Dreams in the Year of COVID-19

I dreamed I was in a throng of people. We were at a conference on a college campus. No one was wearing a mask. It was pre-COVID time. We moved in tight bunches to our destinations.

Oh, there’s my brother—tall and bearded—exiting a building, surrounded by people hanging onto his every word. Was he a presenter? He could have been, but more likely he was there as a reporter, because that’s what he does. And, look over there is a mutual friend from college. (Yes, my brother and I went to the same college.) Could he have been the presenter? I doubt it. He’s a successful financial adviser. Presenting is not his thing. Funny is his thing.

I am moving as one with the group, pushing forward towards an entrance. We enter a small lecture hall at the top tier of seats. Most of the seats below us are already taken. I move down the row and sit. We are elbow to elbow, thigh grazing thigh. I wonder what kind of conference this is. Wondering brings me to consciousness.

I am sad when I realize how much I miss this collective human experience—a movie, a Broadway show, a ballgame, a concert, a restaurant. The sadness sticks with me all day even as I try to drown it by keeping busy…read a new nonifiction children’s picture book. Analyze it. Read Kirkus and Publisher’s Weekly reviews of it. Do a crossword or two. Do a four-star Sudoku. Make cole slaw from scratch. Watch a true crime TV show. Play games on my iPad.

It’s to no avail. The sadness coats me like dense fog that you can’t see your way out of. Everything I do is muted by it. Sleep is held back by it. And I am even sadder because I know that even after the threat is gone—and it will be gone—life will have changed immeasurably and these shared human experiences may be a terribly altered thing.

Author: mwolpin

Member SCBWI; children's book author; NYMets fan; cat lover

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