Pandemic anniversary

"Jazz Lovers" painting by Maria Rosales Gerpe

It’s getting chilly, but it’s only September, so there is still a warmth in the air.

We come in with masks and order a pizza at a new place that opened.

There are no places to sit.

So when the pizza is ready, we take it outside, sit in our car, and begin munching down.

We’re busy stuffing our faces when we look and laugh: We’re the only ones in the parking lot.

Rows and rows of empty parking spaces. A single car drives across the road.

“What an anniversary,” we echo each other.

“Thanks for the pizza,” I say. We kiss.

We just had our son.

Exhausted from sleepless nights, I rest my head on your shoulder. You rest your head on mine.

No one is allowed to do anything but get essential things. This feels essential.