Reader fiction: Life in Quarantine
Eilis Bradley was a modern woman. A young sixty years of age, Eilis prided herself on being incredibly au fait with every aspect of the modern world. The coronavirus pandemic was no different. Eilis had become a self-declared expert on the virus. She had placed a coronavirus leaflet beside her St. Anthony picture at the end of the bed and, after a week of studying, could now proudly rhyme off every single symptom of the virus to anyone who cared to listen.
As a single, childless lady, Eilis was thoroughly enjoying her time alone during “lockdown.” Since the announcement of the lockdown, Eilis no longer had people charge into her house and make themselves at home. Instead of entertaining family members who made impromptu visits to her house, Eilis eventually had the time to dedicate to herself.
She was determined to spend the lockdown time wisely. She spent hours honing her internet skills, acquired at the local library’s “Internet for Idiots” course. Eilis had read that Shakespeare had written King Lear when in quarantine, and was determined to be equally productive. She had adjusted well to watching Mass online and always ensured that she was the first to comment “Good Morning Father” when the priest took to the altar. Eilis’ local nemesis, Betty Maguire, had gone a step further by “going live” with the priest and singing Hallelujah. Afterwards, Eilis had spent an hour emailing the coordinator of the “Internet for Idiots” course enquiring why a module entitled “Going Live At Virtual Mass” had not been covered on the course. She then spent a week learning the rosary backwards, vowing that she would somehow use this unique skill against Betty Maguire in future. Eilis had also intended to learn a new skill to bring her back into the job market. So far, all she had mastered was the skill of wine tasting.
That said, Eilis’ life wasn’t perfect. Her twenty-year-old niece, Sally, was the highlight of her life. Eilis did miss her, even if Sally refused to abide by her request and call her “Elisha” instead of boring old “Aunty Eilis.” Eilis had recently received postcards through her door from Sally. They weren’t even nice postcards. Whenever Eilis went on holidays, she always made sure to spend at least an hour in the local Spanish supermarket selecting postcards that would evoke the most envy from her family.
The recent flurry of postcards she had received from Sally didn’t even have stamps on them. Eilis made another mental note to tell her postman to stop delivering these. Eilis was the one who had taken to the streets to protest the increase of stamps to €1, and now postmen were delivering post for free? Eilis despaired. She also did not appreciate the content of the postcards.
“Hope ur well aunt. Neighbour had a new baby girl last week. Thinking of calling her Quarantina. What do u think? I haven’t seen your picture popping up on rip.ie so I think u r still alive!! Lol!!! Would u like us to drop over dinner? Chat soon, ur favourite niece, Sally!!.”
Eilis still didn’t understand what “rip.ie” was or why her picture would be “popping up” on it. She hoped it wasn’t one of those websites that they warned her off at the computer course at the library. Also, Eilis certainly did not want any of her family dropping over dinner. Eilis vowed only to take up their offer if she caught the virus and lost her sense of taste.
She glanced at the clock. Monday, 11am. The quarantine was getting slightly tedious now. She had to admit that she was finding time alone somewhat difficult. Eilis sat down on her sofa. She did feel lonely. Even her online dating efforts had failed. She was still reeling from the breakdown of her online relationship with twenty-year-old Enrique from Spain. Enrique had tried to encourage Eilis to send him €10000 to buy masks and hand sanitizer, which he claimed were extremely expensive in Spain.
Eilis, on the cusp of sending the money, had caught a glimpse of Trump’s press conference and made Enrique aware of how he must inject Dettol immediately to protect himself from the virus. Eilis had since been suspended from the website. The explanation email from the website cited “potential harm to users” and “gross misconduct.” Eilis had felt slightly relieved. She feared that a video call from Enrique before the reopening of the hairdressers may indeed reveal that she wasn’t a natural blonde.
She had worn a bicycle helmet for previous video calls, post hairdresser closure, but suspected that Enrique was becoming doubtful about her assertions that bicycle helmets were considered an essential piece of virus-fighting equipment in Ireland. Eilis longed to find a partner. She had texted Sally to enquire if Leo Varadkar was single. Sally had replied that he was not, nor was Simon Harris. Eilis had lost interest in all Government press conferences since Sally’s revelations and vowed to vote for Sinn Fein in future.
Eilis had gladly quit working long before the coronavirus pandemic. Of course, “working at home, thanks very much,” was her smug reply to any neighbour that enquired about her daily life. Eilis spent most of her days cooking elaborate dishes. The sprigs of dill and parsley were well worth the “non-essential items” fine that the overzealous Garda at the checkpoint had imposed on her last week, mumbling something about “flattening the curve.” That said, she did hope to flatten her own new-found curves soon before she emerged in public again. She could have sworn that she saw Betty Maguire running laps around the roads of the parish the other day.
Being the modern woman she was, Eilis was also under no illusions about the pandemic. She had gingerly informed Sally about her intention to leave her the grand sum of €5000 in her will. Naturally, Sally was delighted. She privately reassured herself that, should the worst happen, Sally would at least have enough money to buy a few stamps for herself.
Eilis’ phone vibrated. She opened the new message. A message from Sally. “Good evening Aunt Eilis! We’re having a family Zoom meeting. Do you want to join?” Eilis seethed with rage. A zoom meeting? She certainly would not be “zooming” anywhere in the near future. Why must their meetings suddenly involve movement and exercise? Sally knew of Eilis’ health issues. Eilis feared that any sort of strenuous exercise would lead to an early death. She had explained this to Sally when she managed to set up a video on her computer with some man called Joe Wicks yelling at her to do terrifying movements such as “mountain climbers” and “squats.” Eilis could just imagine Betty Maguire’s smug face at her funeral, following a death from cardiac arrest.
Eilis’ phone vibrated again. A Facebook notification this time. “You have been tagged in a post by Sally Bradley.” Eilis clicked on the post. A photo of her beautiful niece Sally. She was pictured wearing running gear and had a rather red face. Eilis rolled her eyes. Had Sally just uploaded a photo of herself after exercising? Eilis couldn’t understand what possessed young people to put up photos of themselves looking anything less than perfect. Eilis read the post. “5K Completed! I’ve donated to a charity of my choice. I nominate Eilis Bradley to do the same!”
Admittedly, it took Eilis a few minutes to make sense of the post. 5K? 5k was a lot. She beamed at the prospect of Sally donating to charity. Obviously Sally’s days of stealing envelopes from Mass were behind her. Eilis retrieved her bank card from her purse and dialled in St Vincent De Paul’s number on her phone. “Hello? I’d like to make a donation please…”
Donation completed, Eilis typed a text message into her phone.
“Hi, Sally. Aunt Eilis here. Thanks for the nomination! So kind of you to donate 5k to charity. Very proud of the young lady you’ve become. Don’t know why you had to put up a photo of yourself looking sweaty with it, however. As you’ve requested, I’ve also made the five thousand euro donation to Trocaire. I know that now means you’ll get nothing if I pop my clogs, but you’ll get your reward in heaven. Chat soon.”
Time alone, eh? Maybe Varadkar was correct, we do come together by staying apart….