It was June 15th, 2021. The third (Delta variant) wave had peaked in Toronto on April 16th and the numbers were steadily declining. After two months on a downward trend, it seemed reasonable to break out of my cocoon and spread my wings. (Feel free to substitute a better metaphor if you like.) I was feeling cooped up and needed to get outside with my camera.
I was on the Bathurst Street Bridge, shooting Go Trains passing underneath, when Bob approached. As often happens, my camera was a pretext for conversation. Like me, Bob needed to get outside to stretch his limbs. Like me, Bob had taken off his mask so he could feel the late spring air on his face. It turns out Bob likes to walk with a camera, too. You can view some of his work on Instagram. We talked about cameras. We talked about places in Toronto we like to track through our photography. Mostly we just talked.
Naturally, the moment came when I asked to take an impromptu portrait. It wasn’t until later, when I was processing the images I’d made, that it struck me Bob wasn’t wearing a mask. How quickly we discard these habits. Sometimes we think the pandemic has been with us so long it will traumatize us for life. But I have my doubts. I recall all the times I’ve left home without my mask and haven’t realized until I’m halfway through my grocery shopping: oh, so that’s why everyone was glaring at me. It’s so easy to revert to old habits. It takes all of about two minutes to recover the natural feeling of an uncovered face. I expect what is true of mask-wearing will prove true of everything else we’ve experienced through the pandemic. We’ll remember the experience but we’ll forget the pain and simply get on with things. Years from now, when we tell those who follow us what it was like, our stories will take on a “when I was you age I went to school uphill both ways” quality, a tall tale we like to tell as we get on with our lives.
