Alice fiddled with the latch on her Coach key chain as she sat at her desk waiting for the phone to ring. Why she even bothered, was a whole other story. Of course no one was calling, it was 7 a.m. Everyone knew the corporate big wigs didn't roll out of their martini, steak and hooker fueled hangovers to lug their girth to work until at least 9 a.m. Plus, it was a Friday morning and everyone knew that Thursday nights were the new Saturdays. Still, she had to be there. She was the low girl on the totem pole in the sleek, shiny New Vision offices. Morning phone duty rotated once a month among the youngest assistants and even though she had some age on her colleagues, she was new at this job, having bounced around from temp agencies to sugar daddies throughout her twenties. Yawning loudly (because really, who was listening), she drained the last of her coffee. Last night was epic she thought, but having recently crested over the hill from 29 into 30 it was getting harder and harder to bounce back like she had in her younger years. Eyeing the empty coffee cup, her gaze wandered beyond her cubicle towards her manager's office and then down the hallway where the EVP of human resources enjoyed his pristine corner office digs. For once, she was not lusting after his river view. The break room was situated at the end of that hallway and she desperately craved another cup of coffee. Could she leave her post for no more than five minutes to brew some Green Mountain in the Keurig? It wasn't her grande-nonfat soy latte, but it would do the trick. Toying with the idea while absentmindedly twirling her frosted locks she attempted to distract herself from her exhaustion but it was too overwhelming. Glossing over the stacks of invoices waiting to be entered into a spreadsheet, she ignored the angel on her shoulder; that had morphed into the voice of her obnoxiously chipper millennial manager stressing just how important morning phone duty is. “The markets are open across the globe at all hours; it is pivotal that someone is there to field calls and direct any messages to the EVP as soon as possible...Your role, though small, keeps the company going…blah, blah, blah.” Looking at the devil and praying to the caffeine Gods she sprinted down the hallway. When she returned ten minutes later, having not anticipated a lack of non dairy milk products, she was already pondering her plans for that evening. It was only when she grabbed her phone to jump on Instagram that she noticed the red message light blinking aggressively on the master phone at her desk. She barely noticed as the coffee dripped over the invoices and down the edge of the table.

When the world changed we played outside, and did our best to shelter you from the storm. We splashed in the puddles and danced in the raindrops. And on the days when the clouds thickened the sky, we sheltered together and created our own sunshine. This is what I hope you will remember.

My school library is frozen in time. A living encapsulation of the anxiety and nervous energy that feverishly descended upon my school during the week of March 9th, 2020. The library, with its cheery Saint Patrick's Day decorations hanging from the ceiling, amidst a cart of books waiting to be shelved, pays homage to all that we have lost; a reminder of swift and bitter change. I spent Friday March 13th, the last day schools were open in New York, in a hyper anxious state, feeding off the giddy nervous energy emitted from my students and colleagues. Misinformation swirled. Rumors birthed out of fear crackled in the air with a reluctant forbearance that our lives were being altered by a force beyond our control. As the final bell rang that Friday at 2:43 p.m. I hastily grabbed what I thought I would need to work from home. Surely there was no need to take down the Saint Patrick's decorations, we would be back in a week. Besides, waiting in line to “stress shop” for toilet paper and meat proved to be a much more pressing issue than some silly green decorations. Today, with no end in sight, the library remains a time capsule, a reminder of the day before everything changed. The day before my elderly parents came to my house to wave goodbye as we sat safely on the steps, crying from over six feet away. A reminder of the last time my four-year-old son saw his friends in person and greeted the sunrise without fear. A reminder of the last time I was able to sit alongside a student to refine a research paper or banter about weekend plans and college decisions. A reminder that this is now our new normal, as we do our best to teach, parent, love and persevere amidst COVID-19 and its heavy veil of uncertainty.