Fifty Shades of COVID-19

Chapter 9

Christian paces on the small sidewalk in front of the shop, talking on the phone.

"Men often need a reminder. Something to show them how the world works," the cashier says, handing me back my credit card. "Put it somewhere your boyfriend can see it."

My breathing slows down. This man's off his rocker. But I want to know more. My eyes dart from Christian to the cashier. "A reminder? I don't understand."

The old man gives me the shopping bag. "The Weather Haus is a visual reminder of how the world works. When the man leaves his house, he faces rain. His world doesn't get better."

º-º-º-º-º

I sit outside on a bench, examining my purchases, while Christian finishes his phone call. Another work emergency.

A husky man with dreadlocks and an arm full of tattoos trots past me, holding a woman's hand. They sit down on the bench parallel to mine. "Fuck this all," The man says huffing. He puts his hands in his long hair. "I can't believe they closed."

"It's okay... I'll drive." The woman says. "There's a guy in Seattle." She kisses one of his braids softly and touches his hands.

He lets out a deep breath. "Got an alert. Fire in Chikin. Shouldn't affect the drive. The highways might be blocked with the protests."

"Sorry about that," Christian says, putting his phone in his pocket. He hands me a small gift bag. "For you."

"Thank you," I say, smiling. Should I tell him about the highway protests and fires? No. It's not important. Don't ruin it. I open the bag and find a German smoker doll with white hair and cinnamon incense. My heart swells, as I recognize the tiny bow and arrow. Cupid.

"That's..." I start, trying to summarize my feelings. "That's..."

"A good memory," Christian offers. He grabs my hand and pulls me up. We start walking to the SUV.

"Where to next?"

"How about a treasure hunt?" Christian proposes, as we reach the parked SUV.

"Sure, that could be fun...wait, theme parks aren't open."

"Not a theme park." Christian says, squeezing my hand. "A game."

"Hmmm..." I mutter, as he opens the passenger door for me.

"Have you heard of geocaching?" Christian asks, once he's in the vehicle.

The warning light flashes again, making the annoying chime.

I ignore the warning. Geocaching sounds familiar, but I can't place it. He shifts the car into drive and starts backing up. We covered British sportsmen in one of my elective classes. People used to look for letter boxes. "A box-hunt?"

"More or less," Christian says, as he pulls onto the side road next to the highway. He reaches into his pocket and passes me his phone. "Pull up the green app. It explains more."

I squirm in my seat. Using his phone, brings me back to quarantine. To the weeks of caring for him. To the weeks I spent trying to forget about him. I cross my arms in front of my chest. I don't want to think about it.

"You're not interested?" Christian says, as we pass a gas station. "We could go to a winery."

"No, I want to try the box hunt," I say, finding the green app. His profile summary states he has over 500 finds.

"Pick one of the green boxes and I'll show you how it works."

Pressing the map button generates tons of little green box icons. "Will we find a physical box?"