24 Hours In LockdownA Story by alanwgraham The church bell conducts my progress through a day of lockdown 24 Hours in Lockdown The church bell tolls midnight … zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……..
The church bell tolls one … road choking - ambulances racing - sirens screeching - gowned medics swarming - strapping me down - masks and visors smothering - I scream I wake, heart pounding, Mandy is shaking me. ‘You’ve had a bad dream’. ‘These nightmares never stop!’ She hugs me.
The church bell tolls two ... Wake. Need a pee. Stagger to the loo and click the light on. Glance across, beside the bath a mouse sits up, looking at me inquisitively. A fuss will waken Mandy and she’ll scream. I close the door - the wee mouse will escape by the same route.
The church bell tolls three .. I return to complete my pee. I scream - the poor mouse is floating dead in the toilet pan. Yes, I thought - ‘the best laid plans o’ mice and men gang aft agley (astray)
The church bell tolls four … I feel a nudge, another. I rouse. ‘You’re snoring again.’ ‘I can’t sleep.’ ‘I was dreaming about that weather lady … you know, the one with the … the big … we were just about to …’ ‘about to what?’ She kicked me.
The church bell tolls five .. Lying awake for too damn long - stomach, a pit of anxious roiling snakes. Eyes closed, Mandy's slow, deep inhales and exhales transport me to waves gently breaking on sun-kissed coral sand.
The church bell tolls six .. I open an eye, the crack in the curtain unbroken blue again. An unbroken covid month of peaceful walks and bike rides.A car passes, perhaps a nurse going 'over the top', again, for us. The weather will soon break, will the lockdown? Anyway - which day is this? Does it matter?
The church bell tolls seven … Seven has always marked my permission to arise. Downstairs a human shadow puppet crosses the sunlit blind. I put on the kettle, open the curtains. The tea is very good, I'll have another cup. The church bell tolls eight … I take the tea back to bed and read our latest book club ‘homework’ on the tablet, ‘Austerlitz’ by W.G. Sebold - perhaps not the ideal read in these times. It’s a story of memory recovered in traumatic times. I’ll not give the game away but the sense of impending doom is mesmeric. How will our troubles times be remembered? The church bell tolls nine … Breakfast of muesli with milk, shared banana (it’s funny how the bananas make it here from the Caribbean but we can only drive to the supermarket - just asking, Boris?), coffee, toast with marmalade, our friend Willie in the village bakes a hundred loaves and sells them from the garden on Saturdays.
The church bell tolls ten … A horn sounds - the fish van parks in the drive and the neighbours congregate (socially isolating of course) for our weekly fresh fish - cash only I’m afraid so hand washing all round! I think - isn’t there something in the bible about loaves and fishes feeding the 5000?
The church bell tolls eleven … I sit in the garden with a coffee, watching a speckled thrush scurrying sated from our drought struck pond.
The church bell tolls twelve … Still in the garden, I squint up, blinded, by the sun at it’s zenith. Its fate, (and ours?) the remorseless slide into darkness - but shall we rise again? The church bell tolls one ... I switch the TV on for the news ‘The Prime Minister Boris Johnston and Carrie ….’ I click it off.
The church bell tolls two ... Mandy and I set off for our daily exercise, We walk up our favourite den - the bluebells are coming in to flower - at the top we normally go through the gate, past the farm, admire the horses. There’s a homemade notice - CORONAVIRUS DANGER - THE PATH IS CLOSED
The church bell tolls three ... I sit in the easy chair by the front window, a snail moves along the edge of the old stone planter outside just a foot away. I’m tired, I close my eyes.
The church bell tolls four ... I open my eyes. The snail has moved the length of my finger. It observes me and thinks - he’s not moved at all!
The church bell tolls five ... I chop some wood - it’s surprisingly addictive, gives good upper body exercise but not recommended for the over 70’s! Like a virus, wood can be a wily adversary with its knots and gnarls. Recovering in my garden chair I suddenly realise I haven’t seen a vapour trail in a week. There’s hope for the planet yet!
The church bell tolls six ... Switch on the TV for the latest news Boris returns today, chairing the daily press conference, a rung above trump, but not the full ladder!
The church bell tolls seven ... I spot the weary brown suitcase on the floor full of family photos Yesterday I sat (socially distanced) with my mum outside her wee sheltered flat, looking back over 93 years. Her memories pin sharp from 70 years ago; but from 5 minutes before, a dense fog. Perhaps my final link to precious family memories! A tear slips down my cheek.
The church bell tolls eight ... The evenings still hold a chill. I set and light the wood burning stove. We watch some TV - it passes the time! Mandy has a small glass of wine, I have a beer with some crisps or nuts. Excessive alcohol consumption is tempting in testing times. I resist.
The church bell tolls nine ... I find that I can resist everything except temptation and have another beer.
The church bell tolls ten ... The night is clear so we go out to follow dazzling Venus on its slow wander through the stars. I remember reading that Venus suffered in the past from a runaway greenhouse effect. Our own climate change has been, at least, paused by empty skies and furloughed factories.
The church bell tolls eleven ... I go to lock the front door, have a last look out. All is quiet then I see a fox under the streetlights, brazenly taking ownership of the street. It looks back at me unfazed - ‘Your time has come!’
The church bell tolls midnight ... Another day begins. But what day is it - I haven’t a clue!
© 2020 alanwgrahamFeatured Review
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Added on May 2, 2020Last Updated on May 2, 2020 Author
alanwgrahamScotland, United KingdomAboutMarried with three kids, I retired early from teaching physics but have always enjoyed mountains. In my forties I experienced a manic episode which kick-started a creative urge. I've written a novel .. more..Writing
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