“It’s the pandemic,” random voices chime. “Thank God for families! Where would I be without my mother? Who would want to be left alone at a time like this?”
My sons have lives of their own. Communicating with them is problematic. And recently, in one way or another, a number of my closest friends have moved on. I face the unknown future alone.
Enveloped in my own thoughts, I struggle to find a reality to latch onto. Is this really a pandemic? Conspiracy? The wrath of an angry God? Am I simply crazy?
When out in public I paste an ironic grin under my mask. “Don’t let them see your hollow underbelly!” I say to myself. “Who would want to be with a loser like you?”
I retreat into my National Park of the Lonely. Here I can cry by myself. I sit on the Pity Pots and survey the landscape. To my left is the Cave of Silent Echoes, above me the Ridge of the Frozen Future. I search the Dry Wash of Yesterdays for nuggets of friendship possibly buried there. But my stiff exterior remains. I relegate my furtive visits here to times of darkness, moments of secrecy. Isn’t that the only time for Lonely?
Ann Metlay, Age 74
Clarkdale, AZ
This story is a selection from National Park of Emotions, an evolving participatory art project documenting people’s emotional experience during the Covid-19 pandemic. Writing edited by David Goldstein, photos edited by Mindy Stricke.