By Indy, Age 10; Beatrix, Age 11; and Katherine, Age 9
A lump forms in the back of my throat and my eyes water slightly as I glance out the window, the screen of a computer a foot away from me. I glance up at the clock and I take in the time. Seven thirty-five. This is the time that I would normally leave my house to walk to my school, something I won’t be able to do for more than a year! Tears well up in my eyes and I swallow hard. I won’t be able to go to school anymore. And I can’t change this.
But things start to change. I notice small details. The streets are empty without commuters, like a ghost town, allowing more space for pedestrians and cyclists to travel. I see more of San Francisco. Every evening the people on my street go outside and instead of focusing on things like school being canceled or deaths from COVID, we clap for essential workers and sing songs with each other. Slowly, hope is restored.
Instead of seeing how bad things are in the moment, I see the other things. In the pandemic, I get to know my neighbors more, their pets, and befriend both. There’s possibility…