Leaving Home
I willed my body to keep going, despite the exhaustion I felt. Only it wasn’t just the exhaustion that was slowing me down, it was a heaviness in my heart. I was leaving the dorm I had lived in for 3 years abruptly because of the pandemic. No big send-off, no goodbyes, just plastic bags, and face masks.
People describe falling in love as being the same as falling asleep: slowly at first, then all at once. That’s what the onset of COVID felt like. It began as something discussed around the table or on Hunter College’s sky bridges. It was concerning but seemed so far away, something that couldn’t touch us. I remember the day the veil was lifted and our reality came crashing down.
I had just come into work at Hunter and was chit-chatting idly with my coworkers, waiting for our meeting to start when our conversation turned to COVID. After the usual laments about how crazy the situation seemed, my boss chimed in, announcing a private university had officially closed for the rest of the semester, the first to do so. Every student was sent home, expected to return from break, take their things, and leave. It was startling news; for the first time, it felt like COVID had come to change things in our lives. After receiving the news our conversation turned more serious. My boss predicted that Hunter would close for two weeks to prevent the spread of the virus within the school. At that time even that sounded excessive but I left the meeting feeling uneasy. Walking through Hunter later that day my phone began pinging with notifications about cases popping up around the country.
I started to panic when I went to the grocery store to pick up some milk. I figured there would be a few panicked shoppers but not to the extent that awaited me. The aisles were packed and the shelves were empty. This is not an exaggeration. There were a handful of things left on the shelves. A dented can of peas. A yogurt two days away from expiring. A box of whole wheat pasta with a thick layer of dust suggesting it was the last one left in the stock room. I left the store feeling dejected. It was the last time I visited my local grocery store, one that has served me for the entirety of my college experience. The store I visited the first time I went food shopping for myself. The store I went to with my best friend to buy mint chocolate chip ice cream at 2 in the morning after my first heartbreak. I never would have thought I’d miss a grocery store but writing this now, all I can think of is joking around in the aisles with my friends while filling up our baskets.
The next two days were an anxiety-filled fever dream. As we waited to see Hunter’s plans for the rest of the semester dealing with the virus, more schools closed and cases popped up in more states. My friends and I stayed up all night trying to calm ourselves down and explain away any indication that Hunter would have to close. We weren’t ready to leave the dorm we had met in, that offered a life we never thought we’d be able to have. We each grew up in complicated family situations and the college dorm was the perfect way to gain some much-needed independence. Dorms closing meant we’d all have to say goodbye to one another and return home.
Hunter closed for the remainder of the semester the following day.
The news spread slowly through the halls. The first few students found out through a tweet from the official CUNY account. Most classes knew before the college’s president made an official statement. Some students cheered in their last in-class lectures, but I was shell shocked. While the dorms were said to remain open, Hunter closing was a great loss for me. As odd as it sounds, I love learning and attending lectures. I had dreamed about my college experience from when I was in middle school, itching to leave my tiny town. Those dreams had never accounted for a global pandemic. After three years of freedom, I had fallen in love with Hunter and my life in the city. I was devastated that I had to give it up.
That night, the dorms emptied out. Students left with backpacks filled with the essentials, ready to spend an undetermined amount of time home. Returning to my room, I prepared to isolate. I planned to stay in the dorm for as long as they would let me. The 14 days passed quickly (I admittedly went through all of my snacks within the first three days). My only contact from the world outside my dorm was my zoom classes and worried phone calls from my parents. Adamant about staying in the city, I assuaged their fears, trying my best to sound happy and nonchalant on the phone. In reality, I was terrified of what the next few days, weeks, and months had in store. People were getting sick left and right and all the grocery stores near me were selling out of food faster than I could replenish my fridge. Once food security became an issue, I decided it was time to return home for the time being. I didn’t expect it to be for the foreseeable future.
I had been home three days when the email was sent out. The students living in Brookdale dorms had to evacuate. Since my parents are teachers, they wouldn’t be able to help me during the week, leaving me 24 hours to pack down my room and go. That night my dad drove me into the city to drop me off. Brookdale was turned upside down. Cars were triple pared as all of the residents rushed to get all of their belongings. Clothes and furniture were haphazardly discarded. The 10 carts allotted to move in and out were lost somewhere amongst the thousands of people that had returned to the building all at once, prompted by the email I had received.
It was 8 pm when I got to work packing. Luckily most of my clothes accompanied me on my first trip home but I still had all of my furniture and belongings to worry about and none of the moving supplies I’d normally have with me. With my possessions surrounding me, I began the daunting process of packing. There was no order, no method to my madness. Knickknacks were stuffed into appliances, dishes cushioned by the remainder of my clothes. Anything I couldn’t find a place to put, I threw out. There was no time for sentimentality. I was stripping my bed when I noticed the sun starting to rise over the New York City skyline. Where had the night gone?
Before I could register what time it was my father was fighting for a spot outside the dorm. It was 7 am and the street was already packed with worried parents. Within the hour we had filled the car with the remainder of my room and I was left to take the subway home. I made the walk to the R train for the last time. It was so different from the first time I had made the trip at the start of my freshman year. Back then, the city was alive. Smiling people walked in and out of businesses, enjoying the weather. This time the sky was grey on my walk as if the city knew life was no longer the same. Businesses were shuttered with no certainty about their future. The streets were empty; I walked four blocks before seeing another person, decked out in a mask and gloves. Madison Square Park usually packed with dog walkers and excited children, was barren, abandoned. As I walked down into the subway, I said goodbye to my home. I hope I’ll be able to return to the city I love soon.