On March 25, I boarded a flight from Detroit to Southern California, where I grew up. The airport was eerily empty, the Transportation Security Administration workers wore masks and televisions throughout the terminal were broadcasting the latest fatality numbers of COVID-19. Rolling my suitcase to my gate, the few people in the terminal gave each other a wide berth, exchanging nervous yet empathetic half-smiles. This is weird, everyone said wordlessly to each other. Things are not as they should be.