Tales of the ‘Rona, Episode 9: In Between the Seconds

rectify

(rekte-fi)

Verb

1. to put something right; to correct

2. an AMC/SundanceTV fictional drama series exploring the life of a man upon his release from prison after nearly 20 years on death row for a wrongful rape and murder conviction.

Intense.

Haunting.

Emotionally demanding.

Dark.

The irony of calling this series Rectify is that nothing seems like it will ever be put right.

Nothing neat.

Nothing tidy.

Nothing easy.

Lots of unraveling occurs before anything remotely begins to correct.

I’ve never been much of a neat-tidy-easy-story fan anyway, so a little unraveling isn’t always unwelcome.

Daniel Holden is the main character - the released prisoner - and the following is a passage of dialogue he has with Tawney, his step-brother’s wife.

Tawney: “Personally, I like the fall a lot, but I also love it when it rains on a hot summer day, even though that’s not technically a season...”

Daniel: “What is it that you love about rain on a hot summer’s day?”

Tawney: “It calms me down, makes the plants happy. And the thunder, I love the thunder. It makes me think of God, but not in a bad way...”

Daniel: “My real life experiences are actually rather narrow. I don’t think about the seasons, not for the longest time, anyway. The place where I was had no windows, just these thick walls surrounded by more thick walls. So I never knew if it was raining or even heard the loudest thunder...”

Tawney: “That’s so sad...”

Daniel: “It’s not as bad as it sounds because I didn’t sense things in a normal way, I didn’t miss them. So I never knew if it was raining or even heard the loudest thunder...”

Tawney: “What was real to you, Daniel?”

Daniel: “The time in-between the seconds...”

The time.

In-between.

The seconds.

The CDC has released new findings.

New findings strongly suggesting that “Covid19 infections may have been present in the U.S. in December 2019, earlier than previously recognized”.

New findings based on evidence that the virus was detected in blood donations collected across 9 states between December 13, 2019 and January 19, 2020.

New findings exposing a lost month, a missing link, a prodigal puzzle piece, the “holy grail” of testing, as one researcher referred to it.

New findings that could alter the accepted pandemic narrative we’ve been anchored to.

The first official case of Covid19 was recorded in the United States on January 19.

New findings.

New findings that blow up the narrative.

New findings that confirm my personal narrative.

New findings strongly suggesting that Covid19 infections were wreaking havoc earlier than we thought.

Much earlier.

Thieving, degrading, invading and demoralizing us before we knew what hit us.

It’s real.

Suffocatingly real.

Real for all of us, jarringly real for many more of us, for what feels like a long time.

A very long time.

A long time in-between the seconds.

I began feeling sick back around January 15-16, and on January 25 Lauren wheeled me into our local hospital, more diseased and disordered than I ever imagined I was or could be.

“Tales of the ‘Rona” has been my story, my narrative, my testimony to destruction and redemption.

Chronicles of a dark descent I never asked for.

Revelations, surgeries, more revelations, rehabs, resets, renewal and rectifying.

I needed to fill out a form recently that asked me to give an account for my health during 2020.

I was brief and pointed.

Didn’t think much about it until I read it back to myself.

“That’s a lot” I thought.

“That’s a lot, right?” I asked my wife, Lauren.

Me, still looking for affirmation.

“Yes, of course”, she responded, “That’s a lot”.

I shouldn’t need affirmation.

I shouldn’t even feel the need to ask.

But I do.

And it’s there.

I do and it’s there because Rectify Tawney’s “What was real to you, Daniel?” question is the haze that hangs heavy over too many covid19 dialogues.

What’s real hangs heavy over every conversational injection of the “it’s all a hoax-there’s no pandemic” mantra from spiritual gurus to egocentric politicians to cable news talking heads to social media self-proclaimed doctors and experts.

What’s real hangs heavy over every daily pseudoscience posting, ranting, raging, and meme from anti-maskers, “the cure can’t be worse” drivelers, and the “it’s-my-choice-shop-free-or-die” patriot pretenders, as if anyone-ever-anywhere-at-anytime has advocated an either/or economic scenario that set out to intentionally kill a small business or any business for that matter.

What’s real hangs heavy over every inane, endlessly repetitive, banal “it’s just the flu or something like a flu or my cousin’s friend’s neighbor had it and it was nothing or more people die from the common cold and we don’t shut anything down” meandering fairytale if-we-repeat-anything-long-enough-and-loud-enough-it’ll-be-reality bullshit. 

What’s real hangs heavy over every gossip-column-esque, here-we-go-again, unhinged “plan-dammit-viral-video-lunacy”, Q-kooky-one-world-Fauci-is-the-devil-conspiracy-theory-filled, tossed from the internet’s-highway-overpass trash bag.

I shouldn’t need affirmation.

And I really don’t.

But I do.

These aren’t pretty times.

Or truth-filled times.

They are the times in between the seconds.

Slightly more than half of US adults - 54% - know someone who has been hospitalized or died due to covid19.

That’s up from 20% in late May.

That’s steep.

That’s fast.

That’s horrifying.

300,000 deaths, and counting.

It didn’t have to be like this.

A vaccine has finally arrived, scientifically, miraculously, thankfully, signaling that covid19’s days are numbered.

A scourge soon to be shown the door.

Hopefully the anti-mask ripples fail to become anti-vaccine rivers.

That would be abysmal.

Some days I want to scream.

Some days I feel profoundly sad.

Some days I wish I could be an invisible spirit, taking a hand, walking people into the ICU’s and the covid19 hospital rooms, see what I saw, feel what I felt, dream those horrible dreams, and fight back those fear-filled tears.

Look.

Feel.

Experience.

Stay silent.

Most days I just hope one person reading these Tales will stop and make a change, if a change is needed.

Most days I just hope one person reading these Tales will rethink their “what is real to you?” answers.

Most days I just hope.

Just hope.

If you’ve followed me here, you’re in the 54%.

I’m your “know someone”.

I’m your cautionary tale.

I’m real.

I wrote a song when I was younger, a song that I felt captured the landscape of who I was and what I was experiencing at a moment in time.

I called it “Sundown Road”.

It was a long time ago but the essence of who I am, despite covid19’s best shot at me, is still there in that song.

Still there in these times between the seconds.

Sundown Road

While I walk this Sundown Road, 

think of all this pain and hate

Teardrops slip and fall and soak my lonely face

While I walk this Sundown Road,

I know this wasn’t meant to be 

This world is so wrapped up in misery

While I walk this Sundown Road,

Think of all these broken hearts

Trying to walk this world alone, collecting scars

While I walk this Sundown Road,

I know this wasn’t meant to be 

Got no place to call my own, I’m on my knees 

Here we are ready to fight another war

Hasn’t there been enough death do we need it more?

When will it end only God up in heaven knows 

So take a look deep down inside find your 

Sundown Road 

While I walk this Sundown Road,

Hear a voice so strong and clear 

Sing a song of faith and hope, tearing down this fear 

While I walk this Sundown Road,

Want to take somebody’s hand

Tell them all about that place, the promise land

©️Chuck Anderson