IT HAS BEEN ALMOST an entire week since we turned off the marquee and locked our doors, unsure of when we’d once again be open for business.

It feels so much longer than that. Some of it is because we’ve spent a large portion of that week playing games with Atticus, with ever-changing rules and mysterious victories on his part and baffling anger when he doesn’t clench those victories. 

Some of it is because although we haven’t been exactly confined to the building, we haven’t left it much, either. We’re spending a lot more time with each other, as a family. As nice as that can be—and it has been very nice—it can also be a real pain. What I never realized about those quick trips to the store, or the to run get gas, or going out to eat a meal, is that those things give us a little time to breathe. Even if it’s not much, it’s enough to release some tension and rejoin the family with a smile.        

Without those daily micro-trips, there’s a little frustration.

Some of it is because we miss y’all. We miss seeing the faces and we miss the conversations, and...well, we miss our friends.

And of course, there’s the fear. Not necessarily of the virus itself, but of the world it’s creating. What will happen to the small businesses? To our community? To the overall economy? What will happen to the rules that we as a society have set up and agreed to, now that the game board has been torn?        

It’s a strange time.

We had decided, just before changing the marquee and posting about closing, to try to sell curbside concessions; unsure if it would even work, hoping that we might earn enough to ease some of the strain of no longer being able to run our business as usual.

I’m amazed by the support we have gotten from the town. Amazed, but not surprised. When we wrote about closing, I said I couldn’t ask for a better community to go through all of this with, and I meant it. When we aren’t brainstorming about ways to get our theater through these difficult times, we’re concerning ourselves with how to help the other local entities. 

Sometimes, it’s not too difficult to find small ways to help: stock up on delicious coffee from Brown Bag (and then spring for a new grinder, because of course this is when ours would break), order curbside food from local restaurants before shutting ourselves in, buying supplies locally.

Other times, it isn’t so easy; for example, what can we do to support the River Valley Pioneer Museum? Or even just the folks who live here and are unable to work?

The thing is, I know that the people of Canadian are doing the exact same thing: worrying about their neighbors even as they worry about themselves, looking at the community as a whole. We have had an outpouring of support from the town, and even an amazing wordsmith such as myself has a hard time describing the feelings that come with that.

Gratitude, for sure. Pride in the community, absolutely. And safety, believe it or not. In a time filled with so much fear, it’s nice to know that the people of this town will do what they can for each other.

In case you’re wondering: all those small ways to help, they add up to big things. Buying a cup of coffee or a bag of popcorn or a breakfast burrito or a bag of chips, that might be the kind of thing that allows our local businesses to stick around until it’s back to business as usual. I don’t know if it will work, but I hope so.

Speaking of business as usual, I’m also incredibly grateful to all the people who are still working. Teachers, medical people, grocery store employees, city workers, the newspaper ladies, and all the rest of the people who are still helping the world get by each day. We see you, and we appreciate you, and we worry about you.

Laurie asked me if I’d want to write something about all this, as a local business guy. I’m sure she meant something along the lines of business, how it has been affected, what we’re doing to make it through, something like that. I don’t know if I did that at all.

But the thing about Canadian is that all the lines are blurred, you know? Business person, neighbor, friend, family, and even enemy. We’re in this together.