Embracing for the Worst

 Bianca Yeung 2017

"Thanks buddy. Love you man."

I was on the train home from uni. Peak hour had just begun so I had wedged myself into one of the two single seats in the top carriage. This guaranteed no one would sit next to me for the journey home. One row ahead, in a three-seater, sat a heavy-set man dressed in the long-sleeved uniform of a construction worker. He had the aisle seat and a young woman had the window. He was all edges and no corners. Like a disproportioned snowman with a big round snowball for a body, and a smaller round snowball for a head. This meant that it was guaranteed no one would sit next to him (or the woman at the window) for his journey home.

The roundness and smallness of the man's head did not predict the powerful and ragged nature of his voice. It was a bellow, directed at the phone he was holding up to his ear, but reaching all the way to the dust-piled corners of the carriage and the ears of all the people packed into it. Weightier than his words were the sighs that punctuated them, "You're kidding me. (sigh) All of it's sold out. (sigh) Alright, mate. (sigh) Yeah, alright. (sigh, click)."

All of us listening (I assure you I was not the only one) seemed to sigh with him. It was a scenario we were all too familiar with. A city, a nation, a world - faced with unprecedented events. Survival instincts being triggered. Skyrocketing demand and plummeting supplies. Stock running out. The virus - whose name is on the lips of everyone who can put three syllables together - smacking us in the face with our unpreparedness.

Round Man started up another call, to a different number. This time, success: "Yer getting more of it in tomorrow? Mate, I'm working in Sydney at the moment I won't be able to get there till Saturday arvo. Could ya put three bottles aside for me? Oh, mate. Mate, thanks. Thanks buddy. Love you man."

He hung up, sighed his heavy sigh, then settled back into his seat. This I observed over the top of my reading glasses; glasses that were being worn so that I could read the assigned chapters for my literary theory class on my iPad, without being overexposed to the blue light glaring out of it. I imagine I was silently judged for this by Round Man, when he got up a few stops later and passed me to alight down the stairs of our carriage.

Judgement or not, his heavy-set eyes sure lit up when I cleared my throat to offer, "Hey, excuse me. Would you like my hand sanitiser just to get you through to Saturday? I've got a whole bunch of them at home." Heart speeding up, I braced myself for rejection or anger or something to signify his distaste at my listening in on his call, or my ethnicity, or any of the other obvious differences that were had between him and I. I wondered if the other passengers were thinking me stupid or kind to approach this man.

"Yer sure?" his gruff question was accompanied with the tracking of his eyes, to my outstretched hand with the hand sanitiser in it. It was not of the usual home-brand appearance, but a fancy-looking tinted bottle, cylindrical, with a label that ran around its circumference and bore an aesthetic typeset. I'd chosen it because it had the words "Thank You" on it. Also it was lemon scented. Also, unlike the Dettol, it had been in plentiful supply. "Yeah I actually picked this up with my mum when we were up the coast in Kincumber a few weeks ago. We got quite a few of them 'cos mum knew the shops were running out in Sydney." I cringed slightly at my admission to our stockpiling. But to be fair, when I had apprehended mum about it she had said "Don't worry, I'll share them with other people, I can give some to our friends!"

Round Man made a grunt of acceptance. The train had reached the platform and the doors were about to open. It was now or never. "Thanks, mate," he said, as he took the bottle from me.

As the train pulled away, I couldn't help but feel a little proud at my public act of kindness. I hoped that someone who bore witness to the whole thing would feel warmed too, and pass it on as part of that ripple effect that all those "random acts" occurrences are believed to carry.

Except I knew that they wouldn't.

No one would continue the train of kindness and goodwill and helping your neighbour in times of hardship. At least, not because of anything I'd done. No one had bore witness to my exchange with Round Man. In fact, the exchange had never even taken place. The idea had occurred to me, the conversation unfurled in my mind. I imagined the impact that might've spanned from my small act. And then I had directed my gaze back to my iPad whilst Round Man passed me in my peripheral, and got off the train. Toolkit in one hand. No hand sanitiser in the other.

Not a fortnight ago, at the end of a neuroscience lab, I had entered a conversation with one of my tutors. My classmates and I had produced our bottles of hand sanitiser in response to her opening remark, about whether or not we had wiped down the computers and keyboards we had used, and washed our hands afterwards. We had, and then, probingly, asked for her opinion about what was to come. An academic from the School of Medical Sciences, with a slight accent that marked her an ESL speaker, our tutor proved herself a highly knowledgeable educator - enthusiastically listing known facts about the dreaded Corona Virus, and citing all-manners of historical outbreaks and new research being conducted as we spoke. "Embrace yourselves for the worst!" she exclaimed, multiple times throughout the 15 minutes that followed.

Unlike me, my counterparts did not pick up on (what I thought to be) her amusing phrasing, and instead heard her message as intended, repeating it amongst themselves as we left the room. "Brace yourselves for the worst, man, that's so intense." "Yeah, and she kept saying it..."

When I got home and regaled the story to my mum and sister they thought "Embrace yourselves for the worst!" was definitely cause for a chuckle. In light of the train incident, though, I can't help but think just how fitting her advice is, despite its accidental birth.

Embrace yourself for the worst.

What does that look like on a person? The verb has two definitions:

1. To hold closely in one's arms, especially as a sign of affection. 
2. Accept (a belief, theory or change) willingly and enthusiastically. 

- Oxford Dictionary

I'm picturing someone hugging themselves by wrapping their arms across their chest and around their shoulders. Protecting themselves with care, as the tsunami of virus-carrying particles approaches. Given the second definition, perhaps it's about accepting these new circumstances, and greeting them with a smile (enthusiasm always equates with smiling to me).

I feel terrible for not giving my hand sanitiser to that man. You can probably tell since this whole post is centred around that one interaction. Obviously he's completely unaware of it. He's likely doing just fine. He doesn't know that he missed out that day. He'll probably pick up his reserved bottles of hand-san tomorrow and keep going with his life.

But at the end of the day, I had something that someone else needed, and I was in a position to provide it to them. I'd like to think that in any other situation, I would have done so without a second thought.

I don't want to fall prey to these times of uncertainty. I don't want to be someone who feeds the panic and hysteria and the privileged by taking more for myself whilst others go without. I don't want to be selfish. I don't want some primal instinct to turn me into someone I'm not.

I want to be safe and prepared. I want to feel assured that my health, and the health of those around me can be protected with the right measures. I want to keep living in a community of people who look out for one another. I want to feel like I could ask a stranger on the street for directions, without fearing that they would deny me based on my appearance or whether or not I was wearing a mask.

Round Man, wherever you are, I hope that you get what you need and that your sighs become sighs of relief instead of burden. God knows we would all like to be breathing sighs of relief in these volatile times. Until then though, let's be affectionate, and "hold ourselves closely" in our arms. Let's embrace ourselves for the worst.