I am at the other end of life. It happens to
coincide with the coronavirus pandemic,
not an especially friendly companion. I am
isolated from my friends, from grocery
store isles, from the simple pleasures of
strolling in the park and chatting with passer-
bys. It is no fun existing like this. Telephone
calls are not hugs. Emails are not conversations.
Life is moribund. I will die sooner than later,
but before I do, I was hoping to reminisce
with dear friends, go out to eat, have a few
drinks. This is like living on the moon. I
have watched and re-watched all my favorite
movies. I wish I could join Bogart and
Bergman in Rick's Cafe Americain. So what
would it matter if I lost at the roulette wheel.
Sam would play "As Time Goes By." There
would be others with whom I could mingle.
I would not be alone. Perhaps I would have
shot the Gestapo chief. Something, anything,
but boredom bordering on depresssion. If
only I could commiserate with the billions
of other human beings who have not yet
lost their lives to this invidious disease. I
will die soon, more likely from isolation
than from illness.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
