Contact Tracing

Halloween passed without fanfare.

My family had a slight covid scare on Devil's Night - someone close had been diagnosed and a member of my family had been around them recently. None of us showed any symptoms and a series of rapid response tests soon set our minds at ease, but first we spent a day or so mentally preparing for a full-on quarantine.

We were self-contact tracing, composing lists of those we may have exposed to the virus had we been carrying it and thinking about what we would say to them. I mentally rehearsed the phone calls I would have to make; the apologies. I imagined the map of every person I called calling everyone they were around. A web of human connection mapping out the escape route of possible viral stowaways.

While these imagined conversations played out in my head, the U.K. went back into lockdown mode, joining most of the rest of Europe in a retreat to the harsher prevention measures of the spring in response to soaring infection rates. Of course, the country I live in is experiencing its own record-breaking spread with a response that could be generously described as muted in comparison to the measures taken in other nations. The number of new cases in the U.S. is at an all-time high and appears to be growing along vectors we no longer even pretend to fully understand. Deaths, thankfully, are down but resources continue to be spread think and the state of our healthcare apparatus feels precarious; hovering on the brink of overload. Confusion and delay.

Against this backdrop, the idea of roving packs of children or adult parties just felt like a bad idea no matter how many justifications behind it. Everyone's in masks! We'll keep apart! Contactless candy dispensers! It's outside. All true, and I begrudge no one their good time but I wanted none of it. Instead I stayed inside with the porch light off and listened to the voices of kids passing in their costumes.