PANDEMIC
I haven’t written a new hippopostman
story in over 15 years. “Why not?”
people have asked me. “I don’t
know. Just not inspired,” I have replied….
Until today.
Today did not start out well. Global pandemic. Millions of people across the world are
infected with “coronavirus” and over 200,000 people have died. After a while, the numbers don’t seem to mean
much. But lots of suffering. So on our walk today and with friends on the
phone, I heard stories of people in mourning, also angry, angry people who want
life to “go back to normal.”
They, like my wife and I, are tired of being “locked down” in our homes,
unable to be with family or friends, unable to get a haircut, to shop, to go to
school, to work, to travel on public transportation, to hug or even shake hands. Misery all around. Complaints.
Bad moods.
So when I drove up to our house today, in
my foul mood too, I saw two young boys (I am new to the neighborhood, but
suspected these two blond boys about 7 and 9 were our neighbors). They were pulling a wagon and appeared to be “skulking”
or “sneaking” around. They seemed to
come from around my front door, but I couldn’t see as they suddenly scattered
like pigeons in a park. I waited in my
car but they didn’t come back. I was
angry.
Surely, they were up to mischief. The children and youth in our part of town
were so bored and often inconsiderate, rarely observing “social distancing,” sneaking
down to the creek to maybe capture a few frogs, and racing their bicycles everywhere,
almost knocking us older folks down without so much as an apology. Most of all, I remembered my childhood at
that age when I and my best friend and cousin, Daniel, used to sneak around the
neighborhood -- hiding,
finding secret hiding places, stealing flowers or fruits or vegetables and even
worse, breaking windows or setting fires for fun. Daredevil
stuff.
So I walked around, waiting to nab those
two boys, seeing myself violating social distancing by grabbing them by the
collars and scolding them, “Where are your parents? Do they know what you are up to?” But I couldn’t find them. So I returned home to look around so I could
find the damage or mischief they had obviously caused.
Then I saw something on my front doorstep.
Here is the plant:
"What was that? I picked up the pot, at
first assuming it must have been a joke, or
at worse, some sort of bomb or childish
prank. Maybe it would explode and cover me with red dye or something else awful?
So slowly, I picked it up and placed it in my backyard. It seemed to be a plant?
Then I saw the piece of paper taped to the plastic pot.
And here is
what the note said:
“Please enjoy this succulent from our garden
during
this difficult time.
Be safe.
Cameron and Connor Buggs”
My heart
began pounding and I felt like crying but of course, I didn’t. I raced out to the street and saw one of the
blond boys running.
“Hey,
hey!” I yelled.
The boy
turned suddenly and looked sheepish. He
stared at the ground.
“Hey are
you Cameron?” I
asked loudly (maintaining social distancing of 6 feet).
“Uh, yup,” he said, looking like a child
waiting to be scolded. Boy, I remembered
that feeling of being caught “red handed” by an adult after committing some
childish crime.
“Well,
Cameron, you tell your brother Conner, that I have just two words to say to you
boys…..”
He looked
even more frightened.
“Thank
you!”
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