential service, not one of the businesses ordered to close. They said they had the medicine in stock, so George could drive in to pick it up.

Both of them should be staying home, “sheltering in place.” But she needed that prescription.

They’d only moved here a couple of months ago, and hardly knew anyone yet. They’d rented this house because the rent was cheap, but it was far out of town. This was the fourth place they’d lived since George had to retire from the factory in Scarborough. Their city landlord had raised their rent; they’d had to move on, and then move again.

Constantly looking for lower rent, something they could afford, they hadn’t been able to put down roots anywhere. They’d become wanderers, their savings dwindling. Their world had shrunk; it was just the two of them now—neither of them had siblings, and they’d never had any kids.

And everything had changed mid-March. Now they were told to stay home, and they’d lost the few contacts they’d made here. They didn’t even have the minor companionship of visiting the library or saying a few words to store clerks. Strange to feel both rootless and locked in place.

She looked out the upstairs window again, but nothing was moving. Now she didn’t even see the kids.

Downstairs, upstairs. Her thoughts were rambling, her mind clouding with alarm. She tried to take a deep breath, and wondered if she had a fever. Could they get the drugstore to deliver, way out here?

There was a knock at the door. She edged over to the front room window to see who was there.

It was the two kids she’d been watching. The girl looked about fourteen; the boy was shorter, maybe eleven or twelve. He was holding a box, his arms stretched in front of him.

The girl came over to the window to speak to Fay. “My mom sent us over with a pot of stew for you, and some bread she baked yesterday. We’ll leave it here on the porch.”

Fay was taken aback, not expecting this at all. She nodded.

“And mom wants us to get your phone number so she can give you a call.”

Wetting her lips, Fay did her best to smile. “Thanks.” Her voice felt rusty, but the kids seemed nice—the girl looked friendly, at least—so she made another effort. “Thank your mom for me.” She recited her phone number.

The phone rang a few minutes later. “Hi, I’m Dawn. My kids were just over at your place.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you for sending the stew, and the bread. That was kind of you.”

“I know you and your husband are alone over there. Is there anything more we can do for you? It must be especially hard for you. You’re new here, and not being able to go out…”

Fay swallowed. “Thanks for the offer.” She was about to decline politely, then realized that was foolish. “There is something—I need a prescription picked up in town. George drove in to get it, but he had a flat tire on the way and doesn’t have a spare, so he’s held up trying to get a replacement.”

Dawn’s voice took on a deeper tone. “Sure—I’ll pick up your prescription and drop it off. And do you need groceries? I can do a shopping for you… Oh, and my brother works at the gas station. I’ll call him, make sure your husband gets a tire quickly.”

Fay blinked back tears. “I really appreciate it.”

“We all have to help where we can.” Dawn hung up.

A spreading warmth filled Fay’s chest, and she realized her breathing had eased. It seemed—despite the lockdown, or maybe because of it—they’d finally found a community.

THE END

This story was written in March 2020, originally as an entry in the 2020 Writing in 150 contest sponsored by A Bunch of People. (Stories had to be written in 150 minutes, under 1000 words, on a theme announced only at the beginning of the timed writing session. That year the theme was “wander.”)

The story has since appeared in the anthology Covid 19 Chronicles Part 2: Road to Recovery, published in December 2021 by the Ottawa Ethnic Media Forum.