COVID Came to My House
I managed to avoid it for 2 years and 7 months.
A note from the author: I know many have similar stories and even worse ones. The reality that this terrible sickness was unleashed on humanity and affected every corner of the globe is undeniable. The trauma that followed was unimaginable. May God have mercy on us.
October 9, 2022
The doorbell rang. I was reluctant to answer. I’d been suffering from a migraine for two days that had been a formidable foe to my NSAIDs thus far.
This was normal for me, so I didn’t really think of the headache as anything out of the ordinary. A young man stood on the other side of my screen door.
“Hi, ma’am, you don’t know me but…”
He grabbed the door handle in a quick action that had him suddenly standing in my foyer.
“Uh, excuse me!”
I wasn’t afraid, just taken aback.
“Name’s Covid, I need to come in.”
“David?”
“No, Covid.”
What a strange choice for a name, I thought.
“What do you need?” I said impatiently.
He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, but there was no smoke. I felt a weight in my chest like I was coming down with something.
“I need to stay here a while.”
“I don’t normally have strangers “stay” with me. You can’t smoke in here.”
“You’re stuck with me. I leave when I’m over. Don’t mind me. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Immediately, I felt aggravated. I’m a home body and this was my sanctuary. I didn’t feel like fighting him. In fact, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I had to lie down.
It was futile. I couldn’t get comfortable. My hips, legs, and back ached so acutely that I couldn’t think about much else. Covid sat in a dark corner looking at his phone.
He looked like a frat party boy. His chiseled good looks shadowed by the short stubble covering his face. His hair was dark, almost black, but his eyes were bright green like emeralds.
His muscles grazed the inside of his blue button down shirt. The sleeves were cuffed about his elbows. He was slim, but filled out his black jeans nicely. He sat with one brown loafer on the floor and the other propped on an ottoman. Elbow to knee he scrolled and the light from his screen illuminated his face dimly.
Maybe I should call the police.
“Don’t bother,” his voice interrupted my agony, “they can’t see me.”
Did he just read my mind?
“Yes.”
Crap. I’m trapped with a mind-reading frat boy who smokes and won’t leave. He inhaled a long drag from the strange smokeless cigarette. It must be a vape, but there was no vapor either.
“It’s not.” He exhaled as if exhaling the smoke.
I coughed uncontrollably.
What is going on, I thought.
“Duh, I’m Covid.” he said melodically.
That’s it. I’m officially going insane. I could see him smirk.
I rolled over with my back to him hoping to drift off to sleep. I’m not sure why I felt like I should go to sleep with this weird stranger in my home, but I was so…tired.
I couldn’t sleep. The body aches were keeping me awake. I tossed and turned trying to find a position that didn’t feel like I was laying on a rocky outcrop. I finally consulted the medicine cabinet and settled for a cold remedy with ibuprofen in it.
I finally drifted off after a couple of hours.
I woke suddenly because I couldn’t breathe for the strangling cough that needed to come out of my lungs right at *cough cough this moment. I could feel the pressure in my head each time I hacked.
Covid snored raggedly from the corner with his mouth wide open. No wonder I couldn’t breathe.
“Hey, wake up! Why don’t you get out of here?”
He stirred, obviously annoyed, and his voice was almost not there, “Can’t. I’m here for the duration.”
I was pissed.
That’s it, I was going to make him leave.
“Listen, you jackhole, you’re leaving! Right now!”
Before he could move, I was on him, punching his arm and head with all my might.
“GET OUT OF HERE! YOU CAN’T BE HERE ANYMORE!”
He didn’t flinch. My fists punched air. There was nothing there…but I could see him. I am crazy. I have officially qualified for the “cheese sliding off cracker” award.
I fell back into my bed, exhausted, and don’t remember how long it was before I woke again.
He was still here and not one bruise from my beating!
How did this happen?
“I hitched a ride home with you from your Dad’s place.”
Here we go with the mind-reading again.
“The rehab place?”
“Yeah, remember when you were there Saturday and they had your dad on oxygen and all that stuff.”
Terror gripped me.
“Oh no! He has it!”
“Yep.” He said without emotion looking at his phone with the smokeless cigarette half gone hanging on his lip.
“YOU BASTARD!”
I was on him so fast I even shocked myself. I whaled violently, but my fits never made contact. No amount of violence could help us now.
All in all, he stayed nearly two weeks and he was gone, but the cough persisted for two months.
I talked to my dad one more time after that. By the time I tested negative and saw him in the hospital, he was intubated and had turned 82.
October 25, 2022
Four days later, he was gone.
Based on true events. I actually started writing this before Dad passed away.
This is heart-wrenching.