Road Rage, Death, and COVID-19

 Thursday, July 11th, 2024

Today was free Slurpee day at 7-Eleven. My wife Kaylee and I finished our shifts at Reality Kitchen Nonprofit, a bakery on River Road in Eugene, Oregon, nearly eight hours after we clocked in—a full day for us. On our way home, we didn't even bother stopping at 7-Eleven for our free Slurpee. We preferred to get home as early as we could to enjoy whatever time we had left of the day with our almost 15-month-old son, Markus Samuel Figura.

We arrived home at 5:33 PM to find Markus in his jumper, hopping in delight as he saw us walk through the front door. His grandmother—my mom—Roseann (who resides with us) was sitting in her recliner in the darkened living room, watching the evening news. The headline concerned President Joe Biden’s mental health. Biden’s ability to lead the country was in question because of his inadequate debate performance on CNN.

I sat my L.L. Bean tote bag on the couch and went up to my son.

"Hey buddy," I said to him. He squealed in excitement. "It’s good to see you."

            Mom said, "I forgot to call you and tell you that we're out of milk. We'll need some for dinner tonight. You’ll have to go and buy some from Ray’s."

            "That's okay,” I said, waving hello to Markus as if he would wave back—he didn’t. "We'll go buy a gallon."

            As I drove my wife and I in our 2014 GMC Terrain Denali, my wife gave me an exquisite look, as she often does, and said, "I really don't understand why she didn't call us and tell us earlier. We could've picked up milk on our way home."

            "I don't know."

            "It's really annoying. We could've been home right now with Markus."

            "I know."

            We hurried into Rays, bought the milk, and left the store. I sat the milk on the back seat.

            As I drove out of the parking lot, I halted at a stop sign along Territorial facing Jean’s Road. My right turn signal was flashing. Looking to my left, I saw several cars driving in the direction where I needed to turn toward home. Traffic was slow and backed up. And since it wasn’t our right-of-way, nobody would let us proceed through.

            Then, suddenly, a car honked behind us. In the rearview mirror, I saw that it was a black car, and it was bumper to bumper with us. The driver honked at us again. I couldn't turn right. There was too much traffic. I looked again in the rearview mirror. The driver looked male, and the passenger looked female, and both looked older than my wife and me. He honked again. And again. And again. I scratched behind my ear and shrugged.

            After nearly two angst filled minutes with several more honks, there was a break in the traffic, so I turned right. The man and his female passenger behind us also turned right; however, the man drove over the sidewalk into the bike lane, and as the he gunned it to passed around us, he and his female passenger gave us middle fingers.

            I kept my cool. I requested that my wife kept her cool too. They could have been dangerous. And I didn’t want to take risks. It was the Oregon Country Fair weekend after all, and that brought to Veneta all sorts of people—the kind, the mean, and the in-between.

            I followed them from about four car lengths away. The vehicle was either a Honda or an Acura (the logos looked so similar) with black paint chipping off all over and several rust spots, especially on the trunk and the doors of the vehicle. The license plate was so filthy that I couldn’t make out a single letter or number or anything except the colors of dirt and rust.

            "Can you make out the license plate?" I asked my wife.

            "No. Can you?" she said. I shook my head.  

            When I drove in front of Dairy Mart, now following the black car at most the distance of two car lengths, the man slammed on his brakes, completely stopping their car in the road. I slammed my brakes too, and I stopped behind them. I honked. I wanted them to go.

Then he turned right into the Dairy Mart parking lot, and I drove off toward home.

            I turned onto our street where we lived, and as we were six homes away, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw them following us. I didn't want them to know where we lived. I drove around the block and led them toward the sheriff's office. It seemed like they knew where we were heading because once we turned down 8th street, the one that led to the sheriff's, I looked in the rearview mirror, and they were gone.

            It must be safe to drive home, I thought. My wife didn’t say much. She looked upset by the entire ordeal. I was dismayed too, but I didn’t want to show it. I didn’t want her to be more distressed and uncomfortable than she already was.

            Ten minutes after we went inside, I had a gut feeling to look out the window. And when I looked, I noticed the same car driving slowly past our house. I didn’t know how my gut knew to look out the window at that exact time—perhaps intuition or dumb luck or something beyond my understanding of the cosmos.

            They know where we live, I thought. What do we do now? Call the sheriff?

            "Babe," I said, catching my wife's attention as she was trying to reconnect her Xbox Series X to the Wi-Fi. "That car came back around again, crept by our house real sluggish. I think we need to buy some video cameras."

            "That freaks me out. What do you think they want?"

            "I have no idea. I don’t feel safe, especially since we have a baby here."

            We drove to Fred Meyer while Mom watched Markus at home (I double-checked that all the windows were locked, and the front and back doors were locked) and rushed to the electronics department. I saw a security camera system called Ring. I had seen them in use from Facebook reels and knew they were popular. I walked the cashier woman (who wore a Christmas sweater although it was July), over to the case of Ring cameras and asked her, "So, all I do is plug it into the wall, and it'll work? It'll stream the footage directly to my phone?"

            "That's all you do," she said. "It’s easy."

             I bought the camera for a couple hundred dollars. When we returned home, I opened the box and noticed right away that the camera had two wires hanging loose; I had no way to wire them into the wall. I didn’t think she understood my question. Or if she did, she didn’t know the correct answer. It’s possible she lied to us, but these days, you never know.

            We took the camera back—driving both ways took us over an hour—to Fred Meyer Customer Service and received a refund. Then we went to Walmart to see if they had a better camera system.

            We walked to the electronics department where we found a case full of different brands of security cameras. At first, we wanted the Night Owl system, since we used their cameras several years ago when I was in college, but we changed our minds and went with a different brand called Arlo. These were chargeable security cameras that stream to our phones and provides us updates each time there’s even the slightest motion detected. They’re HD, waterproof, and weather durable.

            A short woman with gray streaks in her naturally black hair, a blue Walmart vest over a grey long sleeve shirt, and dark blue jeans approached us and asked, "Can I help you?"

            "We'd like to purchase these cameras."

            "Sure thing." She used a key that was attached to a retractable string to unlock the plexiglass case. Then she coughed a nasty, wet cough into her hand. She picked up the box and locked the case with the same key on the retractable string.

            "Follow me. I'll ring you up." She coughed again. It was an obstreperous cough.

            After we purchased the cameras, we went home. It was already after 9 PM when we arrived back home. As my wife and I were lying in bed, relaxing before another full day at work the next day, my wife looked at me and said, "You don't think she had COVID-19, do you?"

            "I couldn't be sure. But that cough has me worried."

Friday, July 12th, 2024

My wife and I labored a twelve-hour shift, securing overtime for the fifth week in a row. After work, while it was still daylight, I screwed the camera mounts into the wooden areas on our home, then I charged the cameras one at a time. Once all the cameras were charged, I synched them to our Wi-Fi and connected them to the apps on our phones. Once they were synched, I attached the cameras onto the mounts and positioned them to have full coverage of our home.

Saturday, July 13th, 2024

We slept in this morning. Once we awoke at 9:43 AM, we said good morning to my mom and Markus (gave him his sodium fluoride and iron supplement) and told them our plans for the day.

            "We'll go to a few yard sales first," I said, "then we’ll get lunch, and after we eat, we'll go to Planet Fitness for an hour or so."

            "I'll watch Markus," said Mom. "Little stinker."

            "Thanks Mom," I said. "I’ll bring you home an iced mocha."

            After the yard sales, our lunch, the workout, and the stop at Hillbilly Brews, we returned home with Mom’s iced mocha. I checked the security cameras. Nothing terrible or suspicious had happened.

I took a shower to prepare for church the next day. I spent the rest of the night with my wife and Markus, and after Markus was put to bed, I went to my books and my typewriter.

Sunday, July 13th, 2024

We awoke at 8:45 AM to our alarm and left our home at 9:10 AM. I carried my L.L. Bean tote bag with my bible, my wife’s bible, and my notebooks in it. My wife carried Markus to his car seat while my mom carried Markus's stroller to the rear of our Denali. While my wife secured Markus in his car seat, I took the stroller from Mom and stowed it into the back of our Denali. Mom went back inside the house to get Markus's diaper bag because I had forgotten it.

            "Make sure that door is locked," I said. "Double check it like you always tell me."

I started the car, synced my phone over Bluetooth, and played Crowder's newest album The Exile from Amazon Music. I had listened to this album more than anything else in the past two months. "Unstoppable" was my favorite song.

            We arrived at church five minutes early. We found our usual seats vacant on the bleachers. We sat there most of the time because it was easier to leave in the middle of service if Markus needed a diaper change or if he was cranky and wanted to fuss. We wanted to enroll him into the nursery, we didn’t feel comfortable parting ways with him, even for a few minutes throughout the sermon and worship.

            The service started with three worship songs. After, Pastor Ian Stipe made announcements. After announcements, Pastor Steve Goble started with prayer, then he started his sermon from the Book of Romans.

            Not even five minutes into the sermon, Markus decided to scream over and over and over. We tried to control him, to calm him and sooth him, but he continued to have a fit. We decided to leave. We didn’t want to disturb anyone—more than we already did—from hearing Pastor Steve's sermon. We already had several glares, and a few of them were quite unpleasant.

            We went to Goodwill, where I found a blue long-sleeve Levi shirt and a long-sleeve L.L. Bean shirt—both with a color tag of 75% off. Score.

            The rest of our Sunday was spent at home, taking care of Markus, making him laugh, teaching him how to play with his toys, and helping him learn to walk. At the end of the night, I went into my usual routine of reading and writing.

            If I don't read or write, I don't feel right.

Monday, July 14th, 2024

Kaylee drove the delivery van to US Chef Store (some call it Cash and Carry), so we could pick up some empty boxes for the bakery. I received a phone call from my mom. She said, "Are you doing anything right now?"

            "I'm in the delivery van with Kaylee right now. Work shouldn’t be much longer. She’s driving. Why?"

            "I have some bad news. Your grandfather passed away yesterday. I just found out."

            "Reinhardt?"

            "Yes."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Reinhardt's sister, Joanne, gave me the news over the phone. She flew in from California to handle the estate. And you won't believe this. Joanne didn't know my phone number, so she looked all over the house, and she found my number scribbled on a piece of paper in a pair of Reinhardt's jeans."

            "We've been trying to get ahold of him for months. He hasn't reached out to us."

            "I think it was the cancer."

            “It was the tongue cancer that got him?"

            "It spread fast. It went down his neck and according to Joanne, the pain was so bad that once he went on pain medicine, hospice became involved."

            I looked at my gold Bulova watch (a special gift to myself from all the overtime). It was ten minutes after three. Kaylee was now parked behind a semi-truck, waiting for a train to pass.

            "Just turn around, babe," I said. "I'd like to get off work now. Reinhardt died."

            "Oh no," she said. "I’m sorry babe. We’ll turn back."

            While I’m still on the phone, I asked Mom, "Do you think we can go over to Reinhardt's? I'd like to meet Joanne. I never had the chance to meet her before. She was always in California."

            "I'll call her and let you know."

            Before we returned to the bakery, Mom called me back and told me that Joanne said it would be okay if we visit.

            When we returned to the bakery, I turned in the invoices from our round of deliveries (before we tried to get boxes from Cash and Carry) and explained to my boss’s wife that my grandfather had passed away. I told her that I'd like to get off work, so I could go to his house and meet his sister. After some convincing (telling her that all the work was finished and everything looked good for orders the next day), she agreed to let us clock off.

            I drove home and picked up my mom and Markus. Before we went to Reinhardt's, we stopped at Hawaiian Time for dinner. I bought three small huli huli chicken meals.

            After we ate, we met Joanne at Reinhardt's. At first sight, I knew it was her. She had Reinhardt’s cheekbones, chin, eyebrow structure, and almost the same skin-tone, except Reinhardt was just a trifle more tanned from his many hikes up Spencer’s Butte.

            Joanne spoke with my mom for the first time in decades (without a phone involved). She met my wife and our son for the first time. She invited us into Reinhardt's house. Although I was close with Reinhardt, he never allowed me into his house. I never understood why until I saw a tremendous mess everywhere and pictures on the wall of a woman he still loved after forty plus years of their separation. While my mom and Reinhardt were in a relationship, Reinhardt cheated on my mom with a woman named Cindy. And their relationship only lasted a couple of years. However, decades and decades later, he still had pictures of him and Cindy adorned on his wall.

            His house was in terrible shape. The ceiling was caving in, held up with thick layers of duct tape. The carpet looked as if it hadn't been vacuumed in years. The tile on the kitchen floor and dining room looked like they hadn’t been mopped in years. There was a repellant smell in the house that made me feel dizzy and uneasy. Joanne said it was mold.

            Joanne spoke with us for several hours, telling us about her beliefs on health and beauty, aging and change, death and government, and of course, her plans to handle Reinhardt's estate. Although she wasn’t sure what to do with everything, she thought that soon, she’d have an idea about what to do—she just needed some time to ruminate on it all.

            It was getting late. Markus was fussy, and I knew it was time for us to leave. And Joanne caught onto that as well. On our way down the driveway back to our Denali, I walked by Reinhardt's camper van.

            "What are you doing with Reinhardt's van?"

            "I don't know. Do you want it?"

            "Sure," I said. "I'll take it."

            I had no idea what kind of work it needed. Or how to get it transferred into my name.

            "You can have it," said Joanne. “Next time you see me, take it. I'll give you a copy of Reinhardt's death certificate. It should help you transfer it over to your name at the DMV."

            "Thank you," I said. "That would be great for us to make memories with Markus. We can go camping over many weekends and do several trips."

            "I drove it this morning. It's a little too big for my taste. But I think it's a good fit for you and your son. It would be my honor to pass that along to you."

Tuesday, July 15th, 2024

Reality Kitchen has been attaining more and more business lately, and while that can be a profitable thing (especially for those with a higher hourly rate), it is stressful and tiresome for a mere supervisor like me. Not only do I supervise others, but I also participate in the distribution of bakery products to dozens of restaurants, cafés, and stores throughout the area.

            I worked a ten-and-a-half-hour shift with only one fifteen-minute lunch break—no other breaks. I knew early that morning that if I took a full thirty-minute lunch break and fifteen-minute breaks every two hours (the way it's supposed to be), I wouldn't be done until twelve hours later. Since all these restaurants and bars and stores want their orders on time, I rarely get breaks. And when I do, there’s a chance my boss would call me or text me and say, "These folks are anxious for their bread. They can’t open without it."

            That happened many times, and in all honesty, it can be a high stress job.

            My wife doesn’t work on Tuesdays or Thursdays, so those days make it especially vexatious for me. She has limitations on how many hours she can work (it’s a long story), so Tuesdays and Thursdays are her days off to spend with Markus at home. That means more work for me at the bakery and more work for her at home.

Wednesday, July 16th, 2024

I slept only three hours last night, and the night before, only three hours, and the night before that, only three hours. Although I rested in bed and tried to fall asleep last night, flashbacks of Reinhardt at family events and hiking adventures filled my mind with regret, wishing I had spent more time with him than spend all of it in college and jobs and other endeavors. But I can’t take any of that back. I’ll have to be kind to myself, forgive myself, and learn from everything.

Life is an anthology of lessons and experiences.

            Our shift at work was another long day with no breaks—not even lunch this time. We had to prepare orders for pickup before certain customers arrived. We had to deliver bread early, so restaurants and cafés could open. It was a big help to have my wife by my side, but she too shared in the agony of it all. It’s the blue-collar blues. And throughout all that distress, thoughts about Reinhardt returned to my mind, seizing control of my composure and fortitude.

            I wanted to explain these thoughts and emotions to my boss, but he was too busy with his own activities. I didn't want to trouble him—like most days. Instead, I took it out on Facebook that night by writing, "It was a difficult day at work (I never take workdays off)—processing grief and loss after my grandpa passed away on Sunday. One moment it felt like a knife was stabbed into my gut. Another moment, I had a panic attack. I faced moments of depression, anxiety, and a random collection of negative thoughts, mostly thinking about death and all. I didn’t feel hungry all day. I was dizzy. Tired. Nauseous. I told myself that these feelings were a natural reaction to death and loss. Then I reminded myself of a verse (Jeremiah 31:3) that says: "I have loved you with an everlasting love." Those words breathed positivity into my soul. I am loved by the Creator of all things. I have a purpose. I have value. And God has a plan for my life. Although work was difficult today, as I'm sure it will be for a while, I felt justified and satisfied to turn these negative experiences into something positive and worthwhile. Romans 8:18 says, "For I consider that the suffering of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.""

            I had over fifty reactions to that post and 22 comments—all supportive.

            About three hours after I wrote that post, I stopped writing on my typewriter and rested in bed, chills all over my body. I was tired, but I had no intention of falling asleep, although I knew I needed sleep. I hadn’t slept much all week. I looked at the Facebook post again and saw that my boss commented, saying, "I'm so sorry to hear about your grandpa's passing, Sam, particularly finding out here on Facebook. Please bring these difficult experiences to me when they are happening so I can be part of your healing. Heart Emoji"

            God bless his soul. He's a great boss, truly, and he has a big heart for his employees. I was surprised that he didn't know because I had another post on Facebook a day earlier about my grandpa’s death, and I had assumed that he looked at my posts. And not only that, but I also told every coworker that I came across about my grandpa’s death, even our boss's wife, who gave my wife and I permission to leave work several hours early on Monday.

I was surprised our boss had no idea since so many people had already known.

            God bless his soul.

Thursday, July 17th, 2024

The alarm on my phone buzzed. I reached over and turned it off. I wiped my sweaty forehead. I was heated. I lifted my head and fell back onto my pillow. I was dizzy. Nauseous. Sick.

            "Babe," I said, rolling over onto my side with tremendous effort, looking at my wife. She was on her phone, scrolling through Facebook reels. She yawned. "I can't work today."

            "What do you mean?"

            "You'll have to cover for me. I'm sick."

            "What do you mean you're sick?"

            "I have a fever."

            It was then that I felt a tickle in my throat. I fought back the urge to cough.

            "That's okay babe. You stay in bed and get better."

            I could tell that she was concerned. She had never seen me sick—never in our ten years together. I could also tell that she wanted me to go to work instead of her, especially since she had Thursdays off. These days I worked by myself while she watched and cared for Markus.

            "Thank you,” I said.

            "I hope it's not COVID-19."

            "Same here. But if it is, it is."

            "You should test yourself."

            "I don't remember where our tests are. Even if I did, I don’t have the energy to take one."

            "I'll pick one up after work, okay?"

            "Thank you."

            She left. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I awoke once in a panic. I struggled to walk into our restroom (enclosed adjacent to our bedroom). Once I was finished with my business, I called my mom, told her all about my sickness, and asked if she could fill a water bottle and leave it outside the bedroom door. She did. I drank half the water bottle and fell back asleep.

            I heard the bedroom door open. I awoke. Everything was blurry. I reached for my glasses and saw my wife enter our room.

            "Here's your covid test," she said. She tossed it onto the bed.

            "I don't think I have the energy to test myself. How was work?"

            "Good. Our boss doesn't think you're sick. He said that he thinks you’re still grieving the loss of your grandpa and all. I told him that everyone gets sick. I asked him for a covid test. He seemed confused why I asked him for one and insisted that you couldn’t be sick. He believes you're just going through a lot with your grandpa passing away."

            "Be that as it may, I am sick. I better test myself then."

            "Good. And I bought some groceries, cough drops, and a few other things."

            "Thank you."

            She left our bedroom to spend time with Markus. She hadn't seen him all day.

            I opened the coronavirus test in bed. I had done these before but always tested negative. I swabbed my nostrils several times, put the nose swab into the bottle, swooshed it around fifteen times as the instructions told me to do, took out the swab and tossed it into the nearby trash, then I dropped the fluid into the designated area on the test strip. After fifteen minutes, two lines appeared—it was a positive test result.

            I texted my boss, telling him that I tested positive for COVID-19. My boss replied, asking me whether I was sure or not. I tested myself a second time. It was positive again. I sent him a picture of both tests.

            It was then that he told me to rest and get better soon. I fell back asleep, my wife next to my side. I didn't have an appetite. I awoke once in the middle of the night to use the restroom. Mom continued to supply me with water outside the door throughout the night in multiple water bottles. I had at least three full ones next to me in bed. I didn’t feel thirsty, but I knew that I needed to hydrate, so I finished one bottle of water. Then I fell back asleep.

Friday, July 18th, 2024

My wife left for work before I had the chance to say good morning or goodbye. I was still asleep. It was possible she tried to wake me, but I might’ve rolled away from her. It was also possible that she knew I needed my sleep and didn’t want to wake me. Since I tested positive, we hadn’t kissed once because I didn’t want her to catch it from me, but I knew it was very likely she’d have it too, or would catch it soon, especially since she slept next to me on her side of the bed.

I stayed asleep until 4:12 PM, only waking once to drink water and use the restroom. I didn’t have the energy to eat. I awoke still dizzy, feverish, weak, and tired.

            I texted my wife, asking how much longer she had of work. She replied, "I'll be done soon."

            I called my mom (who was in the living room) and asked for something to eat. Half an hour later, my wife came home with a smile on her face.

            "Feeling better?" she said.

            "Much. Is dinner done?"

            "Your mom just finished. I'll bring it here for you."

            She brought into the room two plates. On the plates were chicken legs, alfredo pasta from a box, strawberries cut in half (without the stems, of course), and brussels sprouts.

Saturday, July 19th, 2024

Kaylee tested positive for COVID-19. She did the same as I did. She texted our boss. Then she tested herself again. She tested positive the second time. Then she sent our boss a picture of the tests as evidence.

            It was now time for us to stay isolated from Markus, although it was probable he had already caught it from one or even both of us. We were also worried that my mom would catch it. We didn’t want either one to get sick.

Sunday, July 20th, 2024

My wife and I stayed isolated in our bedroom for the second day in a row. We were sick and bored out of our minds. At one point in the evening, my wife looked at me in tears and said, "The hardest part about this is separating myself from my child."

            "I understand," I said. "We don't want him to get sick. And in all honesty, he probably already has it. He's just not showing any signs yet."

            "I hate this. I wish COVID-19 never existed."

            "You and me both. Lots of folks agree. It ruined lots of things. All we can do is isolate ourselves to prevent others from getting it—especially Markus."

            "I thought you said he might have it?"

            "It's probable. I don't know for sure. After Markus’s heart surgery, I have no idea how he will handle it. The immunologist told us that his immune system is weaker than most children. But I don’t always trust doctors, even specialists."

            "We better stay isolated then."

            We heard Markus crying in the living room while my mom tried to feed him. He was fussy because he didn’t want to eat. And he didn’t know where his parents were. I hadn’t seen him since Wednesday, and now it was Sunday.

            "It's hard hearing him cry and not being able to calm him," said my wife.

            "I agree. But we are doing the best we can do to keep him safe."

            "You should take another test."

            I took another test. I was still positive for COVID-19.

Monday, July 21st, 2024

I awoke at 6:03 AM, full of energy and the best I've felt in a long time. While Kaylee and my mom were asleep, and Markus was asleep in his crib, I wore my mask and went into the kitchen for a bite to eat. I craved strawberries, but when I looked for them in the refrigerator, I couldn't find any. Since my taste changed, the only food that tasted good to me were strawberries. Mom would set a bowl of strawberries in front of our door, and my wife and I would devour them throughout the day. Now that it was morning, I wanted more.

            I grabbed my car keys from the hook on our wall, drove our GMC to Walmart in Eugene, and wore my mask as I shopped around. Besides the breathing troubles and the foggy glasses, I liked wearing my mask because it was less likely someone would recognize me, but I got stares from strangers who didn’t care for the mask. I bought a bag of organic apples, three containers of organic strawberries, four bottles of Gatorlyte (recommended to us by our boss), boxes of pasta, and a mini watermelon.

            As I walked out of the store, the fever came back strong, and suddenly, I felt light-headed and wanted to collapse in the parking lot. But I held myself up anyway because of a decade of balance training from skateboarding. I hurried back to our GMC and set the groceries on the passenger seat.

            When I returned home, Mom was awake, sitting on her recliner in front of her TV. A commercial for Tide caught my attention, but I averted my eyes away and walked in the opposite direction to set the groceries on the kitchen counter.

            "I didn't know you were leaving," Mom said, after I returned to the living room.

            "I couldn't sleep. And I wanted more strawberries."

            "You know, you really should've thought about buying more baby food and formula while you were out. We have one container left of formula. How could you go all that way and not even think about that?"

            "I don't know... brain fog."

            That was the truth. On my second day with covid, I stared off in my bedroom for ten minutes without a single thought in my mind. It felt like meditation. But it was more like boredom mixed with a willful and temporary loss of consciousness.

            "You need to get back there and pick up some baby food and formula."

            "Fine," I said. I was still dizzy and tired and weak, even more so because I had already made that trip to Walmart. "I'll see if Kaylee wants to join me."

            I went into the bedroom and saw her still asleep.

            "Babe," I said. She stirred and opened her eyes. "Do you want to get baby food and formula with me at Walmart?"

            "Won't we get people sick?"

            "We'll wear a mask. Plus, it’s kind of ironic to go back to the place where we got sick in the first place. Either way, Markus needs it. Mom told me that he's almost out of everything."

            "Why did she wait until now?"

            "No idea. Let's go. I will drive."

            Kaylee changed into another outfit, slid on her shoes, and followed me out the front door. The drive to Walmart was more challenging the second time. The tiredness started to take over in full effect, but the sunlight did something to my circadian cycle and invigorated me. It was like drinking coffee after drinking chamomile tea—fully awake, yet I could fall asleep.

            We bought Markus ten cans of Similac and twenty-two-packs of Gerber baby food.

            After we put the groceries on the back seat, I looked at my wife and asked, "Would you like some Taco Bell?"

            She returned a curious look to me, smiled, then said, "Sure."

            We went back inside to the Taco Bell inside Walmart. I used the touchscreen to order the Cantina Chicken Bowl while Kaylee ordered the Mexican pizza. I paid.

            Taco Bell didn't taste the same as it did prior covid. The change in smell and taste altered so much of our perceptions. My wife tasted hay while I tasted metal—almost like the taste of graphite in pencils.

            When we returned home, I left the bag of baby food and formula on the kitchen counter for Mom to store away in our pantry. Kaylee and I returned to our bedroom and isolated for the rest of the day. I was now glad to get some much-needed rest.

            My boss texted me later that night, asking me when I think I would be able to return to work. I told him that my goal was to return by Thursday, but I didn’t know if that would be possible because it depended whether I tested negative or positive again. He seemed to understand, but he seemed anxious for my return. I would have to return before my wife returns, especially since she tested positive two days after I did.

Tuesday, July 22nd, 2024

Mom didn't want to make lunch. She was tired after watching Markus since Saturday. I looked at my wife and said, "Want me to order a pizza from Figaro's?"

            "You'd do that?"

            "Of course."

            "I'd love that. I'm sure your mom would love that too."

            I went on my phone and ordered a half-and-half pizza. It was half Mama's Favorite and half Garlic Chicken Artichoke. Once I placed the order, the email notified me that the pickup would be available in 30 minutes.

            We arrived 10 minutes early. When I told the man at the register my name, he handed me seven dollars in cash. "We had large pizzas on sale, and you overpaid. Here's your change."

            "Thank you," I said, raising my voice and feeling a tickle in my throat. I readjusted my mask to fit under my glasses. "This is great. I appreciate this." I stuffed the five and two ones into my wallet. That man had integrity. The world would be a much better place if more people had integrity like him.

            The pizza tasted great. It was the best pizza I had in a long time, and even with the bizarreness of my altered taste, the pizza was quite delectable. Quite piquant.

            I received a text from my boss that night asking me to take another COVID-19 test tomorrow night. I was too depleted to reply.

Wednesday, July 23rd, 2024

My wife and I tested positive once again. I texted our results to our boss. I felt better, and my wife felt better, but she was not as energetic as me. However, she wasn’t far behind in her recovery. I recognized her symptoms as the same level of severity as mine from two days ago.

            While we stayed isolated in our bedroom, we heard Markus’s cough in the living room. My wife and I looked at each other. He continued to cough.

            "I hope he didn't catch it," she said. “I really hope he didn’t catch it.”

            "Same babe, same."

            Markus coughed several times more. We were supine on our mattress, covered in sweat from panic and the heat—it was 98 degrees Fahrenheit outside—and from whatever was left of our fever.

            Once my mom placed Markus in his crib in his bedroom, I went outside and watered the lawn. While there was still sunlight (and plenty of heat), I broke apart some rotten two by fours and particleboard and tossed them into the yard debris bin. I moved the flowerpots away from our apple tree and pulled some weeds. The clean air was refreshing and, although I was coughing off and on, I felt like I could breathe much better than I did a couple of days before.

Thursday, July 24th, 2024

I felt great today, but I tested myself anyway—still positive. But the positive line seems fainter than before. My wife felt better too. We decided to go to our favorite place for lunch—Taco Bell. It will never get old for us.

            When we returned home, I felt sturdy and strong, so I mowed the lawn with our electric lawn mower while my wife played NBA 2K24 in our bedroom.

            At night, I read a few pages of Joyce Maynard's newest book How the Light Gets In. Today was the first time I was able to read since three days before I tested positive because the sickness had withdrawn so much energy, and the brain fog made it difficult to follow along with long sentences and dense relational material. I felt quite glad because the brain fog was now starting to diminish.

Friday, July 25th, 2024

It wasn't long after 11:00 AM that my wife and I awoke and decided to make a trip to Bi-Mart to purchase more COVID-19 tests. We had just run out. We wanted to see if we would still test positive. We felt well, although at times, symptoms would arise, but they were mild.

            When we found the tests at Bi-Mart, I looked at my wife and said, "Are these really $7.99?”

            "That's what the tag says," she said. “It’s not expensive.”

I stared at the price tag with no expression. It felt like a moment of brain fog. "Well, I can certainly afford that,” I said, but after a moment, I continued, “gosh, that's quite a lot if you consider how many times we tested and how many people need to be tested. Could you only imagine bigger households?"

            "So, are you saying we need to buy ten of them?"

            "Ten of them?" I felt my face tense up. "No. I'm thinking three or four."

            "Are you sure that would be enough?"

            As we were standing by the endcap of the aisle, a woman walked around with her young boy’s hand in her hand and said, "C’mon, do you realize these have two tests in each box?"

            "Yes, I know," I said, “that’s what it says on the box.”

            She picked up two boxes and pulled her son away. I adjusted the mask on my face. The woman and her son didn't wear masks, but they didn't seem concerned at all that we wore ours. Some people shook their heads at us. People can be so judgmental at times.

            On our way back home, I drove to Subway where my wife bought herself a foot long. Then we drove through the Dairy Queen drive-through where I purchased two barbecue chicken strip basket meals for my mom and me. It came with drinks, so I ordered water—I don't drink soda.

            I gave Mom her chicken strip basket and water and asked, "How are you feeling?"

            "Not too well. Markus is in his bedroom asleep. I don't have much energy. I feel warm. Is it warm outside?"

            "It’s warming up quick. It'll be in the mid-90s today."

            "I can sure feel it."

            "Here's a COVID-19 test."

            "I don't know how to do it."

            "I'll help you do it. But let's enjoy our food first."

            After I ate my food in my bedroom (I thought the fries were a trifle soggy), I went into the kitchen where Mom was standing over the sink, scrubbing a plate with a sponge.

It was then I taught her how to do the covid test. When she swabbed her nose, I looked away because for some reason, that made me uncomfortable. She dropped her sample into the test strip, and after fifteen minutes, her result showed that she was positive.

            "You'll have to go to bed Mom, isolate yourself and rest, so you can get better quicker."

            "What about Markus?"

            "I'm fine. And Kaylee feels fine too. It’s likely Markus already has or had COVID-19. You’re sicker than us. Although you had the vaccine, you're 73 and it might be tougher for you."

            "I'll go to my bedroom and try to get better."

            "I'll bring you food and water around the clock. Make sure you get lots of sleep."

            She went to her bedroom. I went into Markus's bedroom. He was standing in his crib, looking at me with a broad smile. It was the first time in eight days that I saw him—the first time in eight days he saw me. He coughed a mild cough, but he looked fine. He looked cheerful to see me. If he had covid, today would be several days since the onset of his symptoms. And he looks great—healthy.

            Markus reunited with his mom. It was so beautiful in sight and sound that it's impossible to put that moment into words.

I tested myself again. It was positive, but the line was barely visible.

            I tried to make tilapia for dinner. The key word there is tried. I burned it so bad that the fish was black. Beef jerky would look less dark than that fish.

That’s the last time I follow directions from a quick Google search, I thought.

            I went to Ray's Food Place while my wife watched Markus. I purchased a baked chicken in a bag. I bought some other groceries as well (soups, pastas, milk, and margarine), but since Ray's seems to be the most expensive grocery store around, I kept it under fifty dollars.

            For dinner that night, we had chicken, boxed pasta, and green beans. I didn't feel completely recovered, but I did what I could, and I was okay with that.

Saturday, July 26th, 2024

While my wife was now taking care of Markus, I drove our GMC to Taco Time in Veneta and, while wearing a mask, I purchased three tacos—one for each of us.

            On the way home, I went through the drive-through at Hillbilly Brews—still wearing that mask—and purchased a large, iced mocha with chocolate whip to surprise my wife. I took a sip from it and, although it tasted delicious as it should, my taste was still different—a slight metallic taste lingered after my sip. The caffeine perked me up. I almost felt back to normal.

            "Here's a taco," I said to my mom when I got home. She was lying in her bed, resting, hacking up phlegm. "How are you feeling?"

            "How do you think I'm feeling?"

            "Right. Dumb question. You better eat. You want to get your strength up."

            "I don't know if I can eat. Just leave it on my bed and I'll think about it."

            I placed her taco on the foot of her bed, hoping that she wouldn’t kick it off.

            I went into our bedroom and saw my wife on the floor with Markus, playing with his toy cars, showing him how to roll the cars down the track.

            "Here's a taco," I said. "And I also bought you an iced mocha."

            "Wow, awesome. You didn't need to do that."

            "I wanted to. Enjoy it."

            She took a sip of it. Her eyebrows raised. "It tastes great. I still have that grassy taste though."

            "I tasted metal. It'll go away in time."

            "I hope so."

            I felt Markus's forehead. He felt warm. But he was still spunky and the same energy that I had always known. I hadn't heard him cough much since yesterday, and even at that, he didn't cough much.

            "Has he coughed much?" I asked.

            "No. He hasn't coughed once all morning and afternoon."

            "Very good. You should eat your taco."

            After we had lunch, I went outside and filled up Markus's swimming pool. It was a small, round, blue pool that I bought in June at Walmart for $6.97. There was a bigger one for $9.97, but I saw no reason to buy that one yet. Markus was still too small for a pool that large.

            I took Markus outside and placed him inside the pool. He cried at first, cried rather ardently, red in the face and all, but after five minutes, he calmed down and sat there in the pool. He didn't play around; he didn't move much. He only sat there, watching two colored toy balls float on the water's surface.

            I took the time to sit on the lawn chair and read more of Joyce Maynard's book. I didn't want to leave Markus in the pool for too long, but I thought that if he got used to it, that would be good for him. He was comfortable in the bathtub a week ago; he should be comfortable in a swimming pool. And if he still had a fever, the cool water should help bring it down some.

            On my way inside the house, holding Markus wrapped in a towel in my arms, I saw that the registration sticker from my front license plate had been ripped off. I looked over the cement driveway, under the GMC Terrain, and up and down the street, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.

Sunday, July 27th, 2024

After ten days, I tested negative for COVID-19. I texted my boss right away and told him the news, asking if I could return to work the next day. I told him that I’d wear a mask for five days. I didn’t want anyone to get sick. He said that would be great.

            Kaylee tested herself again. She was still positive, but the positive line was so faint that it could hardly be seen.

            "Seriously?" she said. "I wanted to go back to work."

            "Even if you tested negative, you'd have to stay back a while longer to take care of Markus while Mom recovers."

            "You know, this isn't favorable."

            "I understand. But Mom needs to get better, and once she gets better, you can go back to work. Life will go back to normal—whatever you consider normal—sooner than you know it."

            "Doesn't seem soon enough to me."

            Mom ate her taco several hours after I gave it to her yesterday. "It didn't taste the same," she said as I stood in her doorway. “But I ate it—better than nothing.”

            "The coronavirus changes your sense of taste."

            "I hate it."

            "How are you feeling today?"

            "I feel alright, not hungry though."

            "At least you feel better than you did yesterday."

            "How's Markus?"

            "He's great today. He doesn't feel as warm as he did yesterday. He doesn't even have a cough anymore. I took him out to the yard and put him in the swimming pool. He didn’t care for it too much, but it seemed to help him."

            "Good, good," she said. “I was worried about the little fellah.”

Monday, July 28th, 2024

When I walked through the backdoor of the bakery, I saw bakers at their stations, shaping dough. They didn't see me at first, but when they did, they smiled and waved. Then I clocked in. Many coworkers came up to me and expressed how pleased they were to have me back. Some of them asked how it was with COVID-19 (I told them it was mild), and fewer of them asked about Markus. However, I told those who didn't ask about him that he caught it too, and they seemed concerned, but I also said that he handled it better than any of us did.

            "When will Kaylee return?" said one coworker.

            "She'll return when she tests negative."

            "Did you test negative?"

            "Yes. I tested myself yesterday."

            "Why are you wearing a mask?"

            "It's an added layer to protect others. I don't want to spread it, especially if I have some trace of it in my system."

            I worked slowly but steadily. I felt much better than I did the first three days, but when I pushed myself to get orders done sooner, I felt dizzy, warm, and nauseous.

            While I delivered to several restaurants and stores in Eugene, I listened to a podcast from Bayside Davis; Wesley Towne taught from the Book of Acts.

            Before I returned to the bakery, I called Mom and said, "How are you feeling?"

            "I’m fine. I'm still in my bedroom. It's boring here. But I'm fine."

            "Just look forward to your recovery. You don't want it to backfire."

            I called my wife to check on her and Markus.

            "How are you and Markus?"

            "We're good. Markus is eating a lot."

            It seems like things are going in the right direction.

            "Tomorrow is his doctor's appointment with his pediatrician," I said. "Do you think he'll be okay for that?"

            "He doesn't seem to be sick anymore.”

            "We'll wear masks anyway just to be safe."

Tuesday, July 29th, 2024

I went to work early because Markus's appointment was at 4:30 PM. I had all the deliveries done for the day early until my boss texted me at the last minute, asking me to deliver some calzones to the concession department at Autzen Stadium. I told him about Markus's appointment, but he replied, saying, "I expect you to do the best you could do."

            I hurried over to Autzen Stadium with those calzones and hurried back to the bakery to clock off. I didn't say anything to anyone on my way in and out the door. I didn't want someone to give me another task that would take more time. I was already fifteen minutes behind according to my schedule.

            I rushed home and loaded Markus into his car seat. Kaylee sat in the passenger seat.

            "Can we pick up some mochas?" she said.

            "We don't have the time. We're already late."

            "Great. I really wanted one."

            She gave me the cold shoulder—didn’t even look at me.

            "Don't get mad at me. Our boss asked me to take some calzones at the last minute to Autzen Stadium. He knew about Markus's appointment, but he was more concerned about these folks getting their calzone samples."

            She looked out the window and didn't say anything else. Markus fell asleep in his car seat as we drove down the highway.

            We arrived at the pediatrician’s office five minutes before 4:30 PM. Since we just got over the coronavirus, they wanted us to call them, and somebody would come outside wearing a mask and direct us inside without contact with those in the waiting room.

            All in all, Markus's appointment went great. The pediatrician was pleased with his growth, his diet, and his overall appearance.

Friday, August 2nd, 2024

I helped Mom with her covid test, and after 15 minutes, she tested negative—two days before my thirtieth birthday.

            "It looks like we better celebrate your birthday," she said. “It’s the big three-o.”

            "Looks like it."

            "What do you want for your birthday?"

            "I have no idea."

            "Where do you want to eat for your birthday?"

            "Again, I have no idea."

            I decided later that night to spend my birthday in Florence, Oregon. And I decided that I’d like to eat at Ho Ho Chinese in Veneta for dinner.

August 4th, 2024

            “Happy birthday,” said my mom as she handed me her birthday card.

            “Thanks Mom,” I said, opening it and finding a hundred-dollar bill. “Wow, thanks.”

            After she left the bedroom, my wife looked at me and said, “Happy birthday, babe.”

            “Thanks babe,” I said. She handed me a bag full of wrapped presents. “Goodness.”

Before I opened her gifts, I gave her a kiss. It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss, and a happy kiss. It was a victory kiss.

(Pictures above are the 1995 Chevy van I inherited after my grandfather Reinhardt passed away from cancer at the age of 74. It has 104,000 miles and drives great.)

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