Dating : Quarantine Dates

To All My Quarantine Dates,

I love how you all really tried. Most of you knew I was immunocompromised before our date(s). I read a book called Deeply Dating and was trying to be upfront about it all. I will admit, it is a bit exhausting to explain how exactly I might die of something that might just give you a throat tickle. Some of you bordered on condescending upon learning that I am indeed, a bit fragile. You were in total disbelief that I would even step foot outside when I could get COVID-19 from touching a door handle and maybe, likely, die. It reminded me so starkly that you don’t exist in the same frame of mind as me now or even before the global pandemic hit. I don’t expect you to but you can imagine how weird it is to explain this.

Maybe the best way I can explain it is if you can imagine waking up every day feeling like a walking ticking time bomb. I felt that way even before the deadly virus began it’s world tour. Or maybe more appropriate than a bomb is that Doomsday countdown clock — the one that gets closer to zero based on our shitty decisions as a species. One country takes a risk with their nuclear weapons? Shave off a couple days. You decide to make out with another human during a pandemic? Oh, the clock is decreasing rapidly now. Yes, a human countdown clock. That’s the one. Sounds like the beginning of an idea for an indie flick they’d make that men would love and women would make fun of in viral tweets and Tik Tok videos.

I want to be honest. I’m really afraid and honestly a bit embarrassed of the risks I took to go on dates with you all. There aren’t many of you, and I’ve told even fewer of you about my entire health history, but it chills me to think of the risks I took to be close to you for even 4 hours. I am so afraid of dying at most waking hours. Not in a way that is a blinding terror, but a low rumble. A little hum. The kind you can almost forget is there if you make enough noise. Put on some music and close your eyes. Sometimes it can feel like peace.

And to be fair, we didn’t go on any dates until infection rates were low. We were all as safe as we could be. So many tests. But still. Did you feel it?

I really do wonder if you felt it when you held my hand, kissed me, or woke up next to me as I lay there, awake and anxious, for at least three hours — perhaps wondering if our short lived fling would be worth drowning in my own blood and fluids. I was positively vibrating. Perhaps I was hoping our dates would lead to something serious so I could justify leaving my home for this. If you could Get It, or more specifically, Get Me, then this could be quite the love story.

How sad, am I right? Some of you have told me it’s pretty funny, too.

I have a really nasty habit of imagining all the bad things that could happen to me before they ever happen. Honestly, I really should stop. The most glaring example of this was before I was diagnosed with cancer eight years ago. I read a book called The Fault in Our Stars about two young teens with cancer who fall in love. Truthfully, it was a bit too romantic for a book about terminal illness. Oh, I loved it though. I really enjoyed the mutual understanding of sickness. Cancer could get you a great love! I’ve always been so idealistic, and romantic, so I imagined what it would be like to have cancer. I thought maybe I had it. I stared out the backseat window of my parents’ Dodge Durango, listening to some shitty, angsty song by Brand New, and wistfully imagined being bald. Two months later, in an absolutely hilarious twist of fate, I was diagnosed with stage four cancer. What a truly comical moment in my life. Jeez.

So sometimes on my way to our date I’d imagine what your condolences would sound like to my mom. I’m sure each of you would be truly lovely to her. Or how you might react to the news that I am seriously ill. How you might sit around for hours, trying to craft the perfect comment, status, or tweet to inform people you knew me after I’m dead. You’d say I was so funny (points for calling a woman funny) and that I made an impression on you. Or maybe that was just me hoping for some accolades. I make a note not to ruminate on the risk as I’m currently taking it. It seems dangerous, given my track record with manifestation. Maybe later, when I’m not on public transportation.

So to make up for it, after each date with one of you, I light a small white candle. It’s not any particular spell or anything, it just makes me feel like I might have some control. I hold my candle, close my eyes, and breath deeply. I remind myself I’m still breathing. I imagine each breath I’ll take for the next month. I imagine you breathing too, don’t worry. I can’t leave you all out. Then I light my candle and relax. I think of my shitty, beautiful lungs. I break off some flowers from the bouquet I have in my room and leave them at the base of the candle. A nice little romantic offering. It feels like the reverse of lighting a candle for the dead, as I was taught to do as a Catholic. I’m lighting it to preserve us. You know, just in case.