We're never going to be the same: Jasmin & Johnnie, Part 2

“It has not stopped,” says Johnnie, who is my neighbor. “It's actually like an after shock, you know.” He shakes his head. “That Delta,” says Jasmin. “Delta's the scary part because it affects kids differently.” It is late August as I sit in the comfortable living room of my neighbors’ home thinking to myself, ‘Isn’t this when we hoped to be emerging from the long shadow of COVID-19?’ But here we are. Kids go back to school while businesses reconsider the honor system for masking because the Delta variant has new twists for the pandemic plot.Johnnie continues, “And not just that; there's a lot of people that are not…” “vaccinated,” Jasmin finishes his sentence. “Vaccinated,” he nods.When Johnnie and Jasmin tell me the story of life in their house during the pandemic, this is the starting point.

All the living still possible

Johnnie goes on. “My best friend's dad growing up, he's a very republican-minded person, and he refused the vaccine. He just passed away last week, Monday.” I feel knocked off balance. To stay focused I ask, “How old was he?” “He was in his 70s—so very young, in my opinion. My grandfather passed away at 101.” I think of my vibrant, lively 70- and 80-something friends and I can’t help but think of all the living still possible for them.“I'm sorry for your loss,” is all I can say.Johnnie accepts my condolences and continues. “A coworker, ex-coworker, he retired and same thing. They were scheduled to get vaccinated. They went in, he did it. She pulled back up at the end and said, ‘I don't want to do it.’ So he got his first shot. Then, when he went and got his second shot, she backed out again. She got sick for about a month, and then she recently just passed away, too.” It is only as I listen to the recording of the story that I’m able to process this. Johnnie knows two people who died of COVID. How many of us know one person who has died of COVID? or two? or three?

Not a vax enforcer

“I, you know, I don't,” Johnnie stops and starts again. “I'm not a vax enforcer, but I also look at, like, real evidence that I've experienced. Not what the news tells me, or not what friends tell me because, you know, you're gonna have every opinion, from here to there, when it comes to this kind of stuff because of political reasons, or religious reasons or whatever reasons, you know. “And it's just sad, because those are two good people that I know of, that had an opportunity. And whether it [the vaccine] would have saved their lives or not, we don't know. It wasn't helpful for them not to do the vaccine.”“And this is just recently in the last week, that this happened,” Johnnie says. “So it's not behind us. It's not gone.” In a low voice I say, “No.”He adds, “We get scared with the baby because he's too young to get vaccinated. The rest of our home is vaccinated, and that makes us feel comfortable.”

Both sick

I nod and say, “Yeah. And you guys were both sick for a while before you were eligible for the vaccine.” Johnny says, “Yes, yes. In April.” He pauses before continuing with intention. “That wasn't anything that I enjoyed. It...I wouldn't take that lightly anymore because I've been sick. I've had the flu. I had the chickenpox at 25-, 26-years-old and that was brutal. But getting sick [with COVID] in April, was probably worse. That was something that I wouldn't want to put on my worst enemy. Like, that's how bad it was.” All I can say is, “Wow.” “Yeah,” he says. “We didn't have to go to the hospital, thank God.” Then looking at Jasmin he says, “She was really close. There was a couple times where she's like, 'I want to go to the emergency room.' And I told her, I said, 'This has to be a last ditch effort because once you're in [the hospital], you don't get any visitors. And they don't let you out.' And from what I've seen, like I said, the news and other people, it's rare for people to kind of get out of that situation. "So I was very worried. And I didn't want to just say, like, 'Yeah, go. Go to the emergency room.' I didn't want to just kind of give up, right? So I wanted to make sure that we were hanging in there trying to take care of ourselves with fluids and everything. And the baby, he did get some sniffles, but they couldn't test him. So you wouldn't know if he did or didn't.” “That’s very scary,” I say. “It is scary,” Johnnie agrees.

Born in 2020

Sebastian, once delighted by the antics of Franco the dog, is ready for other amusement. Jasmin takes him to another room while I say to Johnnie, “Speaking of the baby, he came along in 2020, didn't he?” I ask.“He did. He was born in August 2020,” Johnnie grins. “That's pretty special,” I say smiling. “Yeah, it was. It's kind of funny because we had, like, this little sign that said, Sebastian Montezuma, 2020. And the kids opened it up for Christmas in 2019. So everybody in the video's like '2020's going to be the best!' The positivity on 2020 was so high—and it just ended up being quite the opposite. With the exception of Sebastian, of course.”“Yeah. He’s magical. He’s wonderful,” I agree. I smile with Johnnie and at him for his evident pride. “He's, he's a,” Johnnie searches for the right words then says, “He's definitely a great looking kid. He's fun.” I laugh as I repeat the words, “He's fun!” “Yeah,” the proud father says.[gallery columns="2" size="large" type="slideshow" ids="9113,9112,9114"]“He's a handful, though, I know. I know Jasmine, she gets tired. I mean, I'm in construction, and I come home with energy and she's just like, 'I'm done!' Peals of laughter escape me—part amusement, part recognition of the truth every parent on patrol (past, or present) relates to. 

Everybody goes home safe

I turn our conversation. “You're in construction. How did the whole pandemic affect your work?”“I thought that it was going to affect it really, really bad,” he says. “And it did when California shut down. But our upper management and our safety department jumped into action. They made, like, a COVID-response team so to speak—setting up guidelines and rules because that's what construction is all about, you know, especially with safety. Everybody goes home safe. "Everybody goes home the way they came in—no missing fingers, or, you know, yeah. Because it can happen; it's the realism that we deal with every day. I mean, I've honestly been on job sites where, you know, to be frank, bodies are cut in half. It's dangerous!” My shock comes out as a sharp whistle. “It's not pretty, you know. It's a quick bad judgment call, a slip up, or bad communication—and it could be fatal. Those are the realities that we deal with at work. We put so much into our planning and preparing, and safety is on the top of our list. And we've put in, you know, almost a million work hours with zero injuries, you know. Zero injuries, zero incidents and zero lost time. As a company, that's what we strive for." I fervently wish construction site safety measures had been extended into all public life—universally applied, and observed—in the early days of the pandemic.Aloud I say, “So the shutdown for you was pretty brief.” Johnnie nods. “It was pretty brief, because we reacted fast. We ended up getting, kind of like, a certificate from the state saying, ‘Yes, you can continue to work. You don't have to shut down.’” 

It's. Been. Hard.

Jasmin has successfully redirected Sebastian with some secret magic and she rejoins the conversation. I ask her, “What was your reaction when things shut down? How did the pandemic affect you personally?” “I felt really scared," Jasmin says. "I had a lot of anxiety because I was pregnant with Sebastian, but I was also grateful that I was able to be at home because of my age, I’m 40 years old, and being pregnant. But the whole thing about going out and touching things at the time and groceries—it was, like, overwhelming… Washing everything all the time. I'm not as bad as I was, but at that moment, I was crazy,” she says, eyebrows high."Other than that...” Jasmin releases a big sigh. I wait and wonder what bright switch comes after feeling crazy. “I mean…” she says, another pause. “It's been hard.”It’s. Been. Hard. All of the days that turned into weeks, then months, and now more than a year of pandemic boil down to this three-word synopsis. I receive her raw honesty as a sacred trust.

The Delta’s there

Jasmin continues, “I've been stuck here for the last two years. I've been home, not doing absolutely anything—well, a little bit now—” I interrupt her. “You've been very busy with the baby!” My declaration is a moth in the path of a commuter train. Jasmin doesn’t slack her pace, “—going out and doing a couple of things with the baby, but I still have that in the back of my mind. Like, the Delta's there. The last thing I want to do is get sick again or get the baby sick,” she says.Then she says the most true and horrible thing. “We're never going to be the same, you know?” We. Who is the we that will never be the same? Johnnie and Jasmin and their family? Every person living through the pandemic? The Venn diagram that answers this question is one perfect circle. All of the ways we will not be the same is still being revealed.

Full house

As we’re talking, a young woman comes from a room off the enclosed porch, through our conversation space. I meet Andrea who stops for introductions before heading out to work. After she leaves, Johnnie says, “Full house!” laughing and echoing words from their first story.“Full house,” I agree with a grin. “From just the two of you...” My arms sweep wide to include Andrea and Sebastian. “I know! God has blessed me,” says Jasmin. “So I prayed... I was, like, praying for a lot of things. And then I got Sebastian and I got another daughter [Darla, Johnnie’s daughter], and then this girl right here,” she smiles in the direction of Andrea’s exit. Jasmin’s gratitude for her full house shimmers around us.I thank Johnnie and Jasmin, the generous storytellers who are also my neighbors. “If there's more you want to say…” I add. Johnnie's head tilts back with a laugh. He says, “We're like the floodgates. Once you get us open, it's like no stopping us.”

Floodgates

Ah, the floodgates. This socially engaged project, with all of its depth and richness, relies on open floodgates—the trust each neighbor exercises in sharing their lives, their stories. Our part is to really listen so that we not only learn, but really see. See our shared fears, foibles, heroism and humanity.As long as we live here—in this space where we feel safe to see and be seen—we live in opposition to the powers that rule the world. Powers that rush, restrict, and reduce our original and ordinary narratable selves—who we are—into sweeping generalizations and soul-less numbers that claim to measure what we are.Thank you for slowing down with me and my neighbors, for quietly resisting those prevailing powers. You chose subtlety, looping story lines, and lengthy interviews over flashing images and pithy sound bites. Thank you for supporting my art, for reading and participating (listening) with me as I searched for answers to the question: Who Is My Neighbor?I am grateful for you,