The Second Time

A wise man once said

“You can’t go back in time.”

However, reflecting on the past 24 months, I must reluctantly admit I believe that is precisely what I have done.

And it has not been a wise or welcome journey.

I have been blissfully unaware of the hidden negatives caused by the mandated Pandemic isolation.

But today as I prepare to re-emerge, I recall another time and different circumstances, but undeniably alike.

For various and complicated reasons, I was a highly reclusive youngster, seemingly sufficient unto self. I embraced books. The library on 50th Street and 10th Avenue was my haven. I “hung out” on the second floor hidden by racks of “adult” books rather than play with friends.

I was not visibly unhappy, and if my Mother was worried, it was well hidden, During those years, Anna King Donlon had other problems far more pressing than an unsocial daughter,.

When the childhood years came to an end, and it was time for me to emerge into a world where I must earn a living, I was allowed to go to a “special” school. In today’s standards, the tuition would never be considered high, but during the post depression years, the tuition was considered a frivolous luxury.

From the first morning I entered the famed Grand Central Building and pushed the up elevator button, I adopted the mandatory cloak of stoic armor the other students wore.

My reclusiveness seemed to instantly fade into the shadows, and I slowly allowed the world and its inhabitants entrance..

A different life began for me that morning. Within months it was strengthened by a young man I met on a subway platform on a snowy night. From that moment on, he shared his love , life and strength with me.

And so it was until 24 months ago when once again I retreated to the land of print, and of course, the flickering screen of TV.

For a few weeks, I was lonely but then that emotion slowly abated. Soon I no longer noticed the lack of conversation or opinions. I relaxed in the shadowed solitude and embraced the remembered quasi luxury of isolation.

Now I must again emerge, and I confess the second time around is far harder.. There will be no crowded elevators in which to hide my reluctance to enter life without trepidation. Yet when I do, I know there will be others sharing the same emotion and this time we will share our armor.

And we will survive as we re-enter life with renewed hope,