Isolated Together

If you are looking for a quick stroke, this is probably not the right story for you.

This tale begins in the middle of March 2020, right around the time that the stay-at-home orders across the United States were first being issued. It involves a couple who were learning (like the rest of us) how to deal with the world of COVID-19.

This will probably be a three-part story, so check out the later chapters as they post.

I hope you and your families are safe and healthy.

***************

16 March 2020

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Shannon threw his headset down on the desk for a moment, let out an exasperated sigh, and then put them back on. "Goddammit."

It was a good thing everyone except the director was muted in the Skype meeting. The handful of other people in the office were swearing, too.

"Effective close of business today, the building will be closed to the public as ordered by the governor. For those of you who are already in a telework arrangement, do not report to the office unless you have an IT issue or some other reason to come in, and if you need to, notify your supervisor in advance. We're moving everyone else into a work-at-home status beginning on Wednesday," the director continued. "You will need to report to the division chiefs any of the agency's equipment you need to work remotely . . ."

The meeting droned on for another twenty minutes as the staff was briefed on the office's emergency plan to deal with the COVID-19 pandemic. Luckily, the agency's purchasing system was one hundred percent electronic, so they could theoretically continue normal operations indefinitely.

Shannon logged out of the meeting, cursing some more under his breath. Of course, it wasn't anyone's fault. At least not anyone in his office. He paid attention to the news. The writing was on the wall, and nothing they told him was unexpected.

That didn't mean he had to like it.

Immediately, he began taking stock of everything in his cubicle: What did he need in order to work from home? What was he willing to leave in the office for weeks or months?

The first thing he did was head to the supply room. Riffling through the cabinets, he found several bottles of hand sanitizer, some Clorox wipes and Lysol spray. He didn't clean the place out, but he took more than one of each.

Then he stopped by the copier room and emptied out a couple of paper boxes to pack his things.

Most of the people in his department were already teleworking and scrambled for desks when they came in to the office. Shannon had the luxury of his own cubicle which he decorated liberally with collectibles and mementoes to discourage anyone else from sitting at his desk on the odd day when he wasn't there.

Nearly everyone left him alone. His supervisor knew he was more than competent, the new people were intimidated by him, the village idiots were scared of him, and aside from the other people in the office who were in fantasy sports leagues, most of the regulars steered clear of him unless there was something they needed.

He had been with the agency for almost fifteen years and had a reputation as being one of the "go-to" people if anyone had questions. But he'd make the asker earn the answer.

Shannon had a carefully-cultivated reputation for being salty and grumpy to new people, anyone who asked stupid questions, or people who came to him only because they were too lazy to do their job and treated him like the "easy" button. He also said "fuck" and "goddammit" a lot and he liked to tweak management at every opportunity.

He took a load of things back to his apartment that day.

On Tuesday, he went in for his telework orientation, checked out a laptop, two monitors, docking station, keyboard, mouse and all the necessary cables to set himself up at home. Just about everything he thought he would need fit into the copier paper boxes. He grudgingly signed all the necessary paperwork and specifically asked if he could cancel the work-at-home agreement once the coronavirus pandemic ended.

Everyone else in the office was doing the same. He even managed to get written permission to take his super-comfortable work-issued desk chair with him. Along with two of his co-workers, they divvied up the remaining stock of wipes, hand sanitizer and disinfectant spray in the supply room.

At the end of the day--and after much grumbling--Shannon was officially a work-at-home employee.

He unloaded his car in several trips up the steps to his third-floor apartment.

The complex where he lived sprawled around a small lake. Set back from the main road, it was nice and quiet. There was a pool, workout room and tennis courts behind the main office. His building was made up of twenty-four two-bedroom apartments.

He lived on the top floor at an outside corner. The big bedroom was his. The other was a repository for his books, guitars and was also going to be his home office.

On his last trip up, Shannon passed his pretty neighbour as she left for work. She was wearing blue scrubs and her hospital badge.

They smiled at each other and that was that.

Shannon set up his computer, hooked everything up to make sure it all worked and could get on the internet through the cable modem and router.

Then he settled in for an evening of TV until he went to bed.

****************

On Wednesday morning, Shannon couldn't log on to the VPN. Apparently, in the rush to get everyone approved for telework, his network permissions hadn't caught up with him.

That was okay; he was getting paid regardless.

It was lunch time before he was able to log in, but after that he didn't have any problems.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully.

By Friday, Shannon had settled into something of a routine. He even broke out a ratty bathrobe which he wore around his apartment and to all of his team's conference calls.

The director gave an update and told everyone to expect the office to remain closed for the next several weeks, if not months.

Normally on Friday night, he might go out with friends, to a movie or out for some live music, but virtually nothing was open.

So he celebrated his first weekend of coronavirus quarantine by ordering take-out from a local Mediterranean restaurant just up the road.

Sitting out on his balcony, he looked across the way and saw his neighbour staring back at him. She was dressed in a sweatshirt and had her hair pulled back into a sloppy bun.

"How's your lockdown going?" she called out.

"Ask me again in a month," Shannon shrugged. "What about you?"

"I'm 'essential'. I don't know that I'm getting a lockdown."

"Me, too, but at least I get to work from home."

"That's convenient. What's for dinner?"

"Gyros, beer, baklava."

"That sounds delicious."

"What about you?"

"I ordered pizza. The app says it's out for delivery."

Shannon stood and went to the railing. "I don't know that we've met formally. I'm Shannon Greer."

Even though they had been living across the landing in the same building for over a year, their schedules seem to be opposite and they only saw each other in passing. She and her roommate moved in while he was away at a special detail for two weeks. By the time he thought to introduce himself, she had been living there for two months, and he decided it would be awkward at that point.

"Harriett Rovnak, but everyone calls me 'Hank'."

"It's nice to meet you, Hank," he said. "The next time I get gyros, I'll let you know."

The pizza delivery driver pulled up just then. Hank left the balcony to answer the door but returned with her dinner after a moment.

She sat down at her Ikea porch table and they spent the rest of the evening talking from their balconies. Some of the other neighbours came out and it became a fairly social evening. Luckily, it was cool for March and the mosquitos weren't out in force.

Shannon went outside on Saturday night on the off chance that he might run into his brunette neighbour again, but she didn't come out to her balcony. The lights inside her apartment were on, though.

He did have a pleasant conversation with the older Asian woman who lived below Hank. Someone in a building across the parking lot was playing the guitar and leading an impromptu sing-along.

Sunday was slow. There were none of the usual sports on TV. Shannon ran out to pick up some groceries, but spent most of the afternoon working with some of his friends on a remote recording of some music for their YouTube channel.

Right around dinner time, he heard the doorbell ring. When he answered, there was no one there, but a Ziploc bag full of chocolate chip cookies hung by a string on the doorknob. He heard footsteps going down the stairs and then saw Hank walking out to her car.

His eyes fixed on her bouncing pony tail and the sway of her hips, which were alluring, even in her shapeless scrubs.

The handwritten note read: I work overnights, but if you want to get together for an early virtual dinner one night let me know. --Hank

Her phone number was scribbled at the bottom.

Shannon took the cookies inside. Writing his own contact information on a notecard, he slipped it in an envelope and wedged it into her doorjamb.

On Monday morning, he heard her door close right as he was getting logged in.

Most of the day was spent in virtual meetings. Very little actual work was being done. A lot of his co-workers were calling and messaging back and forth with all sorts of rumours and hearsay.

Despite his general disdain for management, Shannon liked the director. She seemed like a straight-shooter and not someone who was a professional bullshitter or a person with ambition who was using their current position as a stepping stone to some bigger and better job. But she had very little useful information on their situation, and wasn't above telling everyone when she didn't have a good answer.

Around mid-afternoon, he got an iMessage text from Hank's number.

how about chinese from magic wok? i'm buying tonight.

sounds great Shannon tapped out a quick reply.

let me know what you want

Looking up their website, he made a short list. Nothing on the menu was overly expensive, but he didn't want to over-do it.

2 eggrolls. crab rangoon. shrimp fried rice.

Her response came a few minutes later. is 5:30 too early?

looking forward to it

His workday ended at 3:30. Shannon didn't really know what to expect, so he showered, shaved and put on a polo shirt.

A little before the appointed time, there was a knock on the door. Her door was closing just as he opened his.

A brown paper bag rested on the sill.

He gathered it up and found everything he ordered.

His phone buzzed a minute later. facetime?

Sitting down at his table, he set up his iPad Mini and angled it so she wouldn't be looking up his nose.

Taking a deep breath, he started the video.

"Good evening," she smiled. She was dressed for work in her blue scrub top. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid.

"Thank you for dinner," he replied. "And the cookies. I made myself ration them, or I'd have eaten them all by lunch."

They both dug into their food while making first date small talk.

"How long do you think this is going to last?" he asked, figuring he could mine her for medical information on the coronavirus.

"Do you want the long answer or the short answer?"

"Um, the short answer."

"In some form, at least a year," she said plainly. "This is something completely new. No human is known to have had this particular virus. And it usually takes at least eighteen months to develop a safe vaccine."

"Really?"

"The virus has already been gene sequenced. Someone will have a vaccine ready for animal trials in a couple of weeks, if they don't have one now. This thing was first noticed in China last November, so there are people who have known about it for a while. It just hadn't hit us until now."

"So why couldn't they use that vaccine?"

"They'll have to do animal trials first. Then human trials. What you don't want is to rush a vaccine into production that hasn't been tested. The side effects could be worse than the virus."

"Worse than dying on a ventilator?"

Hank's eyes flashed with sadness. "There are a lot of bad ways to go. And that's one of the worst. But no one wants long-term chronic side effects."

"I guess we're going to be 'socially distant' until then?" Shannon moved to change the subject.

"Yeah, it looks that way." Hank set her fork down and looked into the screen. "I really appreciate you making time for me tonight. I don't have much of a life anymore."

"I noticed you've been working a lot."

"My usual schedule is seven twelve-hour shifts over two weeks. I've picked up a couple of extras to cover for people who are off. A lot of the nurses and people at the hospital are scrambling to get childcare now that the schools are all closed."

"Don't burn yourself out," Shannon warned, trying not to sound like was lecturing her.

"I won't," she smiled back at him, but he could tell there was something she wasn't telling him.

"What about your roommate?" he changed the subject again. "I haven't seen her in a while."

"She's stuck on a cruise ship off the coast of Ft. Lauderdale," Hank snorted and laughed at the same time. "No one on their ship is sick, but the port authority won't let them dock. They think it will be at least two more weeks before they let them disembark."

"Two weeks?"

"That's what they say the incubation period of this thing is. If you don't develop symptoms for two weeks after the last exposure, the virus has either run its course or you are past the point where you are a danger of infecting other people," she took a bite of her own eggroll. "Of course, what they learn about this thing seems to change every day, so that time frame could change anytime."

The rest of their meal passed quickly before she had to go to work.

"Thank you for rescuing me from another boring evening by myself," Hank said.

"I was going to say the same thing to you," Shannon replied. "Would you like to have dinner with me again tomorrow?"

"I would be delighted."

"What do you like?"

"I'm up for pretty much anything."

"Do you have any special dietary needs? Vegetarian? Gluten-free? Allergies?"

"Um, I don't like cilantro . . ."

"What? Who doesn't like cilantro?" Shannon made his shocked face.

"About ten percent of the world doesn't like cilantro," she grinned. "Including me."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"I know exactly what I'm missing; cilantro overpowers and destroys the taste of anything you put it in. Makes everything taste like soap. But to answer your question: I don't have any food allergies."

"We could do sushi if you don't mind Asian two nights in a row," he suggested. "Or we could get those gyros I promised you."

"Either of those would be fine with me." Her charming smile made his heart race. "Surprise me."

"Okay, it's a date."

"A second date," she winked. "Thank you again for dinner."

"Thank you for inviting me."

They signed out of Facetime. About ten minutes later, Shannon heard her door open and close.

When he went to bed, he dreamt of a pretty girl with chestnut hair in yoga pants with a firm rear end, a tiny waist and a wry, crooked smile.

****************

"So why don't you work from home all the time?" Hank asked through the screen.

"Left to my own devices, I'd only shower once a week and never leave my apartment. Going to work gives me an excuse to get out of here and at least pretend to be social."

Shannon probably bought too much food. He ordered a variety of sushi, plus a couple of appetizers and a teriyaki shrimp dinner. After leaving the curbside pick-up at the restaurant, he sent Hank a list of what he ordered and told her to pick what she wanted.

He must have done okay because she was ravenously devouring her half of the meal.

"And here I thought I was the only person without a life," she said between bites.

"All my friends are married or have kids, so we usually have to plan a month in advance to go out. And even then, someone bails half the time."

"So why aren't you married? You don't have to answer that."

"I was married. I got out of the Navy because she didn't like me being out to sea for six months at time. But when I got out, she didn't like me being around all the time, either. Most everyone I work with is either in a relationship or has a lot of baggage I don't want to deal with."

"Would you have re-upped otherwise?"

"Probably," he shrugged. "But I did get a nice job with my veterans' preference."

"What do you do now? This roll with the salmon and avocado is really good, by the way."

"I'm a purchasing agent for the Department of Transportation."

"That sounds boring. No offense."

"It's a lot of pushing paper . . . well, electronic paper now. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?"

"I work weird overnight shifts," Hank sighed. "And most people my age are just now settling down. Truthfully, though, I don't mind being single. I'd rather not have a partner than settle for someone just for the sake of not being alone."

"I'll drink to that." Shannon raised his glass of Japanese beer. Hank drank from her glass of water in return.

"After tonight, I'm off for two days, then on for the next three," she said. "Would you like to go on a virtual movie date with me tomorrow?"

"Sure thing. What do you have in mind?"

"We could watch a show or movie together. Or play a game over Facetime."

Shannon thought for a second. "How about a movie?"

"That would be nice."

"What would you like to watch? I have Netflix, Disney Plus, Amazon Prime and HBO."

"Do you watch Westworld? I haven't watched this week's yet."

"I'm caught up, but if you want to watch that tomorrow, we can watch that. Onward is out on Disney Plus now, too."

"I haven't seen that yet, either," Hank looked thoughtful. "If you don't mind, let's watch Westworld. But you're picking next time."

"Okay, deal."

Hank picked up her phone and looked at the time. "I've got to clean up and run. Since this is our second virtual date, I would like to give you a virtual kiss."

Shannon blinked in surprise. Hank was forward, but not aggressive. Assertive.

"I would like that."

She puckered her lips and playfully blew him a kiss through the screen.

"Good night, Shannon."

He blew a kiss back.

"Good night, Hank."

****************

"So if this were an actual date, what would happen tonight?" Hank looked up at the camera on her phone from the stove, where she had several pots going.

"Um . . . well, this is our third date," Shannon said nervously, sensing a trap. "But it's three dates in three days."

"Where is your usual third date spot?"

"Our first date would probably be a non-committal lunch or coffee. A good second date is an afternoon low-stress activity . . ."

"Like what?"

"Hmmm . . . miniature golf. Or an outdoor craft and food festival. Maybe hand-holding. Quick kiss at the end. No tongue."

"That's very gentlemanly. Do you like mushrooms in your salad? What about tomatoes?"

"Yes to mushrooms. No tomatoes, please."

"So what is your go-to third date?"

"Usually I don't get that far," Shannon frowned. "I'm pretty boring. And I'm in my mid-thirties, so usually by the third date, she lets something slip that's a showstopper."

"Showstopper? What are your deal-breakers?"

"Smoking and drugs. School-age children. Dogs or reptiles as pets."

"I'm with you on the reptiles. You don't like dogs?"

"We had neighbours who had very aggressive Dobermans and that scarred me for life."

"What about cats?"