It is important for a writer to write about their world with the idealistic hope of arousing the most rarified elements of the human spirit – understanding, empathy, compassion, curiosity – in a reader by providing a window onto that world. Welcome to my balcony caballero.
On Easter Sunday I was reminded of the many countless people around the world performing selfless acts of kindness by my neighbor Linda. She knocked on my door early in the afternoon.
“What kind of mask have you been using?” she enquired. I gestured over to my table and said, “I just have one of the cheap ones from the market that probably don’t do too much.”
“I made these for everyone in the building. Take one of these so that you are safe,” she said with a smile.
She recounted that another resident of our building had ordered a 50 pack of surgical masks, but they arrived and much to her disappointment seemed to be of dubious quality. She rapidly and correctly identified the problem: they allowed too much air to pass through. After multiple experiments sewing in various types of fabric that would filter the air better and limit its free flow, she came across a vinyl shower curtain type material that she had left over from an interior decorating project that she had done years before.
I took the mask and examined it closely, scrutinizing the impermeable rubber layer.
She touted the benefits, “It doesn’t allow anything through. I even tried it with water, and it didn’t allow even one drop through.”
“I hope it allows air through,” I said politely.
“My husband said the same thing,” she said dismissively.
She is right that wearing a mask that doesn’t allow any air to pass through it does make it 100% certain that you will not contract COVID-19 through your airway.
Several of my neighbors would have appreciated these masks over the previous days as tensions rose as rumors spread through the building of a shocking development on the first floor that was compromising all of our health, a sanitary crisis. These rumors in the coming days would lead to baseless accusations being flung around that would pit neighbor against neighbor. It appeared to have been seemingly intentionally left there, carefully placed in the middle of the doormat for maximum effect. Wild theories were put forth, including that someone entered from outside – adding to the concern of contagion. It wasn’t clear if the gate was left unlocked in this theory or if the intruder bypassed the electric fence that surrounds the building. The inferno was stoked by the fact that the building’s management was safely ensconced in their homes due to the quarantine rendering revision of the security cameras impossible.
The pulse-quickening suspense of this interminable wait combined with the restrictive nature of my newly acquired mask drove me to the roof of the building. To play bocci. Without a mask. As I ascended with my friend Olga, we passed one of my neighbors that I hadn’t met beforehand named Pierre. We exchanged pleasantries and carried on our way.
In the midst of our bocci game, Pierre joined us on the roof to introduce himself.
“Hi – Im Pierre.” We introduced ourselves. “I live in apartment 302. I am a photographer and I am losing all of my inspiration being trapped in the building with no one to shoot. And when I saw you guys pass on the stairs I thought that it would be great to take photos of you. We could wait for a day with nice light – like today – and just do something casual. Let me show you my work on Instagram to see if you are interested.”
We scrolled through his photos. All of them were of sultry women dressed in lingerie giving the camera provocative glances, well unless they were bent over in a way that might lead to a neck injury if they tried to look into the lens. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Thankfully, Olga carried the conversation by changing the subject and switching to French. We exchanged contact info, but I don’t think that Pierre wants to have a photoshoot with me.