Julia stood in the doorway of the bar, unsure whether to step inside or turn around and go home. Was he there already? Waiting? Perhaps he’d changed his mind. She’d be okay with that. Home is the safest place, anyhow.
Her internal debate paused mid-thought when a muffled female voice from behind her said, “Uryurgringshide, er wer?”
Julia shuffled around to see who’d spoken and what the hell they’d said. It was hard to hear unless you shouted.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Julia made sure to enunciate.
“I SAID, ARE YOU GOING IN OR WHAT?”
She stepped aside and let the woman go past her. Or at least she tried to. Their standard-issue suits weren’t exactly conducive to graceful movement. After getting stuck, exchanging a few shouts of, oops, sorry, and my bad, they managed though.
Once upon a time, the whole bar would’ve been staring and at least one person would’ve recorded the micro-cluster fuck on their phone to share on YouTube. No one bothered to look at their commotion at the door. It took too much effort. Then again, they wouldn’t have been wearing hazmat suits before.
Julia shuddered at the notion of the B.C. – Before Covid-19 – days. People just walking around, throwing their germs everywhere without care… ew. Savages. What had they been thinking?
“What ‘re ya having?”
Julia startled. She’d shuffled over to the bar without even realizing it. The bartender must’ve had connections somewhere – his hazmat had the state of the art, anti-bacterial high-grade mesh mouthpiece. No need for shouting for him.
“TITO’S, SELTZER, AND LIME POWDER, PLEASE.”
He opened a fresh plastic cup from its protective sleeve and mix the ingredients. He slid it to her with a nod.
Carefully grasping the cup – the gloves made it tricky – Julia used her free hand to stretch the flap of her hazmat hood enough to fit her drink hand under. She’d mastered this trick after a few tries and now rarely spilled a drop.
A rustle of tell-tale plastic announced the seating of another bar patron… one wearing an old-school hazmat suit. Not even standard-issue quality. God, she hoped this wasn’t her date. Not that she had anything against the O.S.’s. But those people were the hold outs way back in the beginning. Now, look at them.
“EXCUSE ME?”
Julia’s drink hand still hovered by her mouth. She turned her head – rookie mistake, Julia. Turn your whole body, otherwise, you’re just staring at the inside of your hood. Duh. At least he couldn’t have seen her less than cool move. She tried again, this time twisting her whole body.
“YES?” She squinted at him. His faceplate had fogged. Another tell of a O.S.
“ARE YOU JULIA?”
Shit. She could say no. Here was her chance. Say no. “YOU MUST BE SAM.” Damn it, you fool.
He smiled. At least, she thought he did. Hard to tell. He said, “SORRY I’M LATE. I cuberger a curb”
“YOU WHAT?” Julia leaned forward, forgetting her drink hand still under her hood. An ice cube sloshed out and slid down into the collar of her suit. She yanked her drink hand out, set the plastic cup down, and jumped up. The ice cube dropped down into her boot.
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Sam stood, too.
“YEAH, NO, I’M FINE. AN ICE CUBE… NEVER MIND. WHAT WERE YOU SAYING?”
“OH, I SAID I COULDN’T GET A CAB.” He indicated his suit and shrugged.
Ah, of course. No uninfected driver would risk transporting an O.S. It was discrimination, sure, but Julia couldn’t blame the driver. Hell, had she known…
“CAN WE MAYBE GET A BIO-SAFE BOOTH?”
Oh, God, he wants to meet in open air? How do I ask if he’s been tested without sounding like a… a snob?
He placed a gloved hand on her arm. “I HAVE MY PAPERS WITH ME.”
Julia relaxed a little. “OH, OKAY. GOOD. I MEAN, NOT THAT-“
“DO YOU?” Sam had already pulled out his certificate of health.
She’d bent forward to read it – and check for the raised seal – not comprehending his words.
“DO I WHAT?” Julia stared at Sam.
Sam said, “DO YOU… HAVE… YOUR…”
“OH! YOU MEAN DO I HAVE MY PAPERS? I-YES, YES, OF COURSE.”
Did she sound as offended as she felt? Right or wrong, his suggestion that she – the one with the standard government issue hazmat suit – might not be up to snuff in comparison to him – the one who poo-pooed the countless warnings until all he could get was a black market suit of obviously inferior quality? Laughable. If this were the old days, she’d have at least considered throwing her drink in his face. But, times were hard and uninfected men were scarce. So, she showed him her papers.
Sam signaled for the hostess and paid for their Bio-Safe booth. Once they were sealed in, they faced each other.
“YOU READY?” His faceplate had cleared enough for her to see him smile.
She smiled back. “YEP.”
Why was she so nervous? They’d seen pictures of one another. But now, seeing a man in the flesh and clothes, without his hazmat suit? My, God, when was the last time she’d seen a man in his clothes?
Julia watched him take off first his gloves. She did as well. Then they removed their hazmat pants. She noted that he wore faded blue jeans well. He turned his back to her and crouched so she could un-snap (ugh, snap closures?) his hazmat smock.
Even though she could easily un velcro hers, she allowed him to do it for her. All that was left was their hoods. The final, most vulnerable act.
“ON THE COUNT OF THREE?”
She nodded.
“ONE, TWO… THREE.”
They lifted their hoods. Julia shook her hair free. He raked a hand through his chestnut waves and grinned. It was a much nicer smile without the fogged and scratched faceplate and she told him so.
A flash of anxiety coursed through her. Would he be embarrassed or offended at her acknowledgment of his inferior protection?
He ducked his head and grimaced. “YEAH, ABOUT THAT- Oops, sorry. Guess we don’t have to shout now, huh? Let’s sit.”
Julia laughed as they sat across one another. “No, I guess not. Hey, I didn’t mean anything by-“
“No, no. It’s cool. Hell, I’d have the same reaction. O.S.’s, man. They’re…” He trailed off and shook his head.
Julia’s eyes widened. “Wait, you mean you’re not… but the suit… I-“
“What? Oh, God, no. Not that I have anything against them, of course. They’re good people, too, just… not as educated, you know? Anyhow, my standard-issue was stolen yesterday. I’m just waiting on a replacement. In the meantime, my neighbor – he’s an O.S. – let me borrow his extra suit.”
“You mean, you were willing to wear an O.S. suit just so you could…” Julia blushed.
“Just so I could meet you, Julia. I had to, you see. Once I saw your face in that profile picture, I knew.”
She watched his hands slide across the table to hers. Skin to skin contact. She froze, but then looked up into his eyes. They were as blue as the hazmat warning label on her suit.
“I-I’m glad, Sam.”
Julia let him cover her hands with his and tried not to imagine millions of microscopic germs. Maybe this was the start of an infectious disease… and maybe it was the start of an epic story. A story of love in a time of coronavirus…
😉
