The song took her back beyond the time of plague.  She could almost feel the warm sun on her face as she crested the hill on her bike.  The lush colors surrounding her, the humidity, and then the pay off as she plunged down on her momentum through the rainforest towards the sea.  The wheels flying beneath her, so fast it felt like she would either crash or soar.  A touch of fear wrapped in sheer freedom.  Her stomach fluttered as the memory washed over her.  When it was ok to travel, to ride without a mask, ok to ride at all, when there wasn’t a sickness waiting to invade her body, longing to crush her lungs. 

She stared at the ceiling as the song faded into the next.  Why was she on the floor?  She chalked it up to quarantine.  When you were stuck in an apartment all the time weird things happened.  Glancing at the clock she realized she was late for her Zoom meeting.  She toyed with the idea of ignoring the reminder on her calendar.  Would this be the meeting to end all meetings?  Probably not.  She’d just have to fake laugh at Steve’s lame jokes and pretend to be listening while she scrolled through Insta.  Her coworkers had stopped caring about their on-camera appearances.  Steve’s sorry attempt at a beard was laughable.  Dan hadn’t changed his shirt in three days, but he was the boss.  She’d at least changed out of her pajama top and run a comb through her hair.  All that effort she might as well plug into the call.  As she sat up her head spun.  There was an ache behind her left temple.  She absently placed her hand there as she turned off her music and connected to the meeting.

“You’re late, Stephanie,” she heard. 

“Minor tragedy, Steve, the coffee pot overflowed.”

It was the same excuse he’d used last week.  She really didn’t care anymore.  She scratched her leg hair, which was way longer than she’d ever thought it would be.  Not that she’d have a date anytime soon.  Though that wasn’t endemic to the pandemic.  Her love life wasn’t spectacular before quarantine, but at least there was hope of bumping into Mr. Right as she perused the book shop stacks, or sat perfectly perched sipping her skim cappuccino at the café.  There was always hope in Central Park, love could definitely be found among the early spring daffodils and tulips.  But they hadn’t bloomed yet, she wasn’t even sure what the temperature was outside her window. 

“Can you believe we might get snow today?” said Erica.  She didn’t wear make-up anymore, but she definitely still styled her hair.  Seriously, who had time to flat iron?  Actually, she did.  She had time.  The real question was, who had the energy?  It was so much effort to put in for another day around the apartment.  She wouldn’t see anyone except these guys and only through a small glitchy window.  A quarter of a screen or less was all the real estate she had to fill and no one could tell if you put mascara on or not.  They just wanted to make sure you were muted.  Until it was your turn to speak and then you had to quickly suss out what it was they were talking about in the first place and what your part was to play in the answer.

“What do you think, Stephanie?” said Erica.

Was this still about the weather or had they moved on?  Something vague, she needed something non-committal.

“I may need a little more data on that,” she said.  The ache behind her temple spread deeper into her head.  After the meeting she’d take an ibuprofen. 

“Ok, sure, I’ll send over the spreadsheet.”

“Great,” she said, happy to have answered appropriately. 

“But what about your gut on this,” said Dan. 

“What exactly do you want to know?” she said.

Now she had to really pay attention.  Why was her mind wandering so much today?  She wished her Keurig was closer.  Wished it was lunch time so she could wander around her tiny kitchen instead of sit at her tiny desk, staring at a screen of zombies.  She wished they really were zombies, or that she was a music teacher so her Zoom meetings looked like the viral videos of kids singing from all different homes in perfect harmony.  Those always made her cry.  Everything made her cry.  This meeting could make her cry if she couldn’t get to her coffee.  What did she do all morning?  It’s like time had no meaning anymore.  She woke up and just drifted, then it was work time, then it wasn’t and she drifted around her apartment some more. 

Shit, shit, shit, they were talking to her and she’d completely spaced out again.  Bring it in Stephanie, there were only a few minutes left before Dan would freak out about his new ‘meetings less then 45 minutes’ rule.  That was a rule she championed.  Productivity was inversely proportionate to meeting length.  That was Dan’s new agenda and she was in. 

“Yes, I think it’s working,” she said, thinking about the meeting rule.

“Really?” said Dan, “because the numbers aren’t saying that.”

“Well, I don’t have them in front of me yet,” she said.  She had no idea what numbers she was supposed to be analyzing right now. 

“Sure, sure,” he said looking at his watch.  “Ok, I want you to go over those thoroughly before our afternoon Zoom.  Let’s keep these group ones short.  Please feel free to meet up and coordinate as necessary.  I’ll see you all at 2:30pm.”

He clicked off and before Steve could chime in she hung up.  Her email sang with the foretold spreadsheets.  She was definitely in for a treat this morning.  There was real work and real analytics to be done, which was the part of her job she actually enjoyed.  All the meetings and breakout sessions were overwhelming.  She much preferred spending her time with the facts, which was exactly what the numbers told her.  The truth was in the numbers, however there was always the manipulation of the numbers that had to be considered.  That was the game part of her job and she liked that too.  Before cracking open her emails she went to her tiny kitchen and began brewing a cup of coffee forgetting about the ibuprofen.  She opened the fridge and stared at the contents.  Some eggs, half a bottle of white wine, leftovers from China Palace, too bad she finished the dumplings last night.  She wasn’t in the mood for General Tso’s chicken.  She didn’t even like General Tso’s chicken, why did she order that?  There was a turkey sandwich with three bites left, but that was so old she didn’t recall buying it.  She didn’t throw it away, instead she closed the fridge and opened the cupboard to see if she had any Cheerios left.  Score!  Though she’d prefer a warm toasted bagel.  She pulled out the box and ate straight from it as the smell of La Colombe coffee permeated her apartment. 

She absently flipped through a stack of bills she needed to pay.  Then left them and picked up her mug and the box of Cheerios taking them back to her desk.  Carefully she sipped her coffee while looking out the window.  Were those really snow clouds?  She wasn’t sure.  She stared down at the quiet street, which was still so strange.  It used to bustle with people.  But the pandemic kept them all tucked into their mini apartments.  She missed the energy of walking among a crowd.  The humanity of being part of something bigger than herself.  Now she felt so confined.  Her own company was lovely, but it was becoming redundant.  Screens were the substitute, but it wasn’t really the same.  Facetiming couldn’t compare to sitting at a bar and solving the world’s problems over a pint.  She had a love hate relationship with Netflix.  She’d binge for days straight and then shun the TV for a week.  She knew there were people bettering themselves, taking on-line art classes, working out to on-line videos, baking homemade bread and living their best quarantine lives, but she felt too exhausted to begin.  She was still working and life hadn’t changed except she couldn’t go to a museum or a movie or a freaking taco truck.  Nor could she talk to a human being face to face.  She missed her bodega friend who now plopped her bag at the front of the store and ran away, the pizza guy’s smile, the dry-cleaning lady’s scowl, and her barista who had her coffee order working before she even got to the counter.  She truly felt lost without the guy at the wine store’s hand shyly brushing hers when he handed her the change. 

There was a knock on her door.  Had she ordered something and completely forgot?  It could happen.  She hoped it was something delicious.  Why didn’t they buzz first?  Should she open the door?  Maybe it was a mistake.  Someone trying to find someone else, accidentally knocking on her door, after being buzzed in.  She decided to ignore the knock.  Sipping her coffee she tried to see the front door, without being seen.  Though the person wasn’t at the front door they were at her door.  There was another knock.  She crouched down next to her desk, her heart pounding faster than it did mid spin class.  She missed spin class…

The knock again.  Not impatient just consistent.  This strange person wasn’t following the new social norm of knock and go.  In the time of plague everything was a pre-tip.  Nobody waited around for anything extra, not even a smile.  But this person wasn’t leaving.  She stood up and walked towards the door leaving her coffee on her desk.  She peeked out the peep hole.  The person knocked again, but it wasn’t anyone she recognized.  Tallish, no beard, glasses, sweat pants, a mask pulled down to his chin, looked like he’d just woken up himself.

“What do you want?” she said through the door.

“Stephanie, it’s me.  I forgot my key.”

“I don’t know you.”

“It’s Tim.”

“Who?”

“Stephanie, just open the door.  I have the bagels.”

A stranger with bagels, was it worth the risk?  He had to have the wrong apartment.  Well she could let him in and help him sort it out.  He was confused, but he didn’t look deranged.  She looked through the peep hole one more time.  He didn’t look aggressive though most serial killers didn’t look aggressive.  Was he a serial killer?  Was she willing to put her life on the line for a pumpernickel with a schmear.  These days it was a serious consideration.  A mysterious man bearing breakfast it was the most exciting thing to happen to her in months. 

“Stephanie, please.”

He was polite and he knew her name, which was a little creepy, but maybe she did recognize him.  Had she seen him in the building before?  She unlocked the door and opened it a crack.  He pushed right by her and into the compact kitchen.  Handing her the bag, he went straight to the Keurig and began to brew himself a cup of coffee.  She watched him as confusion replaced curiosity. 

“Are you a delivery guy?  Is that how you know my name, from the order?”

 “I know a lot more than that,” he said, turning toward her flashing a roguish smile.

She grabbed a knife from the butcher block then backed up into the wall desperately trying to remember where she’d left her phone. 

“Get out,” she said, louder than she’d planned.  Confusion morphed into fear when she noticed he could just as easily grab another knife from the block. 

“Are you ok?” he said ignoring the knives and staring at her.

“Just get out and I’ll be fine,” she yelled.  Adrenaline rushed through her body like a race car at Indy.  She could feel her terror manifest in the instant-sweat under her arms.  Would she have to stab this man to save her own life.  Could she stab a man?

“I live here,” he said. 

“Get out,” she yelled again combating his lie.  He was between her and the door or she would run.  She jabbed the knife towards him, “I’ll stab you.”

He took a step back from her, but didn’t reach for the door.  “Stephanie, stop playing.  You’re freaking me out.” 

“Stop saying my name.  I don’t know you.”  Her name from his mouth was completely unnerving like nails on a chalkboard.   

He glanced down at his wedding ring.  “We have matching rings.”  He pointed towards her left hand.  She was caught off guard by the silver band circling her ring finger.  How had that gotten there?  Was this some sick trick?

“It’s me,” he said, “Tim, your husband.”

She shook her head, “I think I would know my own husband.”

He nodded, “Yes.”

She backed up towards her desk keeping the knife extended.  Glancing away from him searching for her phone.  She had to call the police because this crazy man wasn’t leaving. “I don’t know you, and I have to get back to work.”  The numbers were stable.  This man was a lunatic.

“Dan give you another crazy deadline?” he said automatically. 

She froze.  How could he know about her cyber life?  “Are you some sick stalker?”  She recoiled from him and his heart twisted.  This was the same woman who would curl into his lap at the end of the day like a sleepy kitten. 

She saw her phone under a stack of spreadsheets and picked it up, “If you don’t leave right now I’m calling the cops.”

“No, let me show you,” he said heading towards the bookcase.  He pulled a photo album from the lower shelf, opened it and set it on the coffee table.  He stepped back slowly like he would from a man shouting to himself on the subway.  “Those are pictures from our honeymoon in Costa Rica.”

She peered down still holding the knife and phone.  She saw herself smiling, entwined with this man in front of a waterfall.  Tropical flora all around as they waved from beneath bike helmets.  She looked up at him to make sure he was across the room as she set the phone down to turn the page.  Then she picked the phone back up before she looked.  There they were eating fish at some local restaurant.  More intimate pictures, her in a bathing suit, him holding her about to walk into the ocean.  How could she not remember such a trip?  Were these photoshopped?  She studied them.  Then she looked up at this man, even more afraid, because if what he were saying was true than she had lost something.

“We’re married?” she said, searching her shadowed mind for this man.

He nodded.  He took the book from her and walked her into the tiny bathroom. 

“This is my toothbrush,” he said pointing to the blue one.  “The green one is yours.”  He opened the medicine cabinet and showed her his razor, his brush.  He opened the cabinet under the sink and showed her the basket where she kept her hair supplies.  “That’s your side.”

“None of this makes sense,” she said very scared for a very different reason.  She went back to the security of her desk and set down the knife.  As she scanned the room his things began to appear in front of her like holograms coming into focus.  His jacket draped over the couch, his socks on the floor, a Yankees bobble head on her bookshelf.  She rubbed her eyes then focused on her computer screen, away from the instability of her apartment.  She clicked on her emails, opened the spreadsheet and stared at the logical numbers willing them to make it all make sense.  But they couldn’t quash her fear.  The stranger claiming to be her husband was across the room.  Her brain was trying, trying, trying to focus, but there was nothing for her to hold on to.  Not a previous synaptic path for her to follow.  What was happening to her?  She was not a mad woman. 

“Stephanie, I think we need to go to the hospital,” he said walking slowly towards her.

“They’re only taking emergencies,” she said. 

“This may constitute one.”

“Why should I trust you?” she said, turning from her computer screen to him.  Wondering if there was anyone else she had misplaced.  Questioning her entire morning.  Her hand went to her temple.

“You remember Dan?”

“Of course, I know my boss,” she said like it was normal to remember your boss, but not your husband.  Tim’s internal dread grew.  What the hell happened while he was waiting six-feet apart, masked up in the cold for a toasted everything with cream cheese?  How could her memory of him be completely wiped?  He was trying not to panic in front of her, but his heart was breaking.  He wanted to scream.  It’s ME. 

Instead, he exhaled and said, “Ask him your husband’s name.”

This made sense to her.  So she texted Dan, “Just checking on your interpersonal skills: Do you remember my husband’s name?”

She fully expected him to text her, ‘quit joking and get back to work.’  She was waiting for the relief that text would give despite the pictures and this man’s detritus throughout her apartment.

“Tim, and you’ve been married two years.  Now get back to work.” She showed him the phone and then it slipped from her fingers as she realized she would not be going back to work today.  Tim missed the catch.  The screen shattered as it hit the hard wood floor.