“Hi, Maga! How are you?”
“Well, I’ve been sort of wobbling around. I can’t get inside and I can’t go outside.”
“Oh?”
“The weather’s been good, so I don’t understand why we can’t go outside.”
“There are germs everywhere out there!”
“Oh, I guess you’re right.”
“Just trying to keep you safe. I’m doing the same thing here.”
“And where is that?”
“Massachusetts.”
“Oh, yes. You live in [Town].”
“That’s right!”
“Do you do similar work…” she trailed off. “What is it I want to say?”
I held my silence so she could sort herself out.
“Are you still there?” Maga said.
“Yes. I’m just waiting to see if you find the words.”
“Oh. I don’t know. I don’t have it, but I’ll try.”
In order to help her along, I asked about her dinner, which was on the table next to her. I asked about the paper, which was within reach. She found those words like puzzle pieces. I decided to press my luck.
“Did your mother ever talk about the 1918 flu?”
“I can’t keep track of it.”
“But you were born in 1921, so 1918 was just a few years before that, so she lived through it. She never mentioned it?”
“I wish I had some more news for you, but I really don’t.”
Neither of us had any news and only one of us had memories within grasp, so we settled on a brief, bright conversation commiserating about the lack of anything to do. 2,000 miles + a lifetime apart, and yet, there we were, just two ladies stuck inside.
Abigail Mumford 