The Distance Between Us

My shadow is waiting patiently to yell at me, reading Sartre's Being and Nothingness, my ankle brushing against its thigh. Too bad you had to sell your soul to stay alive! There's something odd about it today, sometimes we're kindered cousins, and sometimes Camusian strangers, needing psychotherapy, typically the distance between us is larger than six feet. I don't want to have bad feelings toward it, I 've looped around it several times to keep it from dragging us to the ground. If it were thinner it'd be easier! I correct myself giving it a reassuring smile to let it know life's easier without quarrels between us – as long as we keep a healthy distance, far enough to avoid a handshake, and close enough to keep company in this bitter year of grief. It asks how do we fight someone whose strength we don't understand? You never know when it needs a kidney from me. I am its distraction and vice versa. Yesterday we settled into seats facing one another. It laughed life's better in this barren habitat of solitude. But I wasn't ready for an after-the-quarantine talk, I pushed away and turned to leave but it nuzzled its face into my neck, demanding to know how I can feel so perfectly when my wife's in hospital. We're both getting used to no need for human contact – social distancing's ultimate effect.