While I’m experiencing the terror of COVID-19 like everyone else, I’m beguiled by the now-famous phrase, “Social distance is the new normal.” Surely, this fatal disease is enlightening us in unthinkable ways. Some say COVID-19 is, “The equalizer.” Others fight it off, some lose the fight, and the rest are in limbo; we shelter, mask, wipe, wash, and distance, anything to elude this elusive virus. Indeed, social distancing seems to be “the new normal.” Nonetheless, if you are black, or to be politically correct, “A person of color,” although—that envelops other groups that may not want to be in the loop, you know that social distancing is an epiphany, an awareness, and a temporary preventative measure for COVID-19, but your modus operandi; it’s your complete normal.

Over the years, I’ve learned that I shouldn’t stand behind people in a crowded elevator, and sometimes it doesn’t have to be crowded at all. I’ve learned that if I stand too close, a glance behind results in a pressed and feigned smile, and a handbag, not my style, is clasped, and few steps forward provide comfort. I’ve learned that on my walk—if kids scamper along my path, they are gathered as I approach, the way ducks collect their chicks to cross the road, only they do it with boldness, almost daring a twelve-wheel truck to run over them. But in my case, strides are increased, and some even cross the street. I’ve learned that, if I walk into a pew, and yes, at church, a handbag—nicely resting on a seat, is soon moved from a space big enough for two persons. And I’ve learned that, while shopping, “Ma’am, can I help you find anything,” or “Ma’am, do you find everything okay,” doesn’t always mean that.

I must say that I come from a big family, lineage to over twenty beautiful nieces and nephews, and their offspring alike, that I can snatch if I so desire; that some of us being marginalized have intermarriages, living happily and colorfully in their homes; that some of us do have a bunch of naughty children we may want to take a break from, occasionally; and that as a nanny, children gamboled around me five-to-six days a week, for years. Perhaps a missed chance. In some cases, I managed a nonchalant but cocky smile.

Naturally, and unknown to elitist—I ride this life under number eight, of the Ten Commandments, of the Biblical code, embedded in me since childhood, which I’ve topped with incredible self-honing. Social justice is my thing; world hunger, homelessness, world peace, etc., don’t keep me awake but bother my conscience. They are the reasons I part with my crisp twenty-dollar bill to a teary homeless man, not black—standing with a cart full of belongings, in front of a Dunkin Donut shop, on a cold wintry morning. God is good; it’s also the day I get to work, and I receive an employee of the month award envelop, and inside is a $ 100 gift card. I take pride in fulfilling my responsibilities. It’s also why I notice and help an older man, again, not black, fumbling with two shopping bags and a walking stick, in front of Trader Joe’s store, and my prize—an honorable salute. In addition, full four-year boarding school tuition and fees responsibility I’ve taken for a few, earns me priceless praise from one, “Aunty, you are a superhero.”

Sing to me; life is a give-and-take, and others leave bigger and brighter footprints. Still, honesty isn’t our virtue; our characters are reflections of our color; sinister, enigmatic, and ever scheming!

The degree and the fatality of COVID-19 are real and so far unrelenting. I wish, coronavirus was, but a mere “Cold flu,” as characterized by a renowned radio host, Rush Limbaugh. I wish it’s covid-1, as termed by our very own POTUS’s counselor, Kellyanne Conway. However—I still wonder how long I was in hibernation as the world experienced and survived sequential numbers of coronaviruses before King COVID-19 hit, and billions are still walking on earth. Hyperbole? A slip of the tongue? Haughty, I say.

If it wasn’t that coronavirus is the health terror of the century, the terror that makes me check my pulse and my breath rhythm at any successive cough, the terror that has me changing my clothes whenever I come back from doing errands, truly—I’d indulge in this life where everyone is A SUSPECT and people still comply with the rules, with a high magnitude of harmony.

In some ways, we’ve become earth’s big family, and if we could hug, this would be the moment I’d stand in a supermarket and say, “I just need a hug,” and I’d be smothered in a mound of hugs. Perhaps some may thank me for initiating a hug they so yearned. The idea of this delightful and soothing imagery overwhelms me and muse on it for a moment. If only, if only, my heart and mind compliment.

Sadly, it doesn’t last long; with a touch of my finger, I watch a video of a black woman blocked from entering a store, in China, because she is supposedly and assumedly, the cause of coronavirus. In the same week, I receive a video of a black man ranting that the police officer behind him, wants him to leave the store because he’s wearing a medical mask, which is, “Required by law!” To top off the videos frenzy—in Zambia, yes, an African nation, a native is denied entry into a Chinese restaurant for fear that he may have coronavirus, but his Chinese wife is allowed in. Did someone forget to enlighten us of a Wuhan enclave in Zambia? Furthermore, the insults and death threats on Tedros Adhanom, the Director-General of the World Health Organization, tighten my stomach, seizing my supermarket imagery, and nullifying “The equalizer” and “The new normal” phrases. It’s ineffable. Somehow—even amid this global fight, a diabolic nature seeps into some, and they find ways to marginalize and be brutal.

COVID-19 will be history; we can say this because we beat the Spanish Flu, have advanced in science and technology, and believers’ melodious prayers around the world are reaching God. Labs around the world are working on a toxic brew for COVID-19’s ruthless burial. There will be deep holes in our hearts, but some of us will continue the journey victoriously—and resume our natural ways. While others will forget their “New normal,” for some of us, amid that celebration, we will yet again—resume and continue with our complete normal; being defined by other people’s tones. Fortunately, I have exclusive rights to my echo.