Covid Behind the Screen

Second grade seemed normal. I was in school, just relaxing with my friends, playing outside, and learning multiplication. Little did I know, on the other side of the world, a virus emerged that would drastically change the course of my life for the next two years.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” I asked.

I turned on my microphone at the Zoom meeting, yet the others showed no response. “Nanwang, can you turn on your camera?” my teacher asked.

I didn’t. The camera was working, but I preferred to keep my surroundings unknown. I continued trying to fix the mic.

After failing to identify the problem, I gave up. I just listened absentmindedly to my class discussing some math problems while I stared outside my window, as rain spattered on the ground. The small neighborhood seemed deserted in the dreary, wooded atmosphere. Of course, nobody would dare converse with each other in person because of Covid. Ever since the pandemic broke out in the USA a year ago, all schools were forced into remote learning, so Zoom meetings and online learning became the norm. Now, instead of going to the supermarket, my mom used delivery services to deliver food to our home directly, avoiding any direct human-to-human contact. When people did go outside, they always wore masks to prevent spreading Covid, and all businesses used social distancing - urging people to stay six feet or two meters away from each other at all times - to help slow the virus. At this stage, no vaccine existed, so if one contracted the virus, the resulting symptoms could range from mild flu-like symptoms to extreme pain, hallucinations, and potential death.

Every possible measure was taken to ensure public safety, but at the time, we didn’t know the impact of those measures until later.

“Nanwang, are you there?” my teacher probed, startling me out of my reminiscence.

I typed in the chat, saying that my mic wasn’t working.

“Your mic never works. You should get it fixed,” she said.

Sheepishly, I nod my head. After class was over, we had lunch. Nobody goes out for lunch anymore: therefore, I sometimes order delivery or my mom cooks some chicken. My mom always ordered fresh food from a Chinese market to be delivered to our house.

Today, I decided to attend gym class. As soon as I arrived, the gym teacher chastised me for not attending the past 60 meetings.

“Where have you been?” he asked angrily.

“Uhh…my wifi wasn’t working,” I said.

“Your wifi hasn’t worked for the past three weeks? Impossible.”

“No…” I stammered as my voice trailed off.

“Everyone else, class dismissed,” he yelled.

As everyone left the meeting, I shook in fear. The gym teacher was known for his strictness and harshness.

“Stop lying to me! I know your wifi is working,” he commanded.

Even though I was only hearing his voice, I felt unnerved, as if he was right next to me.

“Are you going to say something, Nanwang?”

“Uhh…”

“Never mind,” he said.

I shifted in my chair, wondering what was coming next.

“You better come to class or you’re going to be in big trouble!” he warned.

“Yes, I will,” I cautiously replied.

“Swear that you will.”

“I swear that I will, sir,” I replied, trembling.

“Ok, you can go but-”

I cut him off and immediately left the meeting.

Honestly, I didn’t understand how one could teach a physical fitness class online. Wasn’t the essence of physical education to exercise the body, not have kids looking at a screen? In retrospect, I regretted skipping PE class - some exercise is better than no exercise. However, in the Covid era, I’m not sure who didn’t do this. One of my online classmates forgot to mute his microphone while he played video games, and he was caught red-handed. After that incident, he rarely ever attended classes again.

This was a characteristic flaw of online learning- distractions were a click away, and without a monitoring system, teachers couldn’t ensure students were paying attention, so most kids just zoned out and navigated to other websites. I myself discovered a game that made me skip school many times, which I doubt would have happened if we attended school in person. Student reading and writing scores plunged, with kids’ language arts and math scores dropping about two grades.

For the next three months, we slogged through classes. I did eventually start attending classes and learning material, and then in April 2021, they gave us the option to return to school in-person. I accepted, even though the virus was still going strong. I wanted some contact with people at school.

“Will!” I shouted elatedly.

“Yeah, it feels good to be back, right?” he said.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “It’s going to be much better now.”

Will and I were two of the five people in the class with us. We all had to wear masks and obey the rules of social distancing. Our part of the cafeteria looked like a prison, with people quickly eating in silence. The only place we could take off our masks was outside during recess, when people played soccer, football, and other games in the large field. However, we couldn’t touch each other, so tag was impossible, which was a pity because tag was my favorite playground game back then. Instead, I told jokes with the assistant teacher at that time. In hindsight, I should have been more active then; instead, I nearly fell asleep many times during class because I would stay up all night playing games.

One day, we had a “half day,” meaning the school day was half of its usual length. After school ended, I decided to go with my mom to the supermarket.

“Nanwang! Don’t get too close to other people,” she warned as we entered the store. At the store, people fought over toilet paper and other goods, so the shelves were almost bare. We both put on our masks, which by this point felt like a permanent fixture on our faces. My ears ached from the elastic string tugging on it all the time, and whenever I sneezed, my spit got all over the mask, so I was stuck with a saliva-ridden mask for the entire hour. I stayed away from people as best as I could as if they were radioactive.

Finally, the end of the year rolled around. As we entered summer break, I stood outside on our deck, looking out at the vast backyard. During those times, I would think about the past few months. Covid had thrown a wrench in our lives, and I was extremely grateful to not have contracted it yet. Most of my friends had caught the virus at least once, and I heard them describe the pain and suffering they went through. When my best friend caught the virus, my mom and I drove to his house and delivered supplies, as they couldn’t leave their house out of weakness. The exchange was brief; I sprinted away as soon as the goods were delivered. During the summer, I stared at the Covid death counter steadily rising into the hundred thousands.

Covid also impacted lives outside of school. Flights to other countries were strictly monitored; for this reason, many people cancelled trips to other countries. Work also became remote - offices were empty, as meetings moved to Zoom and other online communication platforms. Finally, playing sports became much more difficult: my soccer team’s practice frequency was halved and I knew friends who had their seasons cancelled entirely. Additionally, the Tokyo 2020 Olympics resembled an abandoned city, with athletes competing in silence and a dearth of people in the stands. It was kind of depressing, watching an event where people were supposed to interact, but instead with everybody wearing masks in empty stadiums.

“Hey mom, what happens if I get the virus?” I asked one day.

“Let’s hope that never happens,” she said.

“But so many of my friends got it. Am I next?”

That was a question many people must have been asking during the pandemic.

At the beginning of fourth grade, classes resumed normally; however, masks were mandated all day except for lunch and recess.

“Hey Jonathan! Lucas! Good to see you all,” I screamed excitedly.

“Yeah, I’m just glad we’re back,” they said.

We could be kids again- we played tag outside, laughed with each other, and overall had a good time. However, one thing was left to be done.

In the middle of fourth grade, I visited the local CVS for a vaccine. Normally, I hated shots, but this shot didn’t hurt too much, and I knew the investment was worth it. After the second shot, I was protected completely, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

And then one day…

“Hi kids!” my teacher said. “You can take off your masks now if you want. We don’t have to wear them anymore according to the health department.”

I quickly ripped off my mask, taking a big gulp of air, and stuffed it in the trash. The last remnant of the Covid chapter disappeared when the janitor took the trash out.