The Scary Part: Alex & Richard, Who Are My Neighbors, Part 2
One thing I love about this project is the unrehearsed, real-time-first-time descriptions and ideas spoken aloud. My neighbors participate in this project with a generous measure of trust. They show up without a script or approved questions and dive in. I love them for this. In our co-making work I create a space and then hold it tenderly open as stories take their first flight. I witness all the newness of others finding words for their lived experiences. I try to retain the stops and starts of what they said and how they said it to honor their unique telling.
“If you're up for it,” I say to Richard and Alex, “the second story is the one of life in your house during 2020 and now extending beyond 2020 because this is about life during the pandemic.” I quip that “2020 seemed like that was all we could hold, but here we are.”“We're still in it,” Alex says. “We're still in it,” I echo. For context, our conversation took place in early July, before the uptick of the Delta variant Covid cases. At home with their little ones, Alex and Richard meet me as disembodied voices over my phone speaker. As mentioned in the first Richard and Alex story, this is the most socially distanced interview I’ve had for Who Is My Neighbor? Without the benefit of eye contact or body language, I can only imagine them—working together on a puzzle with Eleanor—hearing my questions in their living room three houses away. “Alex,” I say, “you're a health care provider, right?” She confirms this. “Yeah, I'm a nurse.” “So what was life like in your house during the pandemic?”
It was very scary
“Well, for us,” says Alex, “it was very, you know, very scary in the very beginning. I was pregnant when everything first closed down, and I actually stopped working for a while because we weren't sure. They were still trying to put it together, like procedures, to keep people safe in the hospital and we weren't sure how that would affect the baby.”A mild shudder passes through me as I think of the early days of the shutdown. So much uncertainty, so much unknown. How did this feel for Alex in the first trimester of her pregnancy?She tells me, “It was pretty new, when everything happened, so that was interesting. They closed everything down. Richard owns his own business and so we both stayed home, actually for months, and that was kind of nice. It was, I mean, it was stressful, but it was nice because we got to spend time with each other.“I think that was probably the best thing to come out of the pandemic,” Alex tells me. “Everybody got to kind of slow down and actually just enjoy each other. You know, [even with] the underlying stress and fear.”
Bright pockets
“You're not the first people to say that," I tell her. "While there was all this disorientation and the unknown and some scary stuff, there have been these gifts, these little bright pockets. ‘Oh, we're together!’ Not everyone can say that, but I'm happy it worked for you guys.”Alex goes on. “Just like everybody else, there was a lot of stuff going on, and it definitely was not awesome.” I interrupt her. “Not awesome. Is that what you said? Not awesome?” I am laughing.As the project, Who Is My Neighbor? continues, I realize the practice relies on two tools: inquiry and imagination. I ask for a story (inquiry) and my neighbors’ words lift me out of my life and place me briefly in theirs. But imagination has limits. What myriad things fall under the heading: Not Awesome?“It was not awesome,” she repeats, a wry smile in her voice. Never mind the mysterious particulars encompassed by the words, I love the blunt honesty of them. “I'm going to use that!” I say. Laughter is her response as she continues, “But I will say that I did enjoy those months of being able to spend time with everybody.”I turn my inquiry and imagination from Alex to her husband and ask, “What about you, Richard?
Mixed bag
“It was alright, I think. Just like Alex [said], it was, it is a mixed bag. I think that there are more good parts that I remember about being home. But I think a lot of that has to do with [the fact] we got a fair amount of help, you know. I was able to get unemployment even though I own my business, so we were able to not have to panic as much about how we were going to make ends meet during that time. “You know, I feel like we probably would have had help—if we needed it—from friends and family, but we didn't have to. It didn't get as severe for us as I know [it did] for other people.” Here, a small voice lilts, “On Sunday, Mommy and Daddy and me stay home.” It is just-turned-five Eleanor. Richard agrees, “We do stay home on Sundays.”
Her voice matters
Eleanor's comment and Richard's reply charm me. I sense the warmth and ease that Alex and Richard create so that Eleanor knows her voice matters. “That's a nice thing. Do you like that, Eleanor?” I ask.“I love it! I love it so much,” comes her bubbly answer. “My dad and me and my mom have playtime together.” “May I quote you on that?” I ask. Alex and Richard laugh. Alex explains, “Are you okay if she writes that down?” A small, “Mm-hm,” is the simple reply. I’m so happy to include her in the conversation. I continue. “Richard, you were saying?” “Yeah. I was saying it's always…” He hesitates, not sure where he was before our small detour. I remind him, “You were able to not stress. You didn't have to ask for help.”
Trying not to panic
“Yeah,” he says. “It wasn't a distress about how we were going to make ends meet.” And then Richard tells a tough reality. “I did spend a fair amount of my time trying not to panic too much about whether or not you know…” This thought remains unfinished. He says, “Because when the shutdown first happened, it almost felt like it was—it was never going to end. It had that feeling we were, we were going to be shutdown for months. And obviously, depending on the news you watched you got different takes on everything…”A pause. Then, remembering a time of collective uncertainty, Richard and I tag team back and forth, “And things kept changing,” I say. “Every day,” Richard says. “Nobody knew, right?” I ask. “Right. Right,” he replies.“I like that you spent time trying not to panic,” My appreciation flows out with a huge exhale of relief. “Thank you for speaking the truth!”Alex remembers the strangeness and the stress. “First they shut down the schools and so you're trying to figure out childcare. And then all of a sudden there's no food or supplies. Richard had to go to the store like at 4:00 in the morning and the line was like...you know. And there was nothing for weeks,” she laughs the laugh of fear remembered.
The scary part
Richard picks up the story. “I remember going into the store. Everything was there and I was like, ‘Oh, I don't need to pick anything extra up today.’ And then everything shut down the next day! I went to the grocery store and—” Richard changes tracks. “You watch these post-apocalyptic movies and you know the scary part is supposed to be the monster. Standing at the grocery store with the empty shelves everywhere—that’s the scary part! No water, no food of any kind. It was just—it was really scary. “My store is in a mall, so for months I would go to my store and it was just empty. The mall being empty was, you know, it's weird, but it's not that weird. The grocery store not having anything in it, was definitely…” his voice trails off.I wonder aloud, “Isn't that interesting—what becomes, what is scary when it's happening? It’s not the things we have bad dreams about, right? It's such an ordinary day-to-day fact of life: there's food in the grocery store.” I continue, “These are important things to remember and to normalize because we were all going through this processing, these weird experiences and feelings—all together at the same time.” Richard says, “Yeah.”
Tell me what you do
“I'm glad you're able to keep going with work,” I say. “Tell me what you do, Richard.” “I own a retail cutlery store at the Moreno Valley Mall.” “Oh my gosh!” I gush. “I bet you guys have the best kitchen knives!”“We do have the best kitchen knives,” Richard answers graciously. I laugh slightly embarrassed by my own enthusiasm. He goes on, “But most of our business is pocket knives, you know, survival and tactical knives and some gear. We also carry everyday things, like watches—watches and wallets and stuff like that. It's actually all custom.” I am impressed. He continues. “Actually, it's funny because that part of the business—we just moved everything into one of my staff member's garage and living room, and they just kept working. They kept shipping out orders.” I’m even more impressed. “That was very nimble of you! What a good save,” I say. I imagine him nodding as he says, “I just had to adapt and try to keep going.” “Pretty creative,” I say.
Training during the pandemic
I turn the conversation back to Alex. “Besides preparing for the arrival of Lucas, you did some training during the pandemic, as I recall.” “Oh, yeah,” she says matter of factly. “I became a certified wound and ostomy nurse. So I'm still a registered nurse, but I now have a specialty specifically in wound care and ostomy care.” “And you were doing that during the shutdown?” I say. “Yes,” she replies. “Dang!” I am amazed once more by my neighbors’ and all they carry. “Was that online, or was that on location?” “It was online. I was supposed to do some of it on location, but because of COVID it all ends up being online.” A small “Wow,” escapes me. “Which,” Alex adds, “was kind of, it was a little stressful at the end there.” After the initial months of uncertainty with hospital protocols, Alex kept working, preparing for the birth of her son Lucas, and doing rigorous training during shutdown. When I enumerate all of this, she laughs an amused, “Yes.” All I can say is, “Oh, my goodness. Wow!”
It worked out
“I think I'm a li'l,” her voice turns up with a smile, “I think I'm crazy. But it worked out.”“It sounds like it worked out,” I say. Her grounded sense of gratitude animates these simple words: it worked out. “I am happy, super happy for you, Alex.” I say. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you both for fitting me into your Fourth of July. I feel so supported. So far every neighbor I've asked has participated. I have a lot of admiration and respect for each person I've talked to. People are pretty heroic.”Alex concurs. “People are taking it in stride. And, you know, hopefully everybody's doing good.”Once again I say, “Thank you both. I'm glad you're my neighbors. And, Eleanor, happy birthday!” Eleanor says, “Thanks.” I add, “Happy, puzzling.”“We just finished,” Richard says, a grin in his tone.“Perfect timing," I say. "Thank you, guys."Richard closes the call. “Thanks, Rebecca.”
Thank you, dear reader. Supporting the work of a living artist is rare, but here you are. I'm grateful for your companionship as I continue with this project. I love the work of this socially engaged art practice, and at the same time it takes an emotional toll. Having you along makes a difference.With appreciation,
