Just had my first “pandemic“ lunch out. The rules explained by the hostess were simple: masks required when moving around the restaurant and the table was ours for 90 minutes. Though unfathomable at the beginning of 2020, I was more than happy to follow their rules if it meant I could be out with friends and not have to cook. I felt so free!
Once settled, I enjoyed a few moments looking out the large rain spattered windows taking in the choppy waters of the New England bay on the grayest of days and I was grateful. I scanned the restaurant seeing people indoors and unmasked in public for the first time. At the closest table to us off to the right, some thirty feet away, an older couple laughed and chatted. The man had gray hair and a kind face. The woman looked approachable and helpful, like someone you’d ask for directions. Then I noticed her ankle and said to my companions, “The woman over there is wearing an ankle bracelet. Like from jail.” They looked and agreed. I suppose she’s feeling free too, I thought.
Throughout lunch I’d occasionally glance over at the woman trying to figure out what crime she may have committed. I came up empty. A puzzle I couldn’t solve.
Finally, the couple got up to leave. I stared at them looking for clues. Now that her leg was in full view, I had a better idea of what she may have done. Seems that to my untrained eye, an ankle monitor looks a lot like the bottom part of a leg brace people often wear after knee surgery.
