text: A story by Winston Roberts and Don Krieg He pushed his desk chair back from his laptop. He had spent the day Zooming with co-workers between battles in Doom. He stretched his arms wide. The constant focus on the laptop screen had left his body frozen in a shape that was conducive to seeing the screen while typing. It felt good to have a stretch. It felt necessary to revitalize joints that had been dormant for so long. He scanned his phone for the take-out restaurants he used routinely. He would cook himself, but it was just easier to order out. He happened on the Taste of Thai restaurant offering. Scanning the menu, he rested his eyes on a particular favorite, Gaeng Kua Kling. Logging onto the Taste of Thai website, he navigated the menu and clicked the toggle button beside the dish. He was especially fond of their pork version and so selected that as well. They wanted to know a hotness level for the dish. He chose three stars out of five. He liked it a bit spicy. He closed the laptop down and made for the kitchen. He could use a beer and so opening the refrigerator, he pulled his last bottle out. A simple twist of the bottle top and he was already gurgling the sudsy amber liquid into his gullet. The beer was cold from the ‘frig, but it had a warming effect in his belly. All was good. He plopped onto the living room sofa and clicked the remote. He liked to watch the news while he ate and today would be no different. The lady delivering the news on CNN was giving the latest death totals of the Coronavirus pandemic. Well over 78,000. He let out a gasp. That was a lot of folks dead. The virus had crippled the nation and the world for two months now. There was no cure for the infection, and it didn’t seem to respect whether you were rich or poor, you could die from it. There did seem to be an advantage of you were young and in good health. Fortunately, he was both, but there was no guarantee that those qualities would let you slide. The virus had even killed a small child. The doorbell rang and he ran to the door. There was his usual delivery guy on the other side. He thanked the young man and pulled his bag of goodies inside. He fished for his phone in his jeans and entered a tip for the delivery. He gingerly placed the take-out packages on the coffee table. He pulled a couple of antiseptic wipes from their dispenser and thoroughly wiped down the packages. He had placed a cylinder of antiseptic wipes on the table for just this use. He would not skimp. The virus could be anywhere. He didn’t know where the delivery guy had been. He pulled the chopsticks from their paper house and dove into the food. The lady at CNN was interviewing a doctor now. It seemed there would be many months more of this pandemic. It might even come back in the fall. He was already going batty with the isolation, but he knew he needed to keep a distance from other human, if not for his own health, for theirs. The news was over, so he gathered up all of the empty cartons on the coffee table and threw them in his trash bucket. He went to the bathroom to wash his face. He turned on the spigot and soaped his hands thoroughly. Washing was important to help stop the spread. It was then he noticed it. He was having congestion in his nasal passages. Also, for some reason, his eyes were red and watery. There was a distinct soreness in his throat and, if he inhaled deeply, it caused him to cough. ‘I’ve got it for sure!” He said the words out loud, to himself in the mirror. He donned his bedclothes and snuggled under the covers in his bed. He hoped he might have what some had described as lower grade reaction to the virus. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. He assumed once he was put on a ventilator, that would be his end. Most of those people died. He would sleep, but not well. The worries of the disease kept him from total relaxation. He trembled under the covers in a cold sweat. He dared not close his eyes for fear he would never awake. When he woke the next day, he felt better. A trip to the bathroom mirror confirmed that his eyes were back to normal and his nasal mucosa had lost their inflammation. He could breathe again without coughing. Massively relieved by these phenomena, he washed and clothed himself for the day. The day was wrought with the same boredom and ennui that had characterized all his quarantine. His hunger grew as the day progressed until he was moved to order his dinner. His phone happened on The American Bison Wild Wings menu. “Yes, please.” He began to produce saliva at the tasty offerings on his phone. He ordered the hot wings with extra sauce. Also, some jalapeno poppers, he loved those. Finishing his work for the day, he shut his laptop and made for the living room. It was time for the news. It wasn’t good. The death rate was accelerating. The economy was imploding. The news from the White House was inconsistent. More dead and no real hope that it would stop. The doorbell rang. The American Bison Wild Wings had come through again. He unpacked his dinner in front of the TV and continued watching the mayhem unfolding from the global pandemic. The newscast finished as it did every day and he cleared his dinner packages away into the trash. A visit to the bathroom, however, gave rise to the fears he had had the night before. Nasal congestion, red tearing eyes. He had added a new symptom. He was sneezing. He washed his face and prepared for another fitful night, worrying about his infection. The next day he woke to a new body free of symptoms. It was curious to him that the symptoms would come and go like that. The news had said that there were those who had the infection but display no symptoms. Maybe he was one of these, except he showed the symptoms at night, when he was most tired. He dressed and went to his laptop to work for the day. He tapped the keys of the computer, but his thoughts were far away. If he had the infection, these may indeed be his last days. Quitting time came again and again he ordered take-out. Today it would be Charlie’s Chuck Wagon. He loved their six-alarm chili with habanero corn bread. Better make that and extra order of the spicy corn bread. Back to the living room after he had received his delivery and he chomped away while the bad news blared on. The symptoms recurred. But there was a difference this time. Along with the normal congestion, lung problem and watery eyes, he now was experiencing a lack of feeling in his mouth and lips. He could not taste or smell anything. That was yet another indicator of the disease, as he had learned from the news. This was getting serious. When he again awoke, he vowed today would be the day that he sought to rid himself of this virus. He would try the time-tested methods his mother had sued when he had been sick as a child. A visit to the medicine cabinet produce two tablets of acetaminophen. He put the kettle on the stove and brewed a pot of tea. A check of the refrigerator yielded half a lemon that he sliced and steeped in the tea. He was so far symptom free as he had been all the days before, so he returned to his work. But dinner time was soon approaching. Instead of his normal take-out, though, today he was following Mom’s prescriptions for a return to health. He headed to the kitchen and rummaged through his cabinet where he stored his canned goods. He was after a particular product there. His Mom had sworn by it. Ah, there it was. He pulled the can of chicken noodle soup from the cabinet and put it in a pot on the stove to boil. The soup heated; he assumed his position in front of the TV for the news. The scientists were still stymie at getting a vaccine or even a good therapy for the disease. There were hopeful signs, but nothing definitive yet. He drank his soup. When the newscast ended, he performed his usual task of cleaning his dinner away. Then he went to the bathroom to wash his hands, as per usual. When he looked in the mirror, however, he was a bit surprised to find that his eyes looked normal and healthy as they had before the infection. He breathed through his nostrils. The air flowed freely. He took out his toothbrush and slathered some paste on it. Not only could he taste the minty teeth cleaning gel, he failed to cough when he breathed deeply. Could he really have done it? Could he really have cured his disease? He rushed to his laptop to share his findings. He logged onto Facebook, Twitter and TikTok. He told of his symptomology with the virus. He told of the tea with lemon. He championed the chicken noodle soup as the probable locus for the cure, but more double-blind scientific studies would have to be performed to isolate that as the primary curative. He closed his laptop, his duty of reporting his findings had been completed. Who knew a cure could come so easily and quickly? He smiled at his luck at having happened on the cure. He would have to credit his mother if he were asked to receive any kind of award. It was she who had always used the chicken noodle soup.