Saturday, April 4th was a drab, dreary, no sun, weathered day. Continuing our COVID Game Tournament, Christine and I started, much like we do on most Saturdays at Roast & Toast, with coffee and cribbage. I was no match for hands of 24 and 16 – more than once! I deflected to breakfast, and then we needed to shop. Meijer’s was morbidly quiet. Masks have appeared on more faces, and some even sport bandanas. There’s a heightened anxiety evident in darting eyes and quicker steps through the aisles. Like, people are getting what they want, in a hurry, and trying to get out before becoming infected. We shopped, again, for a friend who is housebound, and once cashed out, I waited outside while Christine brought the SUV around. I looked up into the rain and thought it cleansing. “Wash me clean,” I said as I put the groceries in the back seat. We had a few stops, the bank, our friends, and the bank again, and we managed, but there was a silence unusual for us. Neither of us talked. Saturday, being the one day we spend all day together, tends to be full of conversation, catch-up, and planning. Not this Saturday. I began recalling the robotic atmosphere in Meijer’s. It was as if everyone was the same pole on a magnet and couldn’t connect. Electrons bounced and blocked instead of attracting. Or, dominoes of opposite numbers that couldn’t be laid side by side. We got home, and Christine took a long nap, and, as she says, “went to ground” under the covers upstairs. I watched a little TV, read, and then began prepping for dinner. And I couldn’t stop thinking of the dominoes. We resumed a more normal Saturday in the comfort of our home; the conversation buzzed; we talked to the kids at different times; had a virtual birthday toast with some friends; and we had a cocktail. During the usual candle lit dinner, the air was cleaner. The sounds familiar. We decided to play dominoes after dishes. Another cocktail and the table was reset with the numbered tiles. We played for, well, I don’t know how long because time has become irrelevant. We had a blast. Before lifting the final round off the table, the longest of the night, Christine took a picture and sent it out into the world of social media. There before us was the exact way the virus could spread, person to person. But instead, the photo connected us to the virtual world of friendship and comfort knowing we were safe without hugging and kissing and handshaking. The dominoes were turned over and placed back in their box – face down. I thought the conclusion of bodies being stacked in a horror movie to horrific to think about, but from connected dots, that’s how the plastic tiles ended their night, in a coffin. This virus takes us to places in our minds we wouldn’t normally go. We’ll take the dominoes out again, Sunday, to live in the moment and play for connections. To play to forget.