It's weird and tense in the office. I'm sitting at my desk, answering emails, trying to keep focused on the work. There's been talk here and there across the wide room: will they have us work from home, will things shut down, will we lose our jobs. Yesterday the World Health Organization officially declared this virus a pandemic. It's been just two days since Multnomah County announced our very first case.
Right now the office is quiet, just the brattle of typing around me.
Clean hands on the keys. We're all washing our hands constantly. They say that's the best thing you can do to keep safe.
As I was heading in to work a couple hours ago, I drove past our downtown store, and there was Ramiza's name up on the marquee.
SUN 3/15
Three days from now, her big book launch event, which was originally set for May but got moved up to March when it became obvious there was a good chance her cancer would take her before she could get up and stand behind that sacred pedestal.
An author event in Powell's City of Books. A Portland writer's dream.
When I drove by and saw her up there all big on the marquee, I pulled over, elated, shot pictures with my phone. Then I got to work and there was an email from Laura, Ramiza's publisher, telling me Ramiza is having second thoughts.
It is so, so understandable. And in light of the circumstances Powells' Events Coordinator has sent a request to management that we shut down our events for the next four weeks at least, and we should, we should, but part of me selfishly grips Ramiza's dream with my fists and doesn't want to let it go.
I click another email. Save a sales report into a folder.
It's only three days from now. There's only one case that I know of in all of Portland right now. Maybe she can make it just under the wire.
Now another note hits my inbox. Laura again. It's a forward of the one she just now sent out, cancelling Ramiza's event.
My heart hangs heavy in my ribcage.
A dozen feet away from me, sitting at his computer, the Events Coordinator says aloud, "Another cancellation."
He's been announcing them as they come. One after another. It's been a long day. It's only 9:40.
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