Behind the Mask

“The irony of life is that those who wear masks often tell us more truths than those with open faces.” ― Marie Lu

When I was a child, my mother always warned me to bundle up in cold weather.

“You don’t want to get the misery in the chest,” she’d say.

My mother was talking about colds and the flu, of course, but today a much deadlier kind of misery has gripped the world in the form of Covid-19, a.k.a. the coronavirus.

New York City remains the nation’s epicenter for this plague and life as we used to know it has pretty much evaporated.

Today is Palm Sunday, usually a time of joy, as we look forward to Easter and its promise of hope and rebirth.

But now we’re all wearing masks and gloves and the U.S. Surgeon General warned that “this will be the hardest and saddest week of most Americans’ lives.” God help us.

I did another early morning shopping run yesterday, even earlier than last week’s sojourn.

As I cruised the nearly empty aisles, I saw a young masked man holding his little girl, whose face was also covered, and gently swaying to Night Ranger’s hit “Sister Christian” as it played over the PA system.

“Sister Christian, oh, the time has come…”

It was eerie watching that young man holding his child and trying to make things look remotely normal. Adults, we hope, have some grasp of this situation, but what do tell a child about this nightmare without scaring the hell out of her?

Surreal scenes abound in this new reality. This afternoon I saw a man crossing Colonial Road with his mask pulled down so he could puff on a cigarette.

I was proud of myself for getting up so early to shop, but joy turned to dismay when I reached the checkout corner and saw all the long lines.

There aren’t as many people working the registers at this time, which seems to defeat the purpose of shopping early in the first place.

I took my place on one of the shorter lines, trying to keep back from the guy in front of me, when a masked dude walked up to me pushing a cart full of groceries.

“Mr. Lenihan…”

It took me a moment, but then I realized it was Al, a man I had grown up with back on Senator Street and whom I’d not seen in years.

I remember cruising with Al and other guys from the neighborhood back in the Night Ranger days of the 1980s.

Thank You, Masked Man

Al would drive us in his massive Cadillac to bars and clubs in Bay Ridge and then sometimes we’d shoot over to Chinatown for a late night/early morning meal at Wo Hop’s.

How Al recognized me beneath my mask and ski cap, I don’t know, but I was so happy to see him—or as much of him that I could see—especially during such an awful time.

“Who would’ve thought we’d be living this way?” I asked.

Certainly not me. Pandemics, lockdowns, and social distancing were all the stuff of science fiction movies and zombie flicks. Fun to watch, but who in the holy screaming hell would ever want to go through that shit for real?

“I used to read about the 1918 Flu Pandemic,” I said, “and I'd think ‘oh, those poor people, they had it bad. But that could never happen to us.’ Who knew?”

I heard a minor commotion up by the register and saw the cashier, a very nice woman whom I routinely chat with, was telling the guy ahead of me repeatedly to step back.

This man stood out because he was one of the few people in the store who wasn't wearing a mask.

The world has gotten so strange that now anyone not wearing a mask looks like a criminal; someone to be fear and avoided.

The guy looked at me, nodded at the cashier, and gave me the eye roll, as if to say, "get her." I said nothing as I stepped a few feet back.

Moments later, I jumped the gun myself, and the cashier had to warn me.

Only instead of an eye roll, I offered an apology knowing that I was in the wrong.

When Al got too close, she backed him up as well.

“I’ve never seen that man before in my life!” I shouted, leveling a finger at Al.

Al and I wished each other well and promised to get together when this insanity finally ends.

I would be blessed a second time that day because after dinner, Craig, a man I worked with at Thomson Reuters, who lives near me, called me out of the blue.

“I’m just reaching out to people,” he said. "I want to see if everyone's okay."

It was just a phone call, but it gave me such an emotional lift. If nothing else, this outbreak is teaching us the value of staying in touch.

Craig and I talked for nearly an hour and it was such a relief to have a real conversation instead of just watching the evening news or the latest Netflix offering.

Isolation, fear, and loneliness can do all sorts of damage and I’m thankful I connected with these guys as we brace for a tough week and pray we don’t get the misery in the chest.