In these brief vignettes, 15 journalism students at Hunter College offer a glimpse at what human interaction has become in the age of COVID-19. They reveal loneliness, fear, and confusion, but also the humanity that ultimately still unites and defines us. Thank you for reading.
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It was 3a.m. and I had to be up in five hours. My finger hovered over the blue camera button on my phone. Finally, I clicked and waited for the video chat to load. I was going to talk to Nicole, a girl I had met only a few hours earlier on HER, a dating app for women. It was my last night in the city for the foreseeable future and I decided I had nothing to lose. After a few seconds her grainy image popped up. We exchanged awkward greetings and fell into silence. Then, into talk of quarantine. We haven’t spoken since, but for a few minutes on that very late night in March, Nicole helped me feel a little less alone. – Gabriella Vetrano
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I haven’t seen my boyfriend in two and a half weeks. We went from walking each other to class and having weekend sleepovers to relying on FaceTime to catch up. But what does one catch up on when every day seems to be a redo of the day before? Some days we have online classes, other days I spend time working from home. I try to use our talks to escape into his room and he does the same to enter the four windowless walls of mine. – Krystie Calle
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Cassandra rang my bell last Tuesday. The balloons in her left hand flew sideways in the wind; in her right she held a cannoli cake. Sandwiched between her left arm and ribcage was a pink sign that read, “Happy Birthday Bianca.”
She stood at the bottom of my stairs. “I’m not coming near you until I know you’re negative,” she said.
She held up her phone and sang happy birthday, smiling because she knew this was the only form of normalcy I’d receive on my special day.
She left my presents on the stairs, got back in her car, applied a generous dose of hand sanitizer, and drove away. – Bianca Mistretta
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He took short, slow steps down the corridor of laundry machines. I looked at him, as if to say “excuse me,” and noticed only the center of his face was concealed. The man had a sleeping mask looped around his ears to cover his nose; the mask barely covered his mouth and did not go over his chin. He towered over me, almost 6 feet tall, looking down at my unconcealed face. His eyes widened, as if to say “Where’s your mask?” Feeling scolded, I zipped up my jacket and retreated to the corner, a safe six feet away. – Janet Hernandez
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I stopped at her name and pressed the FaceTime icon, preparing my funniest expression as I waited for her to pick up. She greeted me with her own contorted face, and we laughed as we began our normal, carefree banter in Spanish.
The eyes that greeted me weren’t the bright and alert, cat-like eyes that I’ve grown accustomed to. Instead, what stared back at me were two dull orbs underscored with slightly darker half rings. Sure, she sounded and acted the same, but she looked lifeless.
I worried that she could be sick. My heart dropped at the thought of her having caught the “Rona,” as we joked in our last meme-sharing conversation on Instagram. I debated whether I should bring it up. Was she going to die? What do coronavirus patients even look like while they’re dying? I stopped myself from googling this and confronted her about why she looked sick.
She said she’d been up all night playing with makeup, hence the dull eyes and dark circles around them. I laughed, and we continued our banter. – Kenia Tineo
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Wearing a plastic bag like an inside-out mitten, I knelt down to pick up what my dog had left for me. It was close to 7 o’clock, dinner time for her, and she was pulling on her leash, ready to get back home.
“Hi, Angora!” shouted familiar voices.
I looked up to see two squealing girls. They were getting pushed by Max, their father, in a double-seated stroller with a pink sparkly blanket covering their legs. Their mother walked ahead, leading the way.
I offered the smiling girls a hello and Max answered back.
“You know they think your name is Angora, not the dog, right?”
“Oh, that’s okay,” I replied. – Virginia Anne Dundon
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An hour had passed and I checked my order online. “Delivered,” it said. I peered out my blinds. Nothing. Maybe he got lost, I thought. I saw a car park outside my house, and a man emerged with two pizza boxes, a plastic bag covering his arm. I jumped back from my window to ensure that he didn’t see me, then cautiously took another look to see if he was finished dropping the boxes at my doorstep.
As I made my way to the door I received a call from an unknown number. I picked up to hear a man say, “Hi, your food is outside.” I thanked him. Only afterwards did I realize that the man’s call, which lasted just a few seconds, was the only interaction I’d had with the outside world in weeks. – Tenzin Chime
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Last Sunday was the last day that I worked as grocery store cashier. Customers raced to the frozen foods section to stock up on microwavable burritos and vegan chicken nuggets. People tossed their grocery bins on the checkout counter. One elderly woman, wearing double vinyl gloves on each hand, stepped toward the counter and greeted me with a lukewarm smile. She asked how my day was going as she delicately tied a knot on her bag of unsalted cashews.
“I’m ok, just been pretty busy,” I told her. She pushed her cream scarf down to reveal a blue medical mask similar to the one I wore. “Thank you for being open,” she whispered. – Jose Suarez
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Turning down the organic foods aisle, my brother and sister-in-law began fighting, playfully, over who would get to push the cart. Their laughter was muffled by their blue, disposable masks.
A woman, talking on her phone, paused her conversation to tell my sister-in-law that “it’s rude to just stand around with your cart…people are trying to buy their food.” “You’re in the way!” she admonished. Another woman nearby nodded in agreement.
My brother and sister-in-law looked at each other and then back at her. They barely moved and the two women continued past them.
Glancing in my direction, my brother sucked in his stomach and raised his hands in the air as he moved away from my sister-in-law, pretending he didn’t know her.
Next time, I think I’ll do the shopping alone. – Maria Puerta Hincape
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Masking taped created a lattice-shaped maze on the floor of CVS, guidelines for standing six feet apart. I beelined for the frozen foods section, located my caramel cashew milk ice cream, and headed to self-check-out. To my horror, the only machine had a paper sign that read “out of order.” I looked to the cashiers, and one waved me over. He wore blue latex gloves, but no mask. He was sweet and stood tall. He rang up my singular item, scanned my card, and applied my coupons. I passed him three dollars, attempting to not touch his hand at all (I failed). He gave me my change and receipt. I wished him a great day and week. Normally, “have a great day” would suffice. But in a time like this, I wanted to extend my gratitude those extra six days. – Elizabeth Jankovic
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Standing six feet apart from the employees at Five Guys terrified me. Not because I was afraid of contracting the virus, but of transmitting it. I am the sole member of my family who does not work in healthcare. I had been staying with my sister for over a week. Even though she’s a nurse in the NICU – my parents wanted me to stay as far away as I could from our hospital-owned apartment building – I couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared that I was unknowingly carrying this virus, scared of who I might give it to. These workers at Five Guys are essential to the everyday workings of our city. No less essential than my parents, than my sister – no less at risk. I was wearing gloves and a mask, as was the employee who handed me my food. “Thank you so much,” I said. His eyes betrayed the hint of a smile. “Take care of yourself,” he replied. – Cat Abano
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It was 7:15, and I was waiting on a slew of food from Taco Bell I had ordered nearly two hours earlier. I stared at my computer screen, which told me the GrubHub driver had just picked up my food. I was hungry, sure, but a pang of guilt filled my stomach.
It was the same feeling I got whenever I ordered food from a delivery service not through the restaurants themselves. Why should they have to go out of their way for me when I’m too lazy to leave my own home? But it was different now. We were in the throws of COVID-19.
My phone buzzed.
“This is Davina, your GrubHub driver. I’m here. Can you come down to the road?”
I peered out my curtains to the street, and saw the car idling by my driveway. I cringed, thinking of my sister who would be livid if I came within six feet of another person.
“Can you come to the door?”
No response, but soon a figure was heading up my walkway. I stood at the door, shifting from foot to foot, considering whether I should just bite the bullet and meet her halfway.
When she got up the stairs, I was overtaken by anxiety, and I gestured to a chair outside. She didn’t say a word; she merely complied.
“Thank you so much. Have a good night!” I called after her as she retreated to her car. She looked annoyed. And really, could I blame her? – Natalie Rash
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It was a foggy Saturday night. An ambulance stopped just outside my apartment building, and out walked a slender figure—5’8″, glasses, his dark hair brushed down. “Which door?” he asked. He was on duty, in the middle of a pandemic. He found the man who had called him. “Have you or anyone you’ve been in contact with travelled outside of the country,” he asked while making his way down the damp walkway.
As he was fidgeting with and adjusting his mask, he learned the man hadn’t called due to illness but because he’d had an accident. “We still have to follow coronavirus protocol,” he explained, and moved on to the next question. – Donika Lleshi
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I boarded the NJ Transit train for Bloomfield and took a seat, fleeing the city at the start of the coronavirus outbreak. Just as the sliding doors were closing a disheveled woman pried them back open with a broken umbrella and forced her way in. She roamed about the cabin looking for a seat; the other passengers ignored her. She sat down next to me. I felt trapped, and like the others, tried to ignore her myself. The conductor came to collect tickets, and I showed mine through the mobile app. He asked the woman and she handed him an expired ticket for a different route. The conductor pointed this out and she began to rant. She won; he punched the ticket and walked away. She cursed him some more. I kept my arms close and pressed myself against the window. She turned to me and asked if the train went to Newark. “Yes,” I said, avoiding eye contact. She asked if I was going home from school or work. “School,” I said. “Good,” she replied, “you should stay there.” She told me that she was trying to get back to her family in Newark. She hadn’t seen them in over five years. She told me about how she fell on hard times and that she wanted to make things right. When we parted at Newark station she asked me for directions to Broad Street. I told her which bus led there and gave her my spare change for the fare. We parted as friends. – Marc Carganilla
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I was lying on my bed, passing the time however I could. I had just finished re-shelving my books for the second time. I heard a man’s voice come from the living room, which was odd; I live with three girls. There was something vaguely familiar about it.
I opened my door and peeked into the living room to find my next-door neighbor chatting with one of my roommates. “Hey Ryan,” he waved. Oh god, I thought. I had met him once before, on an unfortunate night when I locked myself out of my apartment and had to crawl through his fire escape to get in. It’s one of my greatest shames.
“Hey…” my voice trailed off. I didn’t even remember his name. Definitely Lyles. Or was it Miles? He explained that he had locked himself out of his own apartment, and all of his roommates had left town because of the virus. We chatted for a few minutes, and he disappeared through the window, much more gracefully than I had.
I turned to my roommate. “What was his name again?” – Ryan Bain
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