julierichmond

Today, on the thousandth year of isolation, I spent the morning on the sofa. I was reading books, scrolling my phone, talking to dogs, and considering the possibility of washing the floors.

This afternoon, I found my favorite sneakers, and went upstairs to the room that was once my son’s bedroom. It is cluttered with clothes he didn’t want to take with him, and isn’t ready to give up. His desk is in the middle of the floor, to make room for the monitor, spin bikes, weights, and a pile of tools. Hung and pressed in his closet is the shirt he wore to court, sneakers, and a pile of socks we bought him for basketball that cost eighteen bucks a pair.

I found a sixty minute pop ride on the app that connects to the screen. I filled up my bottle. I hopped on the bike and rode nowhere, in the middle of a room where my boy once slept, spent time with his girlfriend, scribbled on walls, did homework, and stared at his phone. Sixty minutes is a long time for a spin class.

I watched the people walk by, in coats and gloves, masks and hats pulled well over ears. I had sweat in my eyes, and, halfway through, gulped the rest of my water.I played the music loud.

I tried sing along. I knew the words, even to “Fireworks” and “Believe”. I am not a fan of inspirational pop, unless the lyrics are telling someone to get the hell out the door.

When I was done, I folded some clothes, and swept up from under the bed. I thought about plans to make the room a guest room/workout space, which I guess it already is. But I’d like to make it look a little less like the space my boy left behind. He’ll always be my boy, but I don’t know him now.

This has been a long, quiet winter. I am not complaining- we have water and heat, when I flick a switch, lights turn on, and there are leftovers in the fridge. I am sending love and hope to my friends in Texas, and donated what I could.

I am blessed, but even with everything, I needed an hour to sweat and sing along to songs that I’d never listen to if I was walking outside.

Maybe we are fireworks, perhaps we just have to believe.

Today, I just needed to feel myself smile. I smiled.

Soon, we will be walking outside. Soon enough, it will be spring, and I will hop on a bike that brings me somewhere.

Until then, I am on the sofa, in front of my desk, or spinning and waiting, upstairs in my son’s tiny bedroom.

There are two tiny dogs, on either side of me, and Sophie the Amazing is glaring at me from the carpet. She looks forward to getting her sofa back.