Hidden Words

Shopping should be an easy task for a teenager. But not necessarily during the pandemic…

The image “Deep in Thought” by John Brighenti is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

I wrote this story in 2020, when the mask mandate was introduced to slow the spread of SARS-CoV-2. I submitted it for a call for stories that dealt with the direct and indirect effects of the COVID crisis. Unfortunately, it was not accepted.

“Hey, Jonas, where are you?” Lukas typed into his phone. He rocked back and forth on the bench and stared at the screen. When no reply came after two minutes, he typed, “I need you, I can’t do this alone,” but didn’t send it. He deleted the line and instead sent, “It’s not the same without you.”

Finally, three blinking dots appeared, showing Jonas was typing. The message soon popped up: “Quarantine.”

Lukas typed, “What do you mean, quarantine?”

On the phone:

“Mom caught the coronavirus. She’s okay, but we’re not allowed to leave the house for two weeks.”

Followed by a sad emoji.

“Great,” Lukas thought.

He’d have to go through with it alone. He put on his mask, stood up, and walked toward the entrance. Just as he was about to enter, a bulky bald man in a mask blocked his way. The man’s jacket said “SECURITY” and he stared at Lukas. Lukas nodded and tried to pass him. The man raised a hand to his chest and stared again—this time, angrily. Lukas began to tremble. He tried to speak, but the man didn’t react. So Lukas reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad and a pen. He wrote, “I’m deaf. I can’t hear you when you speak,” and held the notepad up.

The man waved dismissively, and it took Lukas three tries to even get him to look at the note, let alone read it.

Eventually, he seemed to get it. He read the lines, and his features relaxed. He pointed to a sign in front of the building. It read: “Due to COVID-19 measures, entry to the supermarket is only allowed with a shopping cart.”

Lukas nodded and put the notepad back in his pocket, still trembling. He inserted a coin into a cart and entered the store—unhindered now, but with a pounding in his throat.

He looked around. Everyone was wearing masks, as required since the mandate had come into effect a week ago. People looked at things, at each other, and a few glanced in his direction. He couldn’t see any lips. No smiles. No conversations. It felt like a horror movie. He knew people were talking—maybe even constantly. But he couldn’t see it.

Were they talking about him? About the incident with the security guy? Were they laughing at him?

Lukas shook off the thought and pushed his cart through the aisles.

In the flour aisle, an old woman stood looking at him. Lukas waited. Then he looked behind him and pointed to himself. The woman nodded and kept staring. He started to sweat. What did she want? Before he could say anything or get out his notepad, she walked away—but not without giving him a disapproving look.

“I can go shopping for you,” he had told his mother. “I’m seventeen, not eight. It’ll be fine, even with masks.” But that had been when he expected Jonas to go with him. Jonas could hear a little. He could at least let Lukas know if someone was trying to talk to them. They were a kind of superhero duo. Jonas had the power to notice when someone was speaking to them, and Lukas had the power of being way better at lip-reading.

Only now Jonas was in quarantine—and lip-reading was about as useful as Superman’s X-ray vision when everyone’s wearing lead armor.

The old woman was now talking to one of the staff members. They looked at each other, then glanced toward Lukas.

Just then, the girl with the green backpack entered the store, and for a brief moment, Lukas forgot everything. As always, when he saw her. She wore a mask, but her hair and eyes were still beautiful.

He remembered telling Jonas about her.

“Her hair is as brown as… potting soil,” he had said.

“You mean her hair looks like dirt? How romantic!”

“No, I mean… it’s such a nice shade of brown. What’s a nice brown?”

Lukas had made sweeping gestures while signing.

“I don’t know. Mahogany?”

“Yes! Mahogany. Hair like mahogany and blue eyes… blue like the ocean.”

“Alright, Goethe. So when are you going to talk to her?”

The wild arm movements had stopped.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have a chance.”

“Right, because your arms are thin as a pencil!”

For that, Lukas had punched him on the arm.

Talk to her. Jonas made it sound so easy. Now, with everyone’s lips hidden, Lukas couldn’t even talk to a security guard—let alone someone who gave him weak knees just thinking about her.

Besides… Even if she were interested in him, Lukas thought, she probably likes music and guys who can play guitar and sing and recite poetry. Not someone who’s scared of an old lady in a supermarket because he can’t see what she’s saying.

Then a new, awful thought occurred to him: what if the girl stood right in front of him and said something—and he missed it because of the mask? What if she, like the old lady, just got annoyed and walked off and then complained about him to others?

He hid behind the cereal shelf. He had to avoid her. Heart pounding, he ticked off the shopping list, careful not to be in the same aisle as her.

Once he had everything, he picked the checkout lane next to hers. That way he could see her without risking a confrontation.

He was packing his groceries into his backpack when he noticed her. She had just reached the checkout. The cashier held up a watermelon and stared at her. And the girl looked unsure—almost scared. Lukas saw her reach into her bag, take out a notepad and pen, and begin to write.

“Now,” he signed in his mind, to Jonas. “I’m doing it now.”

He took a step. Then another, moving slowly and mechanically toward her checkout. Finally, he stood next to the girl and touched her shoulder. She looked up and he signed: “Me too.” He took the watermelon and walked to the customer scale near the checkout—meant for people who forgot to weigh their produce. With the weighed melon and sticker, he returned to her lane.

A little while later, Lukas sat on the bench at the end of the street. He pulled out his phone, opened his chat with Jonas, and typed: “Lisa.”

Three blinking dots. Then: “What?”

Lukas smiled and typed: “The girl with the green backpack. Her name is Lisa.”

Then he locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. It vibrated insistently, begging for his attention—but his focus was on the slice of melon in his left hand. He closed his eyes, brought it to his mouth with both hands, and took a bite.

Nothing had ever tasted so good.