Day 97 - New Social Contract

My neighborhood is such that there is minimal traffic, and it is always easy to give each other space.  That's why I rarely go to another neighborhood to walk.  Mine is ideal in having plenty of space to avoid other pedestrians.  Sure, I see other people, but we have adapted.  New conventions dictate that we find a way around each other that keeps us safe, one of us crossing the street or veering off the sidewalk to make a giant loop around the other.  In this pandemic world, there is a constant community awareness and negotiation of how we move in space together, apart.  

I start planning my movement as soon as I spot another person in the distance.  Whether we are striding toward one another or moving in the same direction, we keep careful track of each other.  Usually, the shift in trajectory happens smoothly, but sometimes it feels like an awkward junior high dance as each of us tries to get out of the other's way.  Who will step out of her planned trajectory?  Who will continue forward?  It's a slow motion, nonthreatening game of chicken.

And then there is the wave.  As we pass (not 6 feet apart, more like 10+), we meet eyes and lift our hands slightly, sometimes murmuring hello.  This greeting is particularly important when wearing a mask which makes it difficult to detect a smile.  Still, it's important to recognize each other, to express small thanks for participating in this dance.  The wave is the new curtsy.

As I was walking yesterday, merrily chatting to my friend on the phone, I heard someone shuffling behind me.  Someone coming toward me.  Someone near me.  It was daylight, but I was as startled as though I were in a dark alley.

 I stopped in my tracks, turned, and saw a young woman who was less than four feet away from me and still moving down the sidewalk in my direction.  My jaw dropped.  

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

She paused, looking panicked, then scurried past me, holding a plastic shopping bag and looking a little ashamed.  Though not enough.