“Oh, honey,” Maga said. “How are you?”

“I’m hanging in there. And you?”

“I’m okay I guess.”

Her words were heavy, slow, and hard to come by.

“Did you have any…interesting…comments…or…things?” Maga said.

“You know what? I’m afraid I didn’t. I haven’t had anything of note happen for about three months.”

“Why not?”

“Because of covid and quarantine.”

“Where are you?”

“My apartment.”

“No. What town?”

“[This town.]”

“Oh, yes. How could I forget? Did you have work?”

“Yes. That kept me very busy today.”

“…In the office?”

“No, at home. My office has been closed since March.”

“How do you get…the information?”

“Through my computer.”


She fumbled through some more conversation about the weather and her tv, so in an attempt to lead, I mentioned I was thinking about getting a pet to help with the isolation.

“A what?” Maga said.

“A pet.”


“An animal.”

“An enema?”

“A pet. An animal. A cat. A dog.”

“Oh, animal. A pet,” she said. “Are you liking a cat or a dog?”

“Probably a cat. Did you ever have any pets?”

“I lived with my grandmother and she didn’t like them, so I never had one. It wasn’t that much fun.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s too bad.” I noted she skipped over the majority of her life and went straight to her childhood memories. “What about with Jobo? Did you guys have any pets?”

She floundered around. I gently guided her towards the topic of the dog they’d had. “Oh, yes,” she said. “[Uncle D] painted a picture of him.”

“Buck. Yes. In the living room.”

“Yes! It was such a good painting.”

“And he was a good dog, right?”

“He was a little thing.”

I thought he was a medium to large dog, but then again, my sharpest memory of that dog is said painting, which is just of his face, so I’m going to trust what Maga said. Even if her words remained heavy and slurred throughout our conversation. When I heard her dinner tray get dropped off, I used that as a cue to let her get on with her afternoon/evening. Besides we’d already traded all the boring stories we had. Just another Tuesday night in quarantine.

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