I Have The Cooties

Please Get Your Shot

Dear Friends,

I have the Cooties. This is not easy to share. Earlier this week, I took two Cootie tests which showed I was positive for the virus. I am now in a period of self-sequestration. How did this happen?

Tuesday was a typical day. Before nap time, we read a story about counting red and blue fish and a camel-like beast called a Wump. Afterward, our studies turned to art. I re-created a Rothko using shades of Elmo red and Kermit green. While I eschewed the strawberries, clouds, and soup cans my classmates drew, art is subjective and beautiful in the eye of the beholder. It was hard to know what our teacher, Miss Johnson, thought of the work. She described my painting with the same effusive "Isn't that sweet" as she did Kevin's monochromatic rendering of his cat.

Karen, my snack-time companion, joined me at the table. She always brings the same lunch: chocolate milk and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For that matter, so do I. My mother, Cordelia, hasn't picked up the hints I'm leaving in the form of Hello Fresh meal deals scattered about the house. Despite my calls for greater culinary variety, we eat what the preschool provides. Such is the life of a four-year-old.

I digress. It's the story you want, not Karen's banal blather about Paw Patrol. During a lull in the conversation, between telling me about dogs doing heroic things and a second carton of milk, she whispered, "I need to tell you something. I have the Cooties." Did she say the Cooties? I was shocked and angry. Dumbstruck! Who had she eaten playdough with other than me? With whom had she shared milk and sandwiches? Had I eaten with them too? What about us? I thought we were exclusive.

"Just get yourself tested," she said. And with that, she walked out of my life.

Part of this was my fault. A week ago, the school offered free Cootie shots, and I politely refused. Fueled by anti-vaccine propaganda and a sense of invulnerability, I walked away from my chance to lead a Cootie-free life. I remember seeing my friends lined up in the corner as they offered their arms to receive the vaccine, "Circle, Circle, Dot, Dot, now you've got your Cootie shot." I wish I could go back and make a different choice.

My days unfold under the looming Cootie Sword of Damocles. If not for the Flintstone vitamins Linda gives me each morning, who knows what fate might befall me?  I am no longer welcome at preschool, and I live in seclusion, taking meals on the sunporch and away from my family. The feeling of isolation is palpable. I have no companions besides Sally Rooney's newest novel, Intermezzo, and my beloved dog, Ludwig. I can only wait for the Cootie's mysterious symptoms to begin, subside, and vanish before this isolation ends.

And Karen, we are never, ever getting back together.

With warmest regards,

Richard