blank space

nevin and george’s whirlwhind visit ended abruptly yesterday when ulrich, afflicted by sniffles and a sludge of mucus in his throat, detected a faint gray-pink line on his COVID rapid test. none of us were sure what to do next - what is the social protocol when there are no more legal ones to follow? - but an hour and a couple of phone calls later, nevin had packed up his and george’s bags, loaded them into our trunk, and i was driving them past windmill fields through the Münsterland to meet jodi, who still had a day left in her cockroaches and termites conference.

where there was once toddler and a funnel cloud of life trailing him around the house, there is now dust settling into blank space: wide open time and room to have a tea, stretch out on the couch, and daydream without a second thought for baby safety or bed times or avoiding meltdowns. i took quite a liking to george and was immediately drawn to his innocence and quiet confidence, but the stage of his life in which we met is one where threat and joy are persistently intertwined; every precious discovery or new experience seems just as likely to lead to exhilaration as injury or despair. i didn’t realize how low-grade nervous i had been for george’s wellbeing until after he was gone and the blank space began creeping into the crevices of our apartment like a slow-moving mist. i can still feel myself decompressing, molecule by molecule, oozing into the blank space among gradually dissipating memories of george the boy and his plush stuffies, side-eye grins and somersaults on the bed.