Donny really couldn’t tell the difference as he transitioned from his unconscious nightmare-tormented world of sleep to his conscious hell-filled world of isolation. It was the eve of his fifty-fifth birthday and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything, not even getting out of bed, but he cared even less about having to wash piss-filled sheets so he begrudgingly rolled off the side of the bed and trudged toward the bathroom.

He couldn’t be bothered to stand at the toilet so he flipped down the seat and lowered himself. Relaxing his muscles he begins to feel relief as his bladder empties itself into the bowl. The stream ends, but he makes no attempt to get up as he vacantly stares at the translucent window over the tub. When the cramping pain in his thigh finally screams loudly enough he struggles back to a standing position and shuffles out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen.

As Donny approaches the refrigerator he sees on the stove-top clock that it is a few minutes before noon.

He opens the fridge and leans against the open door. The leftover pizza box from several nights previous is sitting open on the main shelf exposing two half-eaten slices. Donny reaches for the larger of the two, takes a couple of bites, and throws the slice back. He misses the box and it bounces off the wall of the fridge, landing against a carton of moldy orange juice.

Donny continues to stare into the refrigerator not sure if he wants more food, a drink, or is just intrigued by the cold air flow that is cascading down his body.

Turning away from the fridge, and forgetting that the door is still wide open, Donny pads his way into the living room and collapses heavily onto his reclining chair. He does not move for several minutes, then turns his head slightly and tries to focus on the matching chair sitting nearby as tears cloud his vision.

“Oh, baby, why’d you have to go?” he mumbles as his head slumps back against the cold leather.

His eyes lose focus as his mind retreats eight weeks into the past.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Donny’s wife, Jennifer, was going stir-crazy being confined to the house for months amid the ongoing pandemic. The current infection rates being reported in their county had dropped for three consecutive weeks so she tried to convince Donny to go out for dinner. He would not relent, even when she offered to go somewhere they could eat outdoors, and of course wear masks unless actively eating. Jenny was so mad at his stubbornness she stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Just before 6:00 Jenny came out of the bedroom dressed in a new blouse that must have arrived in one of the countless delivery boxes that graced their door the past several months. She also wore her short black skirt, fishnet nylons, and heels. She looked good. Really good. She told Donny that because he wouldn’t go out to dinner she made plans with Elizabeth and Danielle.

“Don’t go,” Donny pleaded, “it’s not worth the risk.”

Instead she approached him and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll be fine you old worrywart.”

A car horn honked in the driveway and she waved to Donny as she breezed out the front door.

Earlier, when Jenny was trying to negotiate a date with Donny, she promised him they would wear masks at all times other than when eating. However, now that she was on her own, Jenny made no pretense about wearing a mask for a night out with her girlfriends. As she approached the Uber Elizabeth and Danielle jumped out of the car and she saw that neither of them were wearing a mask.

“See,” she thought, “all the danger is being blown out of proportion.”

The three friends exchanged long-missed hugs and kisses, then piled back into the car for the short ride to the restaurant. They ended up skipping dinner, instead frolicking at the bar and catching up on months of missed drinks, rehashing well-known gossip, and flirting with the occasional fellow patron. They closed the bar down at 1:00 AM. Instead of sharing a ride again, each of them got their own Uber and headed their separate ways.

When Jenny got home the porch light was on, but it was obvious that Donny had gone to bed. Instead of waking him she decided to stay in the guest room and in drunken-stealth-mode she thought she was quite successful in not bothering her husband.

Sunday morning Jenny did not hear the phone ring. In fact she didn’t hear anything until Donny finally knocked loudly on the guest room door at noon. The sound reverberated through her hangover like a bomb. She croaked that he needed to be quieter. The door cracked open and Donny spoke in a loud voice.

“Jenny, are you wake? Pay attention.”

Jenny opened one eye the best should could and tried to focus on the door.

“Why are you yelling? Come in here and talk, or better yet, whisper.”

Donny remained motionless at the cracked door.

“Jenny, this is important. A guy from the CDC called earlier this morning. Elizabeth and Danielle were tested for COVID-19 a few days ago and got their results this morning. They, along with their husbands, have all tested positive. Because of your extended contact with them last night I was told you need to remain isolated for two weeks. If you experience any symptoms we are supposed to call the number the guy gave me ASAP.”

Jenny closed her eyes and groaned.

“Just because we were at a restaurant together doesn’t mean any bugs got on me. I’m fine.”

Donny reiterated the instructions that she will need to stay isolated and suggested that since she had already used the guest room she plan on remaining in there for the next two weeks as much as possible.

“You’ve got a TV in here. I’ll bring you your computer, and obviously food and drinks, but we’ll need to stay apart as much as possible,” said Donny with a trace of sadness in his voice.

Jenny grunted her assent and rolled over, burying herself in a pile of covers and pillows. Donny closed the door and she fell back asleep and remained so most of the day.

On Monday and Tuesday she felt fine and started to give Donny serious grief about the isolation. However, by Wednesday she started to get symptomatic and Donny reported her condition to the number he was given. She continued to worsen on Thursday and Friday, and on Saturday she was admitted into the hospital.

Whether it was due to COVID-19 itself, or a complication of being in the hospital, Donny really didn’t care. Jenny died Tuesday morning, eleven days after being notified of her potential contact with the virus, as he sat in a waiting room and isolated from his wife. As he wept all he could think of was her final, pre-COVID comment, “I’ll be fine you old worrywart.”

Donny jolted awake, coughing roughly, when some phlegm had seeped its way to the back of his throat and started to go down his air pipe. It had gotten dark and he didn’t know how long he had been in his recliner. He figured it probably wasn’t yet midnight so it still wasn’t officially his birthday yet. Oh, how he missed Jenny. Even when they didn’t do anything for his birthday, she always made the day special. She made every holiday, heck every day, special. Now she was gone and his birthday was to start in just hours.

Donny slammed his head back against his chair, then again, and again, wishing he could bang the pain away.

When the doctor entered the waiting room he knew. They spoke for less than five minutes. Donny told the doctor that Jenny wanted to be cremated. The doctor said he would get the process started. Donny then numbly left the hospital and headed home as he was supposed to also be in isolation due to caring for Jenny.