September 30
Charles should be in Texas right now.
He has to be. That's the wish that I made, and if the universe has any sense of justice, it would grant me this one simple wish. That's all I ask. I don't want the internet or power or food or water or eternal life, just for Charles to stay safe from the bandits and snow and the creeping death that the ash storm is bringing now.
It's been snowing heavily since he left. Two days ago, the sun was out, its rays shining bright and filling the air with gold, but now, the air is just a flurry of ash. The cerulean of the sky has morphed into a swirled of ominous grays, and the constellations are blurred away. Charles told me to look at the North Star to find closure, but I'll never even be able to see it again. It's just too faint to cut through the blizzards trapping us. I've lost another piece of him.
I'm not talking to Mom and Dad. They tried to bribe me with a nicer breakfast, even breaking out a hidden stash of chocolate cereal puffs they must've stored away somewhere in their room, but you just can't bribe away the loss of my only friend. Charles is worth more than just a handful of stale cereal, so I just took my standard lima bean breakfast and sat alone.
"You alright?" Mira asked me, even when she knew that I wasn't alright.
I wasn't in the mood to talk, so I tried moving away from her, but she just followed me. "You are not going to pull away from me. Not again. Please talk to me about it. Maybe it'll help you move on."
I guess I was angry at all of her pestering, so I said the most hurtful thing that I could say to her, "I don't want to move on. It's all your fault! You should've tried harder when Dad found out. You killed Charles and his family. You took them away from me."
She was at a loss of words. I was too since I instantly regretted everything that I said, but I couldn't apologize at that moment because, to be truthful, I wanted her to hurt. It's cruel, I know, and I shouldn't think like this because none of this is Mira's fault, but for one second, I was just so sick and tired of her full emotional honesty policy that I weaponized it against her.
But she's right, at least a little bit. I should move on from him and turn a new page in my book (or go to the next book in the series). I even wished that he'd move on, so it's pretty hypocritical for me not to be able to move on.
At the same time, I'm wondering if it's the other way, and I'm moving on too quickly. I still haven't cried about him being gone. I thought I would when I finally accepted that he was going to be gone forever, but I just can't. And I feel guilty because that's something I owe to him, to feel sad because that's how you feel when the apocalypse rips the person you cared about far away.
Excuse the "cared" in the last sentence. I meant to say "care" in the present tense. Charles isn't someone long gone in the past. He's still alive and in this world and probably enjoying the internet in a better (not heaven) place.
Is that just a story that I'm trying to tell myself because it's easier than the hard truths, that the South is just as cold and desolate as the West Coast? I've been trying to avoid thinking about this because I didn't want to accidentally make the universe make the South as bad as I'm imagining it to be, but what if the rumors are really wrong? The Gulf of Mexico can only stay warm for so long before it starts cooling down, bringing down temperatures all across the Gulf Coast. Not to mention all of the volcanoes dotting Central America that must be spewing volcanic ash into the air. Hopefully, the wind currents will bring them away from Texas, but if not, they're just as screwed as we are.
I've got to keep clinging to hope. That's what I wrote in my last entry, the hope that Charles will never die because my words will keep him as alive as possible in my mind, but I wonder if that's another nice story that I'm just telling myself. Or worse, it's this nice story that's keeping me from crying because I'm too hopeful to feel despair. Why can't I just feel like a normal person?
Everything that I've written here is probably rambling and incoherent and contradictory. I'm just so confused about how I should feel. There's only one other person that has gone through this too: Mira. But because I said all of those hurtful things to her, she'll never help me, and I doubt that I'd even have the courage to approach her in the first place. I should've kept my mouth shut and bottled all my emotions in like I always do.
I'm in a rut. What a great way to start the next chapter of the end of the world.
October 1
"Neal, I want to talk with you."
That's the first thing that Dad said when I was confronted. I walked away because I didn't want to talk with either him or Mom. But since we were living in fairly cramped quarters, there really wasn't much space to walk away to.
"Look, we should've handled it better," Dad said, as he cornered me in the hallway during my desperate attempt to escape. I didn't look at him because I wanted to continue villainizing him. It makes me feel better.
"Can you just stop talking about this?" I asked with a huff.
"Not if you're going to keep acting this way," Dad said. "What do you need to just move on?"
"I'm not talking about this," I said.
"What do you want?" Dad said louder, and I couldn't tell if it was because he was desperate or angry. "I want to make it up to you, so just ask for anything."
"How about an apology?"
"I'm sorry," Dad said without hesitation, but I knew that it wasn't a real one. If he actually meant it, he would be pained and suffering because apologies are not something Dad just dishes out freely. It needs to be muttered and hesitant because Dad's too proud to actually give an easy, straightforward one.
"Whatever," I said with a shrug, hoping that Dad would just let me be. But he just continued following as if that was going to make me feel any better.
"Stop following me," I said. "I just need some space."
"What we need," Dad said. "Is to sort this out right now at this moment. So we can just move on and focus on what really matters: surviving the winter."
At that moment, I felt this overwhelming, boiling anger. It felt unfamiliar because I've never really let myself go in this way. I turned and faced Dad, looking him straight in the eyes, and shouted, "I want Charles back. That's what I want. But it'll never come true because you killed him. You killed Charles."
I was surprised that I said the second part. I know that I shouldn't think like this because he's not dead since he's still alive, both in real life and on these pages of my diary. But I guess the "truth" is still buried deep within me: everything that I'm telling myself is just to make myself feel better. Or is this "truth" just pessimism? It's hard figuring out which is which when life is just so dreary and cold.
"I understand," Dad said after an eerily long pause. "I don't know what happened to my whole family in India or any of my friends. But we've got to move on and stop dwelling in the past. It won't do you any good. You have to be a man."
That last part, being a man, just opened the floodgates. I hate when Mom and Dad say that. It's because it's just such a loaded phrase to just dismiss everything and hoist responsibility onto me. Why don't Mira and May get this thrown at them when Mom and Dad want them to get something? I'm not even an adult man yet. I'm sixteen years old.
"I've been doing that forever," I said, letting out everything and especially emphasizing the most hurtful things that I could think of. "I never say anything about what I'm feeling. But unlike you and Mom, I can't just leave my friends behind so easily because I'm not heartless. So just leave me alone."
I thought that Dad would be shocked or surprised or something. Maybe that half-formed apology he was trying to spit out would actually come from his mouth. But Dad didn't look bothered in that way, only more angry and annoyed, as he brushed off everything that I confessed in my shout.
"Heartless?" Dad said with a scoff. "Your mother and I have sacrificed so much for you--"
I didn't hear much after because I slammed the door on Dad's face. I've been slamming lots of doors onto people's faces recently. First, Mira and now Dad. I think I'm going to slam one onto May's face soon, maybe Mom after her, and Grandma and Grandpa. I'm not sure why I'd slam a door onto their face, but I'll probably find some reason.
I spent the rest of the day sitting alone thinking and staring outside of my tiny window until it was time for dinner. It was so dark outside, a twilight in the middle of the afternoon, and the ash just kept falling down onto us. Maybe that was the sacrifice that I had to make for the universe to let Charles get safe passage since if the ash was blowing towards the coastal areas, it might let some of the inland parts stay ash-free.
The solar panels officially kicked the bucket today. They still work, but not enough to power the phone flashlights for the whole day. Mom and Dad instead moved the greenbox close to the fireplace, where they'd at least get some light from the fire. The big solar panels got hooked up to battery chargers, but it's going to take a week per battery, and the flashlights connected to those batteries will only produce around 12 hours of light before dying out. We've still got the phones charging from the mini-panels, but we can't run the lights all day like we used to.
There was soup for dinner. I kept getting the feeling every time that Dad looked at me that he was thinking, "We could be eating more if you hadn't given the cans away." I must've donated more than sixty cans away. Considering how far we've been stretching the cans with soup, we probably could survive an extra week or so with them. But then Charles and his family wouldn't have survived or had the strength to continue surviving. I think it was a worthy sacrifice.
Tomorrow is wood and water gathering day, but I don't know how we're going to manage this, considering how harsh the ashstorms are. I don't even know how I'm going to manage being around Mom and Dad and Mira and May for so long. It's like even though I'm trapped and cramped at home with my family, I'm still so alone.
October 2
"It's going to be safe," Dad said.
"We aren't going to do this," Mom replied. "Look at all the ash in the air."
"We have to," Dad said. "You and I can't gather enough water and wood to make it. It's cold outside, but the weather is not freezing yet, and we need to get as much as we can before the temperatures plunge."
All of us were standing at the doorway, ready to do our Monday wood and water gathering routine, but outside, the flurries of ash were pouring down in a dense mat of darkness. Mom said that we should wait for the storm to lighten up, but after sitting down for a couple of hours and staring at the sky not clearing up, Dad had enough with Mom's optimism.
He had all of us double up on the cotton masks, and tape them to our faces, so that we wouldn't be at any risk of breathing in the ash. It was a bit uncomfortably warm and sticky, but the one good thing was that it finally stopped my glasses from fogging up with every breath. Mom completely opposed the plan, and just when we were about to leave, she and Dad had that mini-argument.
"Maybe we can go next week," Mom said. "Or in a couple of days. Today, we can get some laundry done."
"We can't do laundry without water," Dad said. "We need this. And the double masks will be enough protection for all of us. No one is breathing in any ash today. We have to take every opportunity that we can--"
"Well maybe it's time to reconsider our rule against gathering things from the abandoned stores and homes," Mom said, trying her best to not say the words "looting" or "raiding" to make it seem like less of a crime. "I doubt that the masks were taken by people when this craziness all started, so maybe some pharmacies might have some proper ones that can filter out the tiny dust particles."
I was a bit surprised with Mom saying this because she's all about safety and protection. Breaking the law and stepping into glass shards and possibly encountering hostile people definitely does not feel safe at all. But given how Mom eventually came around to Mira having a gun at home, I really shouldn't have been surprised about this change of heart.
Dad, on the other hand, violently shook his head. "No. We are not going to do that. What happened to you wanting normalcy for the kids?"
"Going out in an ash storm to gather wood and water is not normal," Mom said. "Just like you said, we have to make sacrifices to survive at all costs. Letting abandoned homes with resources sit out there is not helping us. I've been thinking about it, but Neal and May were right about that when they took the axe and solar panels from the Hunters. Who knows how many supplies are out there? We can't afford missing out."
"What about your speech on how death ripples?"
Mom took a deep breath. "We'll be careful. Landslides are uncontrollable. We can reason with people, even if they're acting like animals."
I could see May barely holding back her glee at Mom's pro-looting speech that sounded awfully like her own speech when she justified her house looting while Mira looked seriously concerned about it as she said, "I'm not sure how this is going to work with the neighborhood watch. They have guns and--"
"That's why I'm thinking we should do it when you're on duty," Mom said. "You know the neighborhoods they patrol and what areas are unprotected. And you can lead them away--"
"This all seems wrong, Mom," Mira said. "Like really messed up."
"We're going to talk about this later," Dad said. "Right now, we have wood and water gathering to do."
When she looked out of the window, the blizzard hadn't let up, so she sighed. "Kids. You guys only need to get 4 buckets of water each. We can skip laundry this week."
Then she turned to Dad. "I'm serious. We're going to have a conversation about this."
Just as Mira turned the doorknob as we prepared to enter the blizzard, Mom told us to wait because she needed to grab something. She ended up getting us ski goggles, so that the ash wouldn't get into our eyes and possibly damage them. The only issue is that when we put them on, it was really hard to see much of anything, like wearing sunglasses during twilight, but we complied with her to make her feel better.
The big surprise when we went outside was how windy it was. The ash that was falling on the ground didn't stay there long, getting kicked right back up. As soon as Mom and Dad disappeared into one direction, hidden under the haze of ash, Mira took off of her goggles. I looked at her. "What are you doing?"
"We cannot see with these on," Mira said. "I'll keep mine off to be able to see if there's anyone out there."
"Let me take mine off too," May replied.
"No," Mira said. "I want you to keep your eyesight safe. I don't know how all this dust affects your eyes, but I don't want to risk it."
May sighed and shrugged as we trudged through this endless blizzard of ash. We could barely see more than ten feet in front of us, and it's a good thing that we had literally memorized the pathway from our home to the creek since it was so close by. I can't even imagine how people unfamiliar with our corner of the town would be able to make their way to the creek with road signs smeared with ash and landmarks obscured in the smog. Maybe it was a good thing that they'd get lost.
When we got to the river, it was coated with flakes of ash, floating on the surface for a brief moment before sinking below. When we tried getting a bucket of water, the water was murky and grayish-brown, along with being heavier than usual, probably because of the added sediment. It was impossible to filter out, no matter how hard we tried removing it from the buckets, and after five minutes of emptying and refilling the bucket, Mira called it a day. We trudged through the hazy blizzard, our footsteps crunching against the sandy ash, as if we were walking across a hellish beach pathway.
When we were going back with the second round of water, May bumped into me and nearly caused me to spill all of my water.
"What's wrong with you?" I said, probably too harshly.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Geez. You need to lay it off with the attitude. You've been acting like a four year old this week."
"Well I'm sorry for losing my best friend this week," I said. "You wouldn't understand."
"All of my friends are gone," she said. "You lost one friend. I lost dozens of them even more quickly than you did, and I never actually got the closure that you got. One day they were here, and then another day, they were gone. It's the other way around. You are the only one that doesn't understand at all, and you're the one that needs to just suck it up like I did."
"Were you the person that caused your friends to leave? Go ahead. Tell me," I said, an May's obvious non-response. "That's exactly what I thought."
"If you're going to act like this, I never should've let you see Charles that one time," May said, and it seemed like she was going to go on with her angry response because I was provoking her, but instead, she paused and calmed herself down. "That's when you guys planned your getaway, isn't it?"
My non-response also told her everything that she needed to know, so she continued, "What did you guys do that day?"
"We hung out," I said. "Finished up some things."
"Well, I wish that I could've done that with my friends," she said, her voice softer and more distant. It seemed weird how she was acting angry one minute and like this another minute, like she actually cares.
"Well, you're lucky that you don't have the weight of responsibility on you," I said. "And all the guilt."
"Whatever it is that you're going through, as much as I enjoy the drama, is getting really annoying," she said. "You have to control your emotions. You have to return to whoever you were before and just continue."
I shrugged and was about to continue our silent walk, but a question popped into my mind suddenly. "Why did you not tell on me?"
"I don't know," she said. "I think I was feeling nice that day."
"It wasn't about Mira and I's conversation?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I can barely remember what you guys were talking about," she said before speed-walking up to Mira, water splashing out of her bucket perilously.
I wonder if she was telling the truth. May has a complicated relationship with the truth and convictions, twisting them however she wants to at times. Still, I can't help but believe that it was just a random act of kindness and that emotional honesty had nothing to do with it. I guess I'm slipping back into my old ways again, maybe to continue to protect myself and because it's comfortable.
At the same time, I couldn't help but believe that her response was a lie because there would be no way that she'd forget about the conversation. Hell, she even called us out on it. I wonder if she doesn't want to admit that the talk was the thing that switched her mind off from vengeance. I can kinda understand where she comes from, the embarrassment of revealing that that deeply awkward moment was useful. It's like you're letting too much of someone into your mind.
October 3
I guess I've kinda made things up with Mira.
When I was eating, she came up to me after a couple of days of very awkward, mutual ignoring. I turned away from her because I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to say, but thankfully, she said the first word, "Hey."
"Hey," I said.
She bit her lip. "I just want to apologize, from a few days ago. I didn't mean to be so pushy about it."
At that moment, I was hit with a blow of guilt. She was apologizing for something that was my fault because I said things that she didn't deserve, even when she was trying to help. "It's not your fault. It's mine."
"You want to talk about it?"
"I don't think that I'm ready yet," I said, and she nodded.
"Yeah, I get it," she said. "Sometimes, I feel like I tend to push my own views on you. Now, I get that when dealing with this loss, that talking it out might not be what's best for you."
Her speech sounded a bit stiff, like something she practiced in her head and recited when it wasn't fully formed. But I understood her message, that her credo of emotional honesty isn't always what's best for someone and how she'd be willing to give me space. Even though emotional honesty can be uplifting and balancing, I think she finally gets that telling everyone everything can feel constrictive.
"Thanks," I said because I wasn't sure what else to say.
I then added, "How'd you do it, with Leon?"
"I first tried to keep everything bottled up, and to think that everything was going to be alright," Mira said. "It kept me motivated, and I thought that I'd be able to stay strong for all of you guys. Even though it felt wrong, I thought that it was the right choice for everyone."
"But what went wrong?"
"It felt suffocating, and I kept blaming myself for not staying positive enough or not working hard enough for Leon," she said, her eyes glazing off a bit. "It's then that I realized that it's alright to be sad and angry that you've lost someone and that you don't always need to see the bright side. Bottling those thoughts up doesn't do you any good."
"Everyone is going to tell you to move on quickly," Mira said. "I even told myself that. But if you do that, you're never going to find closure. This isn't something that you can brush off. It's something that you have to face, ugly emotions and all the guilt, anger, and sadness."
"What if I don't want to move on?"
"Moving on isn't the same as giving up," she said. "You can still have hope, even when you're finding a new direction in life without him for now."
I guess I understand what she means, but at the same time, I don't. I get the importance of having hope, and I understand that Mira just wants me to be as happy as I could be, given the circumstances. But moving on is the process of forgetting, and forgetting him means that I have to give up hope that he'll make it because I can't forget him when he's actually alive. It feels just plain wrong.
Maybe moving on is something different than what I'm thinking right now, and that I'm falsely conflating the two ideas. But I don't know how to do Mira's mythical way of moving on without giving up. You move on when someone is dead, not when they could still be out there.
This afternoon was quiet, though unusually so because Mom and Dad had disappeared from the living room we were all in, as the fire crackled and ash softly piled up against the screen of our backyard door. Pretty soon we're going to need to clear that out before it hardens, and we get locked out from our backyard.
When I went to see where Mom and Dad were, I could hear them arguing with each other in their room near the bathroom. They were probably trying to get some privacy, but the doors and walls couldn't drown out their heated discussion.
"I don't know what's up with you," Dad said.
"I don't know what's up with you," Mom said. "Just because it isn't your idea doesn't mean that you have to reject it."
"It's not because it's a bad idea--"
"Then what downsides are there from taking supplies from abandoned homes?" Mom said. "It's like picking fruit from a neighbor's tree leaning into your yard. It doesn't feel right, but why let the fruit they can't reach go to waste or get eaten by animals. We're making sure that nothing is wasted, and that anything that can be used isn't taken by looters."
"We could die," Dad replied. "You could die. What happened to safety above everything else, like wanting us to stay home when it's snowing ash outside?"
"You know that it's different," Mom said. "Yes, there are real safety concerns, and I don't like doing this. Maybe it's hard to tell, but I hate it. But we need to set up our children to survive, and the reward is worth taking these small risks."
"Doesn't it feel wrong--"
"Do you want to tell me the real reason why you're so against this?" Mom asked. "Because I know that it's not about safety or morality."
There was a long pause and a heavy sigh before Dad said, "It's just that you're changing so much, and I feel like I'm falling behind. One day you want safety and the next you're becoming a looter. There's too much change."
"I'm still the same, but just a little different. I want Neal and May and Mira to all live in a stable, normal world, and the only way to do that is to do something abnormal. It's why we have to do this, not them, so that they can at least have a bit of their lives back. We've had fifty good years that they're not going to have, at least not in the same way."
"Okay," Dad said, after a long period of silence. "Let's try this."
"Good," Mom said. "I'll go talk to Mira about this."
She was about to walk out of the door, so I dashed into the bathroom and was about to close the door when I heard Dad say, "I hope you don't lose yourself to all this change."
"I hope you don't lose yourself by staying the same," she said, and their bedroom creaked open as I shut the bathroom door.
I didn't need to use the bathroom, so instead, I reached into the bathroom cabinet and shuffled through all the magazines that we had taken out for May's spa birthday. After a while of flipping through random Costco magazines or old celebrity drama ones, I found the one that I was looking for: the one with the model with the dreamy eyes and the chiseled jawline.
I feel like I should be more liberated because my attraction isn't a secret anymore. But instead, I just feel the heavy weight of guilt on too many levels. I feel guilty that I'm fantasizing getting lost with this imaginary guy while Charles and his family are trekking through (probably) snow-scaped lands and praying to see the dawn rise another day. I feel guilty that I'm just indulging in this warm feeling while the cold winds bite down upon them and their stomachs twist themselves into circles over starvation. I feel like I should be suffering alongside them too. It's what I deserve.
But I guess somewhere in my mind, I know that Charles wouldn't want me to beat myself up. And another part of me knows that this is all an excuse to not further address my feelings towards guys because I'm too afraid to take the next step.
Even though I really don't want to talk to anyone about this, at least not yet, I kinda counterintuitively also wish to have a mentor to guide me through this. Sure, there are the books, but I feel like all the advice is just too generic to work for me and shape my situation. Maybe there will be better options if I continue to read, and maybe I will find someone like me.
But for right now, the only person here for me is trapped between these glossy pages, an unreachable fantasy right at my fingertips.
October 4
A family showed up at our doorsteps this afternoon.
Mom was stewing up a broth, a nice change from the thin soup that we had been eating for what feels like forever, and the air smelled of the last pork that we would ever eat. Dad was lifting firewood from the basement and up since our living room stock was running out, and he left little wooden splinters everywhere. The air was frosty, no one talking with each other
But with a sharp knock on the door, we all sprung into action.
May and I hustled Grandma and Grandpa to their rooms, and then we peered out of the backdoor, making sure that no one was standing near the house in the backyard. Because there was no one there, we unlocked the door for easy escape, and after that, we sat behind the wall out of sight of the front door.
I saw that Mira went into her room and grabbed her pistol. I thought that Mom might freak out a bit with it being out in our house since that was what she'd normally be like, but when she looked at it, she nodded at Mira, who was standing at the door, armed and ready. Dad had an axe in his hand while Mom had the electric lighter in her pocket along with a spray bottle of cleaning fluid. Even though I knew that they were overreacting, since what robber or looter would knock and ruin their advantage of surprise, I guess in this world we live in, we always have to be careful.
"Who is it?" Dad shouted through the closed door.
"Please, we mean no harm," a man shouted through the door. "We just have a proposition."
"We're not interested," Dad said.
"Just listen to us," the man said. "I promise that it'll be worth your time."
"We. Us," Dad said softly to Mom and Mira. "That means there's more than one person out there."
"I think we should at least consider their offer," Mira said.
"I don't think your decision-making skills are the sharpest," Dad said. "Consider who you helped to take food away from--"
"Stop," Mom said. "We don't need any more of this. Right now, we need to project a united front. We need to hear them out, and make a decision."
"Let's order them away from the door," Dad said. "Hands up. Mira, go look from behind the curtains as they back up to make sure nothing is happening, like hand signalling."
"I'll look through the other window," Mom said. "Just to scope the surroundings."
"If you see anything," Dad said. "Get away from the windows as fast you can--"
"We know, Dad," Mira said.
Mira and Mom got into position as Dad gripped the axe handle tighter, as he shouted, "Step away from the door, and put any weapons you have down and your hands up. Once you've reached the bottom of the stairs, we can talk."
There was a solid few seconds of silence as Dad looked at Mira and Mom to see if they noticed anything. Both of them shook their heads as they looked at Dad, and when Mira gave him the thumbs up that they were complying with the orders, Dad turned the door knob and stepped outside. "What do you guys want?"
"My name is Tim," the man said. "I'm an engineer. With enough supplies, I can help repair and rewire the solar panels on your roof so that they'll feed into your home instead of the now-dead grid. Even though it's cloudy right now, the panels will produce a decent amount of energy, enough to power the lights and get some heat."
"I'm a doctor," a woman said softly, her voice somewhat getting lost in the wind. "Flu season is coming up soon, and with everyone weakened, we're all going to be more vulnerable to getting sick."
"What do you guys want?" Dad asked.
"Shelter," the man said. "Permanent one. We don't care if it's in the garage or a small space, anything will work for us."
"What happened to your original home?"
"We lost it in the initial tidal waves," he said, which meant that his family must've been one of the wealthy that live along the coastline. "The current situation in the original homeless shelters are untenable and unstable, not suitable for raising my son in, and we're looking for something safer."
"Why don't you just stay in one of those abandoned homes?" Dad asked. "There are hundreds of them around."
"It's because of the ash," the man said. "Most of the homes are broken into, and there's ash everywhere, blown in through the shattered windows, and it'll be impossible to clean up without significant effort."
"You could always--" Dad was saying before he was cut off by the woman.
"We need food," she said, and I could hear the faint scolding of the man. "Let's cut through all this delaying and questioning and get to the point.
"We're not running a charity," Dad said and was about to close the door.
"We know," the woman said. "We're offering services in exchange for resources, that's all. Canned and packaged food is limited, and one day, whether it be in a week or a year, you will run out, no matter how hard you conserve. With electricity and heat, you can build greenhouses for food, and my medicinal expertise will help keep you guys healthy. All this ash and hunger can lead to serious changes in your bodies, and I will be able to help."
Dad thought about it for a few moments before looking back at Mom and Mira, who both tentatively nodded their heads. He then looked outside. "Come back in three days, and we'll talk about it."
They waved goodbye before Dad firmly closed the door and turned the lock, making a heavy click. May and I emerged from our hiding places, and we all convened at the dining room, except for Mira, who stayed at the window to get a view of the outside, just in case this was an elaborate trap or scheme.
"I don't trust them," Dad said.
"I don't either," Mom added. "But what they're offering is invaluable. Imagine the ability to grow crops or stay warm--"
"Let's not get caught in our dreams," Dad said. "They must've offered this to at least a few dozen homes already. Why hasn't anyone taken it?"
"No one can spare the food," Mom said. "But we can, and with a functioning greenhouse, not just our small greenbox, we'll be able to make enough food to survive far past than a dozen cans will take us."
"What if this is a trap?" Dad countered, remaining skeptical. "Maybe they want to gauge how much food we have and mark our house to be looted. It's the exact scam that solicitors use, where they knock on your door to get a feel of the inside, before choosing to rob it at night."
"Then, let's not make it a trap," Mira said, her voice a bit distant since she was still standing by the window, probably looking out of the curtains. "I trust them, just like I trusted the Shepards and everything worked out, but since you both don't, we can move the food from the pantry into the closet next to your mattress, so that it'll be impossible for them to open the door without you noticing if they break in at night"
"If it's a scam," May added, joining the conversation. "We can look at the cans and figure out which one has the lowest calories and give it to them when making the trade, so that even if we lose food, we're not losing that much."
"Both of those are good ideas," Mom said.
"See, this is what happens when you actually listen to us," May said.
"But we're proceeding as if we actually trust them," Dad replied. "We should've tested them on their knowledge or at least gotten an address for where they live. Let's give it a night to think about before we make any hasty decisions."
All of us scoffed at the same time. Dad was the person that always made hasty decisions, and never looked back on them because he was always so stubborn. But now, when the choice has turned against him, it seems that he's had a sudden change of heart. Not like it matters anyways, since we all know that he isn't going to win.
All the talk about food led me to check out the pantry to see how our supplies were doing. Mom and Dad banned me from seeing the pantry after what I did, but they weren't nearby, and I was curious about the situation.
I stared at the pantry. While I've been there many times to grab food for Charles and sneak a few cans out, I never actually stopped to actually look at the pantry. Our food supplies were seriously dwindling, maybe around seven hundred cans left along with some miscellaneous bags of beans and rice. What was once jam packed with food, nearly bursting through the seams, was now emptying out, with maybe three months worth of food left if we eat one can a day before starvation sets in.
Three months seems like a long time, but it's about as long as summer break and everyone knows how fast that passes. I guess I was so occupied with contemplating this that I didn't notice Dad stepping in behind me.
"Are you regretting it?" he asked. "The pantry is nearly empty."
I shrugged and stepped aside. "I lied on the numbers for the tally. There's more food in the pantry than the tally states."
Dad looked a little surprised. "I'll do a recount tomorrow."
"What do you want from me?"
"You know that you're not supposed to be here," Dad said, stepping in front of me and blocking my view of the pantry. "Are you planning on giving the new family food now?"
"Can you just drop this?" I said and started walking away because I was done with Dad's pride and just general annoyingness.
But I was surprised when I felt Dad's hand on my shoulder. "Hey, look. I'm-- I'm sorry."
That felt more like a Dad apology, and I could hear the strain and difficulty in his voice as he choked out that response. But Dad also does that when Mom tells him to, as seen by his apology to Leon and Mira, so I just stood there, brushing his hand off my shoulder before standing some distance away from him.
"Is that you speaking or Mom?" I asked. "Because I knew that your apology to Leon was Mom-directed."
"I've got to fix these hear-through walls," Dad muttered before focusing back on the topic at hand. "And no. It's all from me."
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?" Dad said. "That's all you have to say."
"Yeah."
"Then, why do I know that you're still mad at me?" Dad asked. "I don't know what you're going through, but you need to talk it out with me."
But the thing that I wanted to say was that I can't talk to him. I guess it's just something that I inherited from him, and probably something that he inherited from his dad since I know he's not an outwardly emotional person either. Just like Dad has Mom to confess whenever he's emotional and needs to recenter, I have my diary, where all my thoughts and feelings can stay safely with myself. I tried emotional honesty with Charles and went fine, and I'm still working on it with Mira, but I'm not ready to do this with Dad, not in a positive, building manner. I guess, in some way, that I'm continuing this dynasty of emotional withdrawal.
So instead, I just shrugged and said, "Whatever."
Dad took that as a positive sign because I wasn't smoldering at him. "So everything's good and forgiven."
"I don't know," I said.
I guess Dad feels genuinely sorry about this, and I guess I have to accept his apology since I'm going to be stuck in this house with him and Mom forever. But I don't know if I necessarily forgive him. I don't think I'll ever be able to fully do that.
He was willing to let my best friend and family starve, and their only way to escape it was a risky, extremely dangerous trip that would likely end up in death. I can only hope that the ash storm that's blanketing our town hasn't hit wherever they are. If so, their car would be broken down, and they'd have to make the rest of the gruelling journey on foot as frost begins to form and the ground freezes over.
I feel guilty all around right now. I feel guilty about my whole situation with Mom and Dad because they've done so much for me, and the least that I could do is just say that they are forgiven. I think it might be what Charles wants too. Just like how I wished he'd move on, maybe he wished for the same for me, and that I'd be betraying him by being so angry at Mom and Dad. At the same time, I feel like I have an obligation to be angry because it's the only way that I can show that I care. Well that and crying, but no matter how much time passes, those tears just aren't coming out.
Anger is all that I have left.
October 5
It looks like we're going to be taking Tim and his family's offer, but with a couple of disclaimers for safety.
Dad was still somewhat against it. "We cannot trust them. It's just too convenient and too dangerous."
"We're never going to trust them. We can only trust family," Mom said. "But we cannot let this opportunity go. Moving is not an option, and we need to make the best with all that remains here. It's our best chance to make it next summer."
"Where are we going to shelter them?" Dad asked. "It'll be far too easy for them to betray us if they stay at our house."
"The Hunters' place," I said. "I know that you don't like using their house, but I don't think they're coming back. I don't think anyone's coming back, so we might as well use it."
I noticed that Dad was about to protest, the emphatic "no" nearly slipping out of his mouth, but after a stern look from Mom and an awkward pause, he said, "Okay. That works."
"We can clear out the place," Mom said. "And bring everything that they own here. We don't want this family to get anything that they could use against us. Just because they'll be our closest neighbors doesn't mean that we need to be very open."
"I'll clear out the house," Dad said. "In the meantime, we also have more to do to secure our supplies. The medicine cabinets need to be cleared with the medicines hidden. The axe needs to find a secure location, along with any knives. I also was thinking how we can test their trust. Let's leave out a couple of cans on the counter. Whenever they enter our house, we'll see if those cans mysteriously disappear, and that's when we will know that they aren't to be trusted. That's my condition for agreeing."
"Fine with me," Mom said.
"What about the gun?" May asked. "If they're able to get to it--"
"We can keep it empty," Mira replied. "I think it'll be fine because a gun is a powerful statement by itself, and we haven't gotten to the point where ammo is scarce. It'll also be less of a death risk in case of an accident."
"That's good," Mom said.
"Okay," Mira said. "I can keep all the ammo for safe keeping with the Shepards--"
"No," Mom said. "We're not going to let the ammo go. We should find a good hiding place, somewhere we know that they won't snoop and be accessible for use when needed. Also, how much ammo do the Shepards have?"
"Why?"
"Is there any way to get more?" Mom asked.
"Mom, I'm not going to trick them into giving me more ammo," Mira said. "That's, like, stealing. We can't backstab the people that we trust."
"We need to be careful that they won't do that to us in the future," Mom said, her classic cynicism returning as Mira looked a bit disappointed since it seemed like Mom was making important steps towards trusting others in the past few days.
After that, we broke up and started preparing for their arrival by moving the medicine to storage cabinets near the beds so that they wouldn't be taken as easily and giving the axe to Grandpa and Grandma to guard under their watchful eyes. The ammo got dumped in a special location, one that I cannot reveal in this journal in case the new family gets ahold of it, while our can trap got set up. Last week was a flurry of unfortunate events colliding and throwing us into chaos, but now, we are working together as a team against a common enemy. Or friend. I'm not really sure what that family is right now.
At that moment, I realized that it's been a week since Charles left town. When I started thinking about September 28th, I had a hard time remembering all of the details of that day, some of the conversations and memories lipping away and crumbling to ash. I couldn't even remember a single full conversation that I had with Charles when we were building the sandcastle kingdom, only tiny little snippets that were quickly disappearing, like dewdrops in the morning light.
It's terrifying how time passes so quickly, and how the way you find out is when actual people that you know turn into ghosts. It's like you think that your memory of them is solid, but when you actually attempt remembering and recalling all the details, all you're left with is a transparent wisp of who they were. No matter how hard you try, it's inevitable that the forgetting begins to start.
I guess that's the reason that I'm scared of opening the letter. On the day that he left, I had no desire to open it, but every passing day, I'd been more and more tempted to just rip it open and see what he wrote. But every time that I thought about that, I felt guilty about how I'd be disrespecting his final wish for me.
But now, on the day that he told me to open the letter, all that desire has just disappeared and been replaced with fear. I'm scared about what's in the letter. He said that the letter was full of words that he couldn't tell me to my face, so he had to write them down and be far away from here before I read it. I'm hoping that this is just a joke, an elaborate prank so that I'll never forget his humor, but given how serious the letter is, I don't think that it is the case.
I'm worried that this letter, probably filled with something so hurtful that it's the reason why he could tell that to me on that magical, bittersweet day, will tarnish and scar the memories that I had with him. I'm already forgetting it one piece at a time, and if the letter completely changes everything that happened on September 28th, I'm worried that I'll never be able to see the good on that day again. I'm scared that I might change who I see Charles as because I can't lose my best friend, even if he's not here anymore.
That's why I'm leaving the letter to the side. I think this is going to end up to be a self-fulfilling loop, where the more I wait, the more I forget, and the more I don't want to open the letter, but right now, I'm just not ready to face his truth.
Even though he's gone, the ghost of his friendship remains here, sitting in the folds of my diary and nestled within the jar of rocks looking over me.