The Tidal Wave
I am headed tomorrow home after two months and two days in Paris and forty-three days early. Wednesday morning I woke up at 4am. On purpose. Addie, Sabina, and Emily and I were on the first flight to Prague at 7am to start our Spring Break trip into the East. I laid in bed for a while, listening to my host mom's dog snore in the next room over contemplating not getting out of bed. 4am is criminally, inexcusably early, after all. My phone buzzed next to me and I grudging checked it, the too-bright screen burning my eyes. There was a text from my friend Emily in our group chat that read something along the lines of: "Hey guys, sorry for the late notice. My family and I have decided that I will be going home ASAP. I'm just too freaked out by all this Coronavirius stuff." Jesus, that's a huge leap, I remember thinking before sending back a sincerely heartfelt message about how much I'd miss her. She'd been on the fence about traveling all week, so it wasn