Fitz's Opinion: Down at the Arroyo Cafe there was only one topic

The following column is the opinion and analysis of the writer.

A pour of Rosa’s brew always came with a news item. “These idiots! It’s not like the flu. It’s way more contagious than the flu!”

Doc, an Arroyo Cafe regular, cleared his throat. “Flu kills one-tenth of 1%. This thing is anywhere from 20 to 30 times more lethal than the flu.”

Doc sipped. “Is it contagious? Day one in Italy, two people show up sick. Two weeks later you have 17 sick people. By March 6, 3,916 people have it. Last Wednesday it was 12,462 cases.”

We all exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and vowed to look out after each other. Rosa sounded like our mother: “If any of you feel sick, see a doctor, stay out of my cafe and stay in your casa. And don’t drink bleach. Or buy snake oil. Or think tequila has enough alcohol to sanitize your hands.”

Doc gave Rosa a thumbs-up. “Bookmark the CDC on your laptops and phones, amigos.”

I raised my coffee cup aloft. “How about a toast, my friends? To our beloved Book Festival.”

The chorus answered, “To our beloved Book Festival.”

Sour Frank thought canceling was the right move. “Like the thief said when given the choice of taking the bank safe or stealing the golden sari — ‘better safe than sari’. ”

Silence.

Lurlene snarled through her poorly fitting mask,“Our president certainly calmed the stock market with his reassuring speech on Wednesday.”

Doc was relentless. “We have to prepare for the approximately 30 million Americans who are predicted to require hospitalization and ventilators. We are not ready for those numbers.”

Gulps.

I stood. “Another toast! To councilman Koz. For organizing the meeting to help prepare the brave operators of our homeless shelters for what is about to hit. This is our moment to care for the least among us. We’re Tucson. We got this. Stop touching your face, Frank.”

Sour Frank pulled his finger out of his nose — “Damn it”— and stormed to the boys room to wash his hands.

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Doc said, “We’ll have to mobilize a preemptive collective public health effort that will be massive. We have to change our behavior. We’ll have to practice the same hygiene habits.”

I said, “Watching the myth of the rugged individual die in a hundred emergency rooms may serve as motivation.”

Doc asked me to hold that thought. “After the planet has been ravaged for a year-and-a-half, a vaccine will be produced. Who’ll get it first? In the movies the National Guard always gets called out.”

Guardsman Sour Frank gulped.

Doc’s phone rang. We all eavesdropped. Even the rattlers on the porch. Doc hung up. “I got asked to help down at the hospital. I gotta go. Prepping.”

We tapped elbows. Doc promised to shake my hand next spring.

I thought of all the heroes to come. Cops. Firefighters. EMTs. Public Health Docs. Nurses. The lab techs. The scientists. The community organizers. I ate in silence and watched Rosa wipe down the menus.

Elena, the new waitress, was on her phone. “The school’s closing? What am I supposed to do with my kids?” I could hear her panic. “I don’t know if I’ll have a job a month from now!”

Lurlene walked over to her. “We got your back.”

I studied the worn dollar bills that Rosa pulled out of the register and pressed into my hand. Coronavirus? I walked past customers waiting to wash their hands in the restroom. I elbow tapped the smudged fingerprints on the door, hopped in the car, wiped my hands and steering wheel and searched for news of the virus on the car radio like a defiant Londoner during the Blitz.

I spent the day reaching out to my neighbors, forming a support group of sorts. The beautiful couple next door lives on the edge of the gig economy. Wonderful retirees on the other side are in the vulnerable age group. What if one of us has to quarantine at home? How can we help? Got our number?

“Don’t touch your face with your hands” reminds me too much of “Please don’t touch the art,” which always triggered a desire to touch the art (I’ve touched two Van Goghs). “Keep your hands below shoulder level” is so much easier for me.

Late in the afternoon, as we hung laundry, I teased my wife about how this practice could be fun. She rolled her eyes so I kissed her. We looked at each other for the longest time, wondering how much longer this embrace will be safe.

See you around at the Arroyo Cafe.