by Adrienne Lee ’21

Thursday afternoon breezes and grassy sweetness choke me awake. I take in the screams, cheers, laughter, and confusion in the air. My eyes divert to my phone as it chimes, alerting the evacuation of campus with everyone but the wanderers left behind.

Being a wanderer warrants a contract between you and your beloved to cross paths once again in our small world; I do not recall ever questioning its possibility, but I know how to doubt it. My homes and my communities have been countless and drastically different, so I have had to keep a record of my memories of different people and places. Some chunks end up as mere nostalgia. I have certainly tried to reignite the good times, but people grow out of their past.

In Davidson, I grew dependent on the warmth of people and quietude of campus life that comforted the inner disturbances I had been lugging. I had brought down some of my walls of defense.

Today, I am back in survival mode. I operate in an alarming calm with an additional layer of physical distance. The country of my bloodline glows in red with a rising number of cases on my screen, and my second home aches alongside it, sitting on the top five ranking. The numbers were surreal until they increased by one. 

I tread the woods and walk into the dreads of uncertainty and fear, with a childish hope that this will all end by daylight. With a single camera, I capture thousands of sights of greenery that serve as a a human surrogate. I had never found a better time to be austere as an independent artist. I yearn for the human odor to return and blend with the floral scent on campus that now prevails.

Pandemic by Adrienne Lee ’21