Shiatsu this afternoon knocked me for a loop. Michele must have released some deep-seated toxins or attitudes or fears or something. I could barely get off the table, and once off, barely stand.
“You want some water?”
“Pl-pl-please, thunt you. Thank. Thank you.”
After sitting for awhile, I adventured the stairs down to the little alley the physiotherapy studio is located on and pointed my nose towards home. After what seemed like days of wending my way past planets and moons, I arrived at my grey gate, crawled upstairs, took off my shoes, crept downstairs, and fell onto the sofa for a 45 minute state of unconscious bliss.
I woke trembling all over. Nothing severe or even uncomfortable, but still intense. I lay there waiting for it to pass. It intensified. I got up, reshuffled the pillows I’d strewn about in my eagerness to nap, and crawled back upstairs to check email.
A dear friend who has been suffering frequent unexplainable seizures for upwards of seven years, and who had recently enjoyed a several months reprieve, wrote that the relapse that began two weeks ago continues, that his brain can’t seem to get back to being “back”. I was devastated.
I checked the news, as if that would brighten my evening. After ten or fifteen minutes of heartrending reports of disease, neglect, fear, stupidity, and the tiniest glimmers of hope, another message came through from a friend advising that I stock up on food, since we’re all going to be eating dinners in for the next three weeks at a minimum, and are advised to stay home as much of the rest of the day as possible.
So, I put on a sweater with the hope that it would stem my trembling (I have great fondness for, and faith in, sweaters), donned my pea coat for good measure, wound my golden shopping bag around my left hand like a benign set of brass knuckles, and set out for what I still call Metà (our supermarket) even though the chain changed its name to Pam (which lacks music) almost a year ago, to purchase a few simple necessities. It was after seven, not much would be happening, so I’d be well within the guidelines for not spreading the virus by hanging out in crowded spaces.
I go to Metà for food and drink and sundries, sure. I also go for a social pick me up. The guys who work the store are all, each in their own way, kind, funny, and helpful. Even listening to them joke with each other improves my spirits, although I understand not a word. I swung around back to get a carton of rice milk, stepping gingerly to avoid the almost invisible piles of dust the fellow with the brown beard and glasses was sweeping into, then towards frozen food in front for a couple of veggie burgers. My first attempt at extracting a package caused the neighboring chickpea burgers to tumble. The sweeper instantly picked it up for me and set it back in place, then held the door while I retrieved my intended targets. I thanked him. He gave a little bow.
A friend passed, I waved and called her name.
“I was thinking of leaving for a couple of weeks, but now with the lockdown…” she shrugged.
“You’re American, does the ban apply?”
“Good point,” she said, and said again.
“Where were you headed?”
“Long story. Turkey. I’ll have to look into it.”
Maria Luce joined the stretched line for checkout, everyone at one-meter spacing. She was wrapped in scarves up to her eyes, so I had to stare a bit trying to recognize her. She lowered the scarf so she could smile, and waved. I returned it. We both instantly felt safer.
Corrado was checking. He’s one of the two franchise owners, late twenties, and sometimes a bit moody, but never in a way that is preoccupied or rude. We have a routine. I ask – how’s it going. He answers – normal. Then we laugh. Tonight I got an extra line in,
“Well nowadays normal is fantastic.”
“Surprising”, he added, and “Don’t we wish!” And we laughed.
“Buona serata”, I said.
“Same to you”, he replied, and “Arrivaderci, grazie” and “buona serata” again. It’s like saying goodbye to a dear friend for a year’s journey to Katmandu every time you leave a shop here.
The streets home were almost empty, the few of us that were out skirted each other to remain a meter apart, and smiled as we wove our ways past.
We may have fewer reasons to smile as the days come, but I hope we never forget how vital it is that we do anyway. I arrived home tremble-free and moving more effortlessly than I have in a year or more.