November 24
Something just feels off, like that weird sensation you feel the day before getting the symptoms of the flu or cold.
But I don't think I'm sick, even if I'm a bit nauseous right now, since it's probably all the food that we had eaten yesterday. Honestly, I thought I'd be starving today given that going back to our starvation diets after gorging ourselves would probably be torture, but I actually wasn't that hungry at all. I don't know if it's because I'm still full or if it's a bit of subconscious guilt for our lavish feast yesterday.
Much of the morning was spent wiping down the floors for filled wine and crusted flecks of fish that had begun to fill the air with a bit of a rancid odor. Because today wasn't particularly windy, and there wasn't any ashfall, Mom decided to open the windows to clear out the smells, which I could tell were making all of us nauseous, something that we probably should avoid since we don't want to waste calories throwing up.
In between picking up dishes from the floor and pushing the tub filled with water closer to the fireplace so that we can begin scooping and heating the water for the greenhouse, Mira approached me, rubbing her forehead.
"Are you hungover?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's bad. I swear I didn't drink that much. I think I lost all my alcohol tolerance," she replied with a loud groan, plopping herself down into the corner of the mattress with a loud thud. "God, I'd take an ibuprofen right now, but we can't waste any medicine. My headache should clear up in a couple hours anyways."
"Well, best of luck," I said, as she helped me transport bowls to our washing station. "Wait, do you even remember anything from last night?"
"I'm embarrassed, but everything from then is a blur," she said, vaguely gesturing around. "All I remember are the lights, and vague recollections of singing and dancing."
"Oh, well, you probably won't remember that I had told you so that this would happen," I responded as I kneeled down and began drying the dishes that she was scrubbing. "You were saying some crazy stuff while you were drunk."
"Oh God, was I pitching ideas while I was drunk? I swear if I messed up all the work that I had put earlier in the–"
"You actually went and pitched ideas?" I asked while she was swatting a couple of floating bubbles, letting them drift towards the fireplace, the light flashing on their iridescent halos, as if they were ephemeral angels.
She turned and faced me, splashing a bit of soapy water onto my ratty sweater in her excitement. "Yeah, and it actually went amazing. Couldn't get people sold on the tidal electrical generation, but I'm beginning to form a diplomacy council. Mrs. Johnson is sold on it, Mrs. Xiao's a bit more ambivalent but I'm still winning over her, and I know Mom and Dad might get mad, but I've invited Mrs. Weaver onto it. It's time that we end the conflict between our families and work for the greater good, and they've already apologized by installing a water collection barrel for our house. I didn't get much of an opportunity to talk to Caspian's mom since the vibes weren't right, but I'll reach her."
"That sounds great, but, I don't know, I guess what about the Shepards, you know?" I asked, looking down while wiping down my dishes because I felt bad for popping the bubble of her big community plan. "I mean, I guess I'm just worried about creating a group that doesn't really have the big powerbrokers on it. Might make it a bit awkward."
But she took it surprisingly well, shrugging her shoulders casually. "I really respect the Shepards, but they're too trigger happy sometimes. It's good when we need to defend people because we shouldn't hesitate, but we need level-headed people manning diplomatic relations. I've thought about having Mom on it since she's a tough negotiator and gets things done, but I know it'll look bad that I'm skewing it too much in favor of our family. And I know we're supposed to be a unit, but I just want a chance to be able to prove it to Mom and Dad that I'm right."
"Well, when are you guys starting?"
"Now?" she said, with a bit of a laugh. "It's crazy that I came up with all of this and totally forgot to figure out when we should start. That's why you're here. I know we have to start early, but I've thought about this in such ambiguous terms that I haven't finalized all the details."
"What about creating, like, protocols for diplomacy, like what we should do if we meet new people, what we should offer up, and, like, how we should vote on diplomatic stuff. I don't know because I agree that it's hard to create stuff when we haven't met another group, but I don't know. I wish that I had done Model UN or something because I'd probably know that better."
"No, I think those are great ideas. Let me just jot these down on my invisible notebook," Mira said, goofily gesturing in the air with an exaggerated pen motion, which made me smile a bit in amusement. "We definitely need to train to be on the same page so that everything runs smoothly during first contact–"
"Why does it sound like we're talking about aliens?" I said a bit jokingly. "'First contact' and, like, creating a communication protocol, as if we don't speak the same language, and all that–"
Mira laughed a bit. "I know. It's so weird, and I feel terrible laughing about it, but it's hard to figure out what people are thinking about these days. I just don't want to over-create protocols, and strip away all sense of humanity. We've all got fundamentally the same values, even if all this wants to pit us against each other."
"Wow, that's very hopeful. Definitely crazier than anything you said last night."
"Okay, what is this crazy thing that I said last night?" she said with a smile. "Did it have something to do with Charles?"
My face immediately fell because she wasn't supposed to know that I had opened Charles' letter since I'm certain that I heard her snoring loudly last night, inebriated to the point where anything less than a volcano erupting in our background wouldn't wake her up. Of course, she could have been faking sleeping, but that's not something she'd do, or maybe, because I was hallucinating from being up close to 22 hours, I hallucinated her sleeping.
That means she would have seen me crying over the letter, and everything will be awkward from now until forever (or however long I have left) because there's anger and there's crying. It's easier to forget and brush off the former, but the latter lingers in the air of every conversation in people's words and the concern in their eyes, carrying the burden of your grief in their memories. It's like Mira has bigger dreams to worry about, and the most selfish thing that I could do to her is take her energy away from it to worry about me, even if I didn't mean to do it.
Even though I managed to regain my composure after a solid handful of seconds being totally shell-shocked, the best answer I could offer was a stuttered, "Huh?"
I could tell that she noticed my visible reaction before she turned around and pointed at the torn envelope cover that I had left on the countertop in my exhaustion and sadness from yesterday. "I noticed that it was out this morning. I thought it might've been some good news because things were so great yesterday, but I–"
"It was pretty good. He just told me about his family's plan for moving, just to provide a guide for us in case we have to move and let me know that they're going to be alright. And some cool puns. That's all," I lied, putting on my cheeriest voice and breathing a heavy sigh of relief inside.
Because I didn't want to talk about this with her, I rapidly pivoted to a different topic. "Also, the crazy thing that you were telling to me, at least, was that I should dance with Caspian on the floor, which was kinda absurd, you know."
"Oh? Did I? That's the crazy thing you were thinking about?"
"Yeah, that's because it's crazy," I replied. "I told you so that you'd probably have sent me on some disaster path with your drunk advice."
"Well, I stand by my drunk advice as my sober, albeit hungover self," she said. "Luckily enough, if May wants to organize it again, you'll get another chance."
"Yeah, I think you're still drunk," I said, as I finished drying the dishes before standing up and walking away, heading to Mom and Dad's room to fold up the shuffleboard and pick up all the hoops for croquet, hoping for a bit of peace. Unfortunately, as soon as I exited the room with the croquet kit in hand, I faced an ambush.
"Remember what's happening soon?" May asked as we stacked board games in Mom and Dad's room, which has now been transformed into a de-facto storage room with the garage occupied with food and wood.
"What?" I said, genuinely confused.
"I know you know what's happening," she replied, and then I figured out what she was talking about: the pre-scheduled scavenging expedition for the Shepards that I've been procrastinating coming up with an excuse to cover for her.
"I literally have no idea what you're talking about," I said, feigning ignorance as I attempted to turn into a ghost and disappear. Unfortunately for me, I'm not that attuned with the supernatural.
"And I thought you were good at memorization," she retorted back. "It's obviously the Shepards' event, you know. And don't tell me you don't know what that means because I'll know you're lying."
"What about it?" I said. "I thought you weren't doing all that anymore with event planning and all–"
"When did I ever say that?" she replied. "Yeah, planning stuff is fun, but if no one else is stepping up for this actually serious thing, then I'll have to be the adult. Plus, I've received enough praise yesterday that I'm willing to do the dirty work for no credit since you all are being super annoying."
"Well, I think I've got something with Caspian," I responded, completely lying.
"What do you mean 'I think?'" May replied. "And with Caspian? Seriously? He can't lie to save his own life. If that's your plan, I'm going to give you an F for it."
"That's why it'll work. No one thinks that he lies, so I can just do all the talking, and he'll just back me up."
"Did he even agree to do this?" she said, crossing her arms.
I shrugged. "He'll come around, I think. I don't know. I'll talk to him about it later."
"Well, get it done now," she said. "He'll probably agree with whatever you say anyways. Actually. Why don't we just go and meet him right now since I've got the doctor's appointment today?"
There's no way that I could face him today. Maybe if I hadn't confessed that I'm opening Charles' letter, it'd be easier, well, easier doesn't even cover it–it'd be like a normal day. But I know that he'll ask about it, and I wasn't sure how much I should tell. Would it be better to tell him the nice story that I had told Mira, the one that'll fulfill his wishes but crush him if he found out that I had lied to him, or the painful truth that I had promised? He'd already dealt with so much hurt, some of which I know but most of it left untold, and I wasn't sure whether the truth or lie would hurt him less. In hindsight, I wish that I had never told him and spread my hurt, but at that moment, I had to face a tough dilemma that I wasn't ready to confront.
"I'm not in the mood to leave. Take Mira or Mom instead."
"Why? Did you two break-up or something?" May replied, and I rolled my eyes even as my body inadvertently tensed up because I couldn't tell if May knew, kind of like Mira, or whether this was one of her sarcastic barbs.
"It just feels wrong to make him lie," I said, so half-heartedly that I knew that she bought not one word of what I said, and to be honest, it was a bit on purpose. I knew that I couldn't afford making May think that things were off, so despite the impending doom and anxiety churning in my stomach, I just had to face that conservation.
"It was your idea, not mine," May said, as she practically pranced out of the door, with me chasing behind her, still groggy and feeling slightly nauseous, though I chalked that up to my nerves and that terrible fish odor. I don't think that I'm ever getting used to eating fish at every meal once the last of the canned meats runs out, but, at the rate that our catch is getting depleted, maybe I wouldn't even get the chance to force myself to adjust to fish.
It's like we're slowly creeping towards becoming the Donner Party, the cold ash piling up outside of the makeshift trash-can and car barriers erected, forming pillowy mounds like the Sierra peaks that had trapped them in the frozen valley. Once the nets finally go dry, only filled with rotting seaweed and slimy gunks of probably inedible algae and maybe, if we're lucky, some barnacle covered stones, we'll be faced with the same dilemma as they did. But I guess human flesh is supposed to taste more like chicken than fish, so maybe it won't be so hard. That felt so wrong to write.
"Oh hey, you're early," Caspian said, answering pretty much as soon as we knocked on the door. "I thought you were signed up for tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, May has her appointment today," I said, pointing at her as she lowered her mask and gave her signature villain smile. "So I thought I'd just swing by."
"Yeah, no problem," he replied. "I'm going to take your sister in. Help my mom a bit with some of the initial measurements, but I'll be back in a bit. Just wait in the hallway."
"Yeah, totally," I said before moving in and awkwardly leaning against the wall. It's weird that I instinctively reached for my pocket for my phone even though I haven't had one with me for half a year. I wonder when I'll unlearn this habit and lose another part of my connection to the world before, however small.
As I was waiting around, chuckling at some of the posters that Caspian had pointed out the previous time, something that I hadn't noticed before caught my eye. Besides the door were small pencil etchings, beginning with a plain gray down low before gradually evolving into sparkly purples and pinks that turned black and then stopped, and when I took a closer look, I saw that they were markings for height: 2 months, 3 months, 6 months, 1 year, 4 years, 2922 days (probably some eight-year old being clever), 1 decade, 13 years. It must've been something left behind by the Hunters, the memory of them still lingering in these walls even if we've transformed the rest of the home.
"Oh, wow. I never noticed that," Caspian said, sneaking up on me and tracing these pencil marks upwards, catching a couple glitter flakes coating the pink star commemorating the 1 decade mark,
"Did you guys ever have this?" I asked, attempting to break the ice a bit. "My parents were super against it, but now, I guess it's something cool."
"Same here. Mom was always too paranoid about ruining the walls," he said, rubbing his forehead a bit and grimacing slightly.
"How are you doing?" I asked, a bit concerned. "After partying and dancing all-night."
"I probably should've gotten a little less harder," he said as I laughed alongside him. "Might've sprained a muscle on my leg, but it was worth it. Who knows when else we're going to dance like that?"
"I mean, it might be soon because I think May is thinking about planning something for Christmas," I replied.
"I know, I heard," Caspian replied. "She's recruiting me to her planning committee and kicking you out. Apparently, your ideas weren't up to par, but luckily, she's got me and my amazing ideas–"
"Like a push-up contest or a wrestling tournament?" I said, teasing him a bit.
"Hey, I think we need a good wrestling competition. It'll help relieve tensions between people without causing a civil war," Caspian responded. "I mean, do you see how Mira looks at Dean? It's obvious that they have some conflicts they need to resolve."
"If Dean went against Mira, he'd be dead," I said. "I'd bet twenty dollars– Well, actually, dollars are pretty useless. I'd bet a day's worth of food on that."
"Neal starting a underground fight arena betting operation, that's very rebellious. And illegal," he replied. "Where can I sign up?"
"Unfortunately, this'll never happen," I responded, and there was an awkward period of silence as we both stared at each other, dancing around the subject that we were trying to broach, not about the book that he borrowed but about the letter that I had opened.
In the end, I guess I did something impulsive, something that I probably wouldn't have done with Mom or Dad or May or even Mira, in that I decided to be the one to segue the conversation into a direction that I was uncomfortable with. "I think it's something that Charles would've liked."
"Was he any good?"
"I don't think so. We didn't share a class then," I said, my heart racing as I knew that the inevitable question was coming.
"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I'm taking this as a sign that you opened his letter," he said. "We can go into my room to talk if you want. Dad's out right now, so there's no one really there."
"Umm, yeah sure," I said, and once we reached his bedroom, Caspian stripped off his latex gloves, putting them to the side, and took off his surgical mask. While he was doing that, I noticed that he (unfortunately) hadn't forgotten about the book that he had borrowed from me, sitting there on a night desk with a bookmark in it. I was going to comment about the bookmark when I realized that I probably shouldn't draw too much attention to what I was reading.
"That's more comfortable," he said and splayed all across his head, his hand brushing against my arm, before turning to face me. "Was it good news?"
I shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. It's complicated."
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry," Caspian replied. "I shouldn't have pressured you to–"
"No, it's fine. I was planning on opening it yesterday from the beginning of the day," I said. "It's like something that I had to get done, and I guess I don't really regret opening the letter at all. It's just I don't know."
"What'd he say?" he asked.
"It's nothing," I said, instinctively closing up and preparing to regurgitate the same nice story I had told Mira. But I remembered the vow that I had made yesterday to not repeat the same fatal mistake that I did with Charles. "Well, it's actually something. I guess on the last day, we kind of told each other that we'd not lie about anything that day–it was part of our whole summer bucket list thing–because we'd probably never see each other again. So, like, he wrote this I guess to leave nothing unsaid, you know."
And I suppose at that moment, I was just dancing around the subject, so I plunged in. "And I guess he admitted that he was lying that his family was starving. Well, he wasn't lying about it the entire time, but part of the time when his family became home looters, and, like, not just abandoned home looters, like people home looters, I think."
"Oh, wow, that's a lot to take in. I mean, your universe must feel like its been turned completely upside down–"
"I guess the thing is that it isn't. Well, at least that part isn't," I replied. "I think I've always known all along, and, you know, you've got to do what you've got to do to survive. I know that's a weird thing to say because his family probably hurt a lot of other peoples' families, but still..."
"It's not," Caspian said and then took a deep breath before sighing. "You know how I don't talk about the time between the event and us meeting you guys? It's because, well, we had to do what we had to do to survive, things that I know that Gabe, if he could see me now, would be ashamed of–"
"I'm sure he wouldn't."
"Oh, trust me, he would," Caspian responded. "I'd hope he wouldn't, but it's something that only people here now would understand, having no regrets about surviving. It's why I don't judge people for doing terrible things to make it. We just got lucky that we were able to escape, even if I'd like to think it was skill."
"I mean, your mom was pretty persuasive," I said. "But I guess that's not really what bothered me. It's just that he thought that I'd be angry that he did these things to survive and lied to me and all that, and that's the worst part, you know, the fact that when he thinks of me, he thinks I hate him when I don't really care. Like, I don't know if I'm making any sense, but it's just so frustrating."
"It's not your fault that he feels–"
"But it is," I replied, cutting him off. "I mean, I could've confronted him about it since I already suspected, and we could've cleared the air. Or I could've just been a better friend, you know. I could've done something–anything–to prevent this situation from happening."
"But you couldn't have."
"But–"
"There's nothing that you could've done," Caspian said. "I know that you think there was something that you could've done, but there's nothing you could've done. You did the best that you could then, and that's all that matters."
"But did you do this with Gabe, after it happened?"
"I don't think about that. And you shouldn't either with Charles. It's not a healthy mindset, I've seen it with Dad," Caspain replied confidently, even though I knew that he was blatantly not telling the truth, though I wasn't sure whether he was trapped again in self-denial or under some misguided belief that he needed to protect me. "And I don't want you to feel any guilt. It's just poisonous, and you don't don't deserve it."
"Yeah, I mean that's a nice thing to say. But-" I said.
"No 'buts,'" Caspian said. "Let's just leave it with you praising me. I sure am a nice guy."
"Yeah, sure..." I said, really making sure to draw out the last word for a long couple of seconds, a bit relieved that he had given me an easy out of this difficult conversation, before I heard May shout my name. "Oh, I guess she's done. I guess I'll get going."
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, the mood lightening up. "Going to be the doctor of the day and doing all of the examinations, so I'm excited."
"Wait, what?"
"I'm just teasing," he said. "My mom will be doing it. Unless you feel more comfortable with a male doctor."
"Doctor? That's a bit bold," I replied, though just before I left his room, I peeked my head back in. "Thanks for listening. I guess, I don't know, it's just normally pretty hard to talk about stuff like this."
"Just returning the favor," he replied.
And just before I was about to leave, I remembered that I had forgotten the entire purpose of my visit to Caspian's place: the excuse. But when I stopped and turned back, watching him put on his surgical mask and gloves, his eyes briefly wagging up as they met mine, I knew that I just couldn't ask that of him. Asking him to lie, it's just too much pressure, and it'd ruin the moment between us. I can't betray another friend.
When I stepped into the hallway, I could see that May was looking at me weirdly, and I knew that she probably overheard the conversation. It's something that she'd do, but we didn't talk about that as we made our way back, making our way through the cloudy fog of ash that has enveloped our community, which reminds me that I probably should scrub down the plastic sheeting for the greenhouse. I bet that it's already stained and coated thick with dust, even though I know that it hasn't been too long since the last time that Dad washed it.
"So, did you get the excuse done?" she asked once we out of earshot of everyone that we could see behind the haze.
"Yeah," I lied. "We've got a plan. The less you know, the better. Just don't let yourself get seen by Mom and Dad."
She rolled her eyes. "Duh. You didn't need to tell me that. I need details, like, literally right now. Like, how are you going to get around the schedule?"
"We'll swap with whoever you're assigned to work with. I don't know," I replied, a bit exasperated with all of this. "I'll get it done."
While we were walking through the mist, we were approached by a shadow. "Neal? Is that you?"
"Yeah," I said, recognizing Mr. Johnson's voice. "I'm here with May."
"What a delightful coincidence," Mr. Johnson, holding a bag out, now filled with name tags and sticky notes. "I anticipated spending a long while searching for you two, but it appears that the universe must've just guided me in the right direction. Here's all of the seeds and roots, labeled with more information to the best of our ability. Some of them that we are not certain about are marked in red, but I have faith that our knowledge is strong."
"Yeah, thanks for this. It'll really help a bunch," I said, clutching the bags of seeds and roots close to my chest.
"Of course it's only been a day, but have you considered–"
"We're still cleaning up and stuff, so I haven't really gotten around to it," I said, cutting Mr. Johnson off, though I could tell that May already knew what was up as her eyes shifted from him to me. "I'll see you later in the week, though, right? Hopefully, we find a bunch of acorns or something."
"Yes, I have faith that we'll be blessed with this gift," Mr. Johnson said. "We've worked hard to earn it. Best wishes now and have a blessed day."
"Have a blessed day too," May said loudly, her voice dripping with sarcasm that I don't think Mr. Johnson noticed as he disappeared into the fog. "God, they are such weirdos."
"Don't say that. They're pretty nice and helpful," I responded.
"Well, I think their whole 'god and blessing' stuff is so fake, and I have literally no idea why you trust them. These wild seeds could be for, like, poisonous plants, like cyanide–"
"Cyanide isn't a plant," I replied. "And anyways, they could've just kept these for themselves, maybe used them as a bargaining chip in the future or to start a new, illicit greenhouse, but instead they gave these to us. I don't know what else could be, like, a greater show that they actually trust us than this."
"You're so naive," May said. "Everyone is playing a game right now. We're all pretending to be polite and trusting so that we can backstab each other if things get worse."
"Is that really what happened yesterday?" I replied. "That people were just faking happiness, that everyone dancing and singing terrible karaoke covers is just people trying to gain each others' trust to betray later instead of, I don't know, the obvious answers like community bonding and sharing."
"Just wait and you'll see that I'm right," May responded. "You just don't understand people like I do."
By the time that we came back, the house was transformed back to normal, with the only evidence that there was even the Thanksgiving party being the little bits of glitter that would occasionally flicker with the twisting flames from the fireplace. And we settled right back into the same routines as before: replacing the warm water in the greenhouse, spraying the plants with a bit of mist, lounging around before dinner to not waste energy. However, despite the monotony of returning back to our usual schedules, there was an electric atmosphere.
"We're officially on top," Mom said as she cooked dinner, a soupy corn and string bean mixture, seasoned with a pinch of garlic, not really for the taste but more for the aesthetic of seasoning. "I've been talking with the neighbors about the Thanksgiving feast, and everyone's talking about it and asking if we could host it again for Christmas. We should be safe for now, and we've got some power over the Shepards now."
"Let's not get too excited," Dad replied. "I checked the schedule, and they've got a scavenging mission coming up, which'll help them a lot. We're not going to sabotage it, that would be stupid, but we've got to do something–"
"I agree with Dad on that," Mira responded. "I think we need a vision to sell to people."
"We promise what everyone wants: security and safety," Mom said, and Dad nodded.
"But that's exactly what the Shepards are promising, and they've got the guns to back it up," Mira replied, and I could see the visible surprise on Mom's face. "I mean, you can learn. It's probably better if we all learn, but we can't offer the same vision as the Shepards. With our new power, we've got to set the tone while we can."
"And what does that look like?" Mom asked. "And what is your plan?"
"Our future is right here," Mira said and pointed at the board of ideas, the whiteboard that is our crowning achievement. "This is the dream. C'mon, Mom. We took a big risk with Thanksgiving and look at how it paid off, so now it's time to ride the momentum and get more built. For one, we could begin to expand the greenhouse to other houses–"
"Absolutely not," Dad said. "It's the one thing that's–"
"Keeping us in the community. Well not anymore after this event, like you guys said," Mira replied. "It's the only way we're going to make it through the spring and beyond. We've just got to scale up, teach other people, and–"
"We'll think about it," Mom said, and we knew that it was the end of that conversation. All ideas die with additional thought, and I knew that this idea would be chucked into the cellar like all of Mira's plans and Mom's goals.
I was about to just go on another faux philosophical diatribe, but I'm not feeling too great, probably the hunger pangs that are just beginning to appear, and I think there's a reason why I'm tempted to write all this filler. Once again, I feel like I'm dodging the questions that are haunting me about Charles' letter, but this time, it's not about what's contained in the letter but about why he left?
I mean, yeah, the South is better and his family had no food and so on, but that's not the right "why" that's bothering me. I don't want to think about it, even as the thought has bounced around in my mind all day, because I know that I'll get angrier and angrier, all at my best friend who's probably out there, barely scraping by despite my best hopes. Still, I wonder why he left so quickly, why he didn't trust me enough to be able to convince Mom and Dad to be able to give their family enough food, why we couldn't have come to some agreement, like we did with Caspian's family. I know that I'm not the most persuasive person–I've only won a single round and lost the other four in the only debate tournament that I've entered–but I could've made it work.
I think this all circles back to the betrayal that really stings, not being "lied to" (I think he's being a bit harsh on himself) for months–I really could care less about that–but that he didn't know that I'd fight to make it work and will it to work. Of course, the more rational part of me knows that he probably fought for me and that his parents made the final decision and it didn't help that Mom and Dad totally blew up, but I wonder, if on our last day, I had been honest and told him that he was family to me that he'd convince his parents to say.
It's weird how every day, I oscillate between thinking it was best that he left and wishing that he'd stay, maybe more to the former than the latter as time passes. And I know that all these decisions have already been made and that maybe I actually had a healthier mindset yesterday, but I just can't help feeling angry because it's ultimately my fault that he never truly knew until it was too late.
I think I should stop writing. My hands are quivering, and this rush of anger is making the pangs of hunger transform into cramps.
November 25
So sick right now.
Hospital is completely full. Everyone from the family except Mira is sick. Not sure about other families because they're in the emergency beds.
Threw up all morning, and the clinic smelled gross because people couldn't make it to the bathroom in time. Everything's a blur. I wonder if I'm hallucinating this entry. Maybe this pencil isn't even in my hand.
Maybe I'm dying. But it's weird that I'm not panicking. Maybe it's because I always envisioned myself going out starving or in a gunfight or something more dramatic that it feels impossible to think about dying to a stomach bug (or whatever this is).
Going to sleep now. I'm sweating and my forehead is throbbing and I might vomit. Just needed to jot this down for some reason.
November 28
I couldn't help but feel disappointed when I woke up this morning.
I think it's because, after a couple days of tossing and turning and staggering to the bathroom on repeat, I've finally been able to get a good sleep. While I can't remember what I exactly dreamt of, I do remember listening to the chirping of crickets and feeling warm, though maybe that's because I'm wrapped in a blanket, and everything just felt so right. And then I opened my eyes and whatever fantasy I was dreaming of popped, trapping me back in reality, as I attempted to decipher what I was talking about in the entry from yesterday.
"You're awake," Caspian said. "Mom, we've got the first waker."
"It's Dr. Cooper, not Mom, since we're working," Caspian's mom said before asking me to open my mouth, sticking in a thermometer and pulling it down. "You've still got a slight fever, but it's been down compared to yesterday."
I sat up as Caspian brought me a blue liquid, which looked like gatorade, along with a couple of pills. "You need to drink some gatorade and take these two pills. They'll help control the fever and make sure you're not going to run to the bathroom every ten minutes."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, still extremely groggy, before sipping the drink and popping in those two pills, too tired and hungry to spit out the gatorade since normally, I'd abhor drinking it. I then grabbed my glasses to see who else was with me.
Mom, Dad, May, Grandpa, and Grandma were all in the room with me along with Mr. Xiao and Mrs. Weaver. In the next room, at least from what I overheard, the Johnsons were there along with someone who I'm fairly certain is Dean since I saw James popping in every once in a while across the day and visiting the room.
Despite their best efforts, the air of the clinic still had notes of fecal matter in the air and a bit of an acidic tinge smothered under the aggressively floral Febreze scent. There was also this chlorine-like smell that wafted through the room whenever Caspian mopped the floor, probably with a bleach and water mixture to kill whatever bacteria may have splattered across the floor. Luckily enough for me, most people were also getting better and were able to hold down the anti-diarrheal pills so there were many less accidents compared to the first couple of days.
"You should go back to sleep, get some rest," Caspian said, and with my thoughts and vision refocused, I could see the bags underneath his eyes and sense the weary smile underneath his mask. "I'm not sure if you remember, but you threw up all over me a couple of days ago."
"Well, I don't really remember anything," I said, too embarrassed to tell him the truth because the thing is that even though most of my memories of the past few days are fuzzy (including this supposed vomiting incident) and the scribbles that I jotted down while I was in the throes of whatever are totally unreadable, there was a single memory that I remember in sharp detail.
I think it was later in the night or maybe the evening because the fire was glowing extra bright, soaking the room with an orange glow. I remember feeling the cool rag on my forehead that cut through my feverish dreaming where my body felt like it was being boiled alive. And I could hear his words, half-spoken, half-whispered, probably to avoid waking the others.
"You're going to make it through this. C'mon, you can fight this. I'm not losing another person, not again."
And I remember feeling his fingers, freezing cold, caressing my sweaty palm. It was a weird sensation because no one had really held my hand like that, and it just felt weirdly comforting and comfortable. I think I must've squeezed his hand a bit gently because I think his eyes widened a bit, and I think he was going to say something. But then, there was a sound of retching in the distance and this contact abruptly broke as the rest of the night dissolved into a blur of vague memories that only get more distant and confusing the more I think about them.
When I woke up in the afternoon, everything was quiet except for Caspian's mom, who was talking to Caspian about the causes of whatever disease that swept throughout our community, which she isn't certain about, though she has some strong suspicions. Basically, her initial suspicion was refeeding syndrome, an issue that she was worried about when we had announced the feast, because a sudden influx in food after eating so little for so long can cause an uncontrolled spike in nutrient uptake. But these symptoms would've emerged during the party, and we weren't experiencing many of the symptoms associated with this, like "cardiovascular or neurological irregularities."
The second suspect was the food, something that she had warned about earlier on, but it's not really clear how it could've been infected with salmonella or some other food-borne bacteria. Even if the ocean had contaminated the fish and shellfish, we all fully cooked all the dishes and screened out any rotting or really dead seafood that may have gotten trapped in the net, meaning that it's unlikely that we got sick from the seafood dishes. Maybe a couple of dead mussels or something came through since it's difficult to tell if they're alive or not, but then, we should've gotten a lot sicker. All I can say though is that we were lucky that none of the shellfish were contaminated with that bacteria that causes paralysis because that would've been bad.
Still, because the food was the most likely suspect, Caspian's mom has been wanting to interview all of us to figure out what dishes we had eaten during dinner in an attempt to figure out the source of contamination. Her last major suspect would be the water, especially since our symptoms aligned well with water-borne illnesses, like giardia or E. coli, but I'd imagine that it'd be difficult to trace who drank from which batch of boiled water, and only a couple of us played the ball dunking game.
"We need to put petri dishes on the scavenging list," she said to Caspian, who jotted something down on his clipboard. "I'm sure the high school has it, and I can rig up a warm water bath to grow bacterial cultures, and use a microscope or stain to identify the species. Also, make sure that the Shepards look for immodium. We're running low on it, and we can't afford running out unless we find some electrolyte tablets or other treatments for diarrhea."
"The scavenging trip is still on?" I asked.
"It's been pushed back a week until everyone recovers by council vote," Caspian's mom replied. "Half of the community is out, and we can't afford having our strongest members out and leave our defense to college students."
"Council vote?" I asked. "I thought the council only meets on Mondays."
"Monday was yesterday," Caspian's mom replied.
"Oh, yeah," I replied, a bit embarrassed that I had forgotten that I was trapped in a stupor for much longer than my brief memories suggest. "But no one should be able to vote without us there, right?"
"It's complicated," she replied. "You shouldn't need to worry about that stuff now and should be focused on getting more rest and getting stronger."
I shrugged her off, but I guess I was a bit worried because both pieces of news she delivered were less than optimal to say the least. Even though May might be too weak to go on the upcoming scavenging expedition, especially since she's still in the thick of it, I'm still not out of the woods for coming up with an excuse. And something weird is happening with the council voting, especially since no major action really should be happening given that more than half of the community is out sick. But those are laters problems because right after she had left, Dad woke up.
"Neal?"
"Yeah," I responded, looking at Dad, who was pale and weak, before shouting. "Caspian, my dad's awake."
Caspian brought over the gatorade and pills, but Dad suddenly sat up and grabbed the plastic bucket next to the bed and threw up into it, though there was nothing much other than water and some weird chunks of unknown solids. Caspian wiped Dad's mouth with a towel before nudging the pills and gatorade to Dad's mouth, though it was clear that Dad was refusing, maybe out of pride, maybe because he didn't want to waste precious resources.
"C'mon, Dad, just take the pills," I said. "You're not going to get better if you stop taking the medicine."
"Oh, Neal, you're awake?" Dad said, clearly somewhat delirious given that I was the one that summoned Caspian to him.
"Yeah, I am. I kinda called Caspian before you threw up on the floor," I said.
"I threw up? Oh, yeah, I did," Dad said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before looking at the pills and blue gatorade bottle, the best flavor. "I'm feeling perfectly fine. I don't need this–"
"Dad, you're dehydrated and probably on your way to getting hallucinations, so please just take the pills and drink the gatorade," I said. "Can you do it for me?"
"Only for you," Dad said, reluctantly grabbing the pills and gulping it down with a sip of gatorade that Caspian had poured into a cup, which was thankfully plastic since Dad dropped it and began clutching his stomach, groaning in pain. "Now, I know what your mom and sister go through during that period of time."
"That's kinda weird, Dad," I said. "You should get some rest."
"I can't. It's all dark waves all the time," Dad said. "Don't you feel everything rolling around? Don't you hear the waves?"
"Not really, I don't," I replied, and it was clear that Dad was hallucinating or experiencing some PTSD or something. [MC has a moral conflict about whether to confront or not]
"Dad, I think you really need help," I said. "After you get better, just one session with Caspian's mom. It's not a lot, but it'll probably help, and it beats living like this, you know."
"Yeah, maybe I do need help," Dad said, drowsy and his words slightly slurred. "Do– Do you think I'm a burden?"
"Huh?" I said, a bit blindsided with his question.
"That I'm just holding us all back? I'm serious, I want the truth, man-to-man, one-on-one."
"No, Dad. Of course not," I said.
"But I'll become one if I do this. I'll be a cripple in all your eyes. Who's going to trust a man in 'therapy' to protect them? I'm going to be the burden you all will carry, and I can't let that happen."
"I don't know. Like, who cares? Like we're a family, you know, and isn't that a thing that every family does?" I replied. "And acknowledgement doesn't make the problem appear or real. I guess it just means that you can finally see what everyone else is seeing, and I don't know if you're going to remember this conversation at all or if it'll be some fever dream, but, like, just do it Dad. At least promise now and you can always just pretend to forget in a couple of days if you really don't."
"I promise," Dad mumbled before falling back asleep, his loud snores echoing throughout the room before drifting away after a couple of minutes.
"I heard that he'd been having some nightmares, so I decided to slip some melatonin into his meds to help him sleep better," Caspian replied. "Hope that's alright with you and your mom."
"Yeah, I think it's a good thing for him to get some sleep," I said. "I mean, he's saying some crazy things, and it's probably best that he doesn't remember our conversation anyways–"
"No, it isn't," Caspian said. "I didn't mean to overhear your talk with your dad, but I'm proud of you for bringing it up. Who cares if he won't remember? If you do it once, you'll be able to do it again, and it'll be much easier. Trust me on this."
"Alright, I will," I replied with a shrug. "I guess I'd like to apologize for lying about–"
"It's alright, save that sorry for something real. Just want to let you know that for whatever, you can talk with me," he replied. "I'm serious. Maybe I should be the one apologizing for making you feel pressured–"
"No, the blame is on me. It's just a thing that I do," I said before yawning, as the brief rush in adrenaline from my conversation with dad faded away and my eyes began dropping.
Caspian plopped the wide-brimmed hat on my head and pulled the comforter up until it reached my chest as I laid there, totally desiccated. "Alright cowboy, it's time for bed."
"Oh God, I feel like I'm six years old again," I responded while attempting to blow the brim of the floppy hat out of my face since my arms were still too sore to move up and down. Of course, the brim didn't budge.
"Aww. You want me to sing you a lullaby or read you a book to sleep?" Caspian teased, sitting at the edge of my bed, his hands adjusting the hat so that I could finally see. When I looked up, I saw his piercing blue eyes, unusually warm because of the candlelight or maybe because of the little bits of joy bubbling over. Hopefully, because of these little bubbles of joy.
"Sure, why not?" I replied, probably with a dopey and a bit too honest smile since I'm not quite at 100% yet. "Surprise me."
He rushed off, and I took some more time to catch up writing since my memory was a bit foggy, and, honestly, I was itching to finally continue writing after being forced off my schedule for the first time in forever. I guess I got a bit sucked into the process of writing because I didn't notice his presence until he started lifting my journal into the air, much to my chagrin.
"But I–" I protested since I was in the middle of a sentence.
"You need to get rest," Caspian said, swapping out my blanket with a new, clean one. "Now I've got the perfect book to put you to sleep."
As soon as I saw the book cover, the one from yesterday with two shirtless guys making out, though I just noticed they're wearing star-spangled swimtrunks, and neon-colored fireworks in the distance, and his all-too wide grin that he was probably going to read, how do I best phrase this, a "naughty" portion of this book, which I'm sure that it's full of given its cover. There's no way that I could let him do this, not with Dad next to me or Mom and May within earshot or with the potential for Mira to just pop in.
"C'mon, do you have any other books?" I asked, hoping that he'd catch the pleading in my voice.
"I swear, I just started yesterday, and this book has the funniest sh–" Capsian said while flipping to the center of the book, which confirmed that he was going for it. "Listen to this–"
"I'm, like, serious. You really can't read it," I said. "Like I think I'd rather just go to sleep."
"Sorry, sorry, I just thought it'd be funny because it's just so extra–" Caspian said, recoiling back.
"No– I mean, yeah. It's just that I hate spoilers," I replied, stamming out a hasty response because I knew that I went too far. "It's just something that, as a bookworm, I just can't stand."
"I thought you'd already read this book."
"I kinda lied about that," I lied, trying my best to look sheepish with my admission. "I'll admit that I haven't been doing much reading, like at all, recently. It's like I have all this time, but I'm reading even less than I used to when I was busy with school."
"That's why you didn't say much when I asked how it was!" Caspian exclaimed, seemingly buying my lie.
"Yeah, I guess guilty as charged or whatever," I replied. "Instead of reading the spoiler-y middle or ending of the book, maybe something from the beginning. Something meaningful."
"Give me a moment to find it," he said as I reached for my journal and pencil, which he quickly rebuked. "It's not going to take me that long to find it. I swear I'm close."
It ended up taking him five minutes (which I totally could've used to add quite a bit to my diary), but eventually he found the right section. And he began speaking in a quiet, soothing voice since I think everyone was still sleeping off the last vestiges of illness.
"'I've got this crazy idea. What if we just blew off work today? I mean, who forces people to work on the Fourth of July? We're in America for Christ's sake. And we do what we're supposed to do today: rollercoasters, barbeques, fireworks, all of the good stuff before Russia nukes us next year 'cause it's our 250th anniversary.'
And I almost laughed him off. Even though I read way too many romance novels, waiting to accidentally crash into the perfect guy and spill coffee on his sweatshirt or maybe bumping into him in a club, where our fingers accidentally brush for the briefest moments, I knew that the fantasy of ditching work to spend an entire day with a total stranger was ridiculous.
But the thing is that it's not a fantasy anymore–because he's in front of me, and he's reaching out his (proverbial) hand. It's this moment that almost never happens, a brief instance where fiction reaches into the real world, and even as he's standing in front of me, with a grin so wide that I can't tell whether he's playing a cruel prank or wondering if he thinks what he's doing is crazy too. But there's no way I'd know unless I said yes."
"This was so cheesy. But cute, " I said. "And does he say yes?"
"Well, you're going to have to read the book when you get better to find out," Caspian said, standing up before pulling the blanket over my chest and smoothing out all of the crinkles in the comforter. I blushed a little because it's a bit embarrassing being tucked into bed, but all I could do at that point was move my wrist a little to write horrifically messy words in this journal.
"He obviously said yes. I mean, that's the whole premise of the book, so, like, he definitely did," I said before doing something weirdly bold (because once again, I'm still a bit loopy). "Would you say yes?"
"If I wasn't with Gabe, of course. I forgot the movie that had this in it, something romantic that we had watched during a date night, but these moments are time machines. They fulfill the what-ifs you'd have when you're older," Caspian said, with a hint of a smile. "You can't have regrets if you've lived life to the best you could. You're not leaving anything unresolved behind."
And even though I could bring up points about the regret about diverging pathways, not just between continuing life as normal and going on some crazy adventure, but between two equally normal choices–the ones that dominated life before: your major, you college, your career–that close all the pathways locked behind the door once you make your choice. But I decided not because Caspian didn't deserve my doubt.
After a long moment of silence, he asked, "And you?"
"I'd like to think I'd say yes," I said. "It's obviously going to work out because it's a story, but dealing with real life people, it's hard, you know. I think if it was all some elaborate prank, I'd feel some regret. It's embarrassing to be humiliated like that."
"That's just the temporary kind of regret, the ones that we all laugh off, you know. It's different than the regret on the other side," he said. "And don't worry about this. I know that, if this crazy situation happens, it won't be a prank. Trust me on this."
And I wanted to ask him how he'd know this, but I knew that now wasn't the time to open that can of worms, especially since there's bigger things to worry about. Still, I wonder, if our positions were swapped, and I was a little bolder to promise that I'd protect him, would he ask me this, and I wonder what I'd respond with. I suppose I'm lucky that these what-ifs aren't the time machine variety.
November 29
I'm feeling better today, I guess.
I mean, I'm not feeling too sick anymore, and everyone, Mom, May, Dad, and Grandma and Grandpa, were alert and awake for much of the day even if they weren't operating at 100%. So although physically, we were doing better, it turns out that this wave of illness had more dire and unexpected consequences.
We lost a significant portion of the greenhouse to frostbite. I'm not sure how extensive the damage was (Mira isn't super familiar with the crop labeling since I haven't had much time to update outdated labels from cans that never germinated or add new labels to the cans in the second greenhouse), but given how worried Mira was, it must've been bad.
"I'm sorry," she said after breaking the news to me. "I know it's something that meant a lot to you, and I'm sure we'll be able to develop the technology–"
"It's alright," I replied. "Did anything survive?"
"The potatoes look good," she responded. "Some of the mustard too. The kale and broccoli labeled cans are doing fine. Oh, and the onions too, they look decent."
I could tell that she was trying to be positive, but it's obvious that we lost most of our crops. Rows and rows of wilted mustard greens, the edges of their leaves nipped by frostbite, not to mention the peas that I had built trellises for out of popsicle sticks when our modest set-up for the greenhouse seemed like a feasible plan to keep us going at least part-way through winter. Now, even our somewhat far-fetched plan is dead, and well, given how we had partitioned our niches, a dead greenhouse means a dead family.
"Well, at least we've got something, you know," I replied, trying not to add to her panic. "Mom and Dad know yet?"
"Not yet," Mira responded. "I wanted to let you know first. It was your big project after all, and you deserved to know what had happened before everyone else. I tried my best, I really did, but even with some help from the Shepards–"
"You had the Shepards help with the greenhouse? With you know..." I said, gesturing wildly to convey that there was more than just greenhouses present in our backyard, and that if they had found out our major secret, well, it'd basically be over.
Mira nodded "I had no choice. They were the only other ones that could help and hadn't gotten sick outside of Dean and James. But because they didn't understand how often the water needed to be replaced, not to mention having to tend to the fire and gather water for the hospital, the greenhouse just kept getting colder and colder until it was too late. I don't know what else we could've done differently other than teaching everyone how to garden."
"Mom and Dad are going to hate that idea."
"But it's worth a try," Mira said. "If everyone has gardening skills, we'll be able to back each other up, and worst case scenario, be able to rebuild society and create a real future separately if we all get separated."
"You do realize that Mom and Dad are most definitely going to hate that explanation," I replied. "They'd be like 'Oh, we'll be helping the competition' and stuff like that, you know."
"I know but it's something we'll have to get done, regardless of what Mom and Dad say."
"I don't think we can really sneak that around them," I said. "Just tell them what to hear, that if the plants keep dying, we'll be jeopardizing our position since they'll probably think that whatever gardening skills that we have aren't real, and, you know, death and stuff will come for us."
"I want to say that's completely ridiculous, but I don't know..." Mira replied, looking at the people around us, some drowsy and half-awake with others snoring soundly. "I mean, the Shepards and Coopers could've just run off with whatever food we had left and probably made it all the way to spring, but instead, they stuck around. That's gotta mean something."
"I don't know," I said, then remembering Caspian's mom's comments about the council vote. "Oh, yeah, what happened with the council vote? I know that there was something about the scavenging, but I feel like more than just that happened."
Mira sighed. "It's complicated. We were a bit selfish to take so much power to begin–"
"We lost our veto, didn't we?" I asked.
"More or less," she said. "I couldn't do much about it. With most of us out, it was hard to argue why our family deserves more power and control without making everyone else angry, especially since the Thanksgiving meal was our show of unity. And because we wanted to accommodate newcomers, we had written the veto rules in percentages, not actual numbers, and so I couldn't fight back, not without jeopardizing our future."
"Mom and Dad are really going to be mad about this. They'll think this is a power grab by the Shepards," I replied with a sigh. "Good luck with breaking the news to them."
"C'mon, I might disagree with the Shepards, but they're not supervillains. I'll make Mom and Dad see that this is a good thing," Mira said. "We've removed one source of resentment, and it was inevitable. Might as well happen now than in the future."
"I mean, who knows? Mom and Dad probably think we won't have a future if their worst fears are right," I said.
"What do you think, though?" Mira asked.
"Huh?" I said, totally caught off, especially since my brain still wasn't working at full capacity.
"We're always talking about how Mom and Dad won't like this or Mom and Dad might not like that, but what do you think our future should look like?" Mira replied. "Do you think that we're doing the right thing?"
"I don't know," I said. "I just feel like we're stuck, I guess, and I feel like in hindsight, wherever we end up in the future, the right choice would be really obvious. I think we're just in an awkward position, where it feels like everything we're doing will look bad, you know. Because if everyone betrays us, then we were too trusting but if we can't make our community work because we just run out of time, then we weren't trusting enough. We just got to commit at this point, I guess."
"And which do you think is more likely?"
"I guess the second one, right?"
"I think Mom and Dad secretly know that too," Mira said. "It's just frustrating that they're so damn stubborn to sticking to whatever we're doing right now and spinning in circles. It's all just right there."
I was just feeling a bit tired and depressed by the two-punch disasters, especially the first one that I decided to wildly swerve topics. "This is why we need mind-control."
"Mind-control?" Mira said. "Right now, I'd take weather-control just so that we'll finally have a sunny day. What would you need mind-control for?"
"I don't know. More like mind-reading, like just actually knowing people's true intentions, you know. Knowing what they're actually going through and how they exactly feel and whether we're being backstabbed or helped."
"Don't worry, that's not happening," she said, though with her cheeriness, I couldn't tell if she actually believed what she was saying, knew that she was lying to herself, or was lying to me.
WIth everyone beginning to wake up, I didn't get to talk with Caspian, who was running around feeding people medicine, getting them some soup, helping them to the restroom, as his Mom did more doctor-like things, asking people about their symptoms and conducting her investigation into the still-unknown cause of the mass sickness. Most of the day I just spent staring at the wall, occasionally twitching my toe to make sure that I haven't lost all sensation to my feet, and just hoping that I'm going to recover all the strength that I've lost by next Monday otherwise we'd lose it all.
When Dad's eyes fluttered open and Mom and May were up, chatting with each other, Mira decided to call an all-too-necessary family meeting that would invariably descend into chaos. Dad was in the worst state and could barely stand up, so Mom and May managed to crawl out of bed and into a chair for the family meeting, meaning that I was lucky enough to snuggle in my sheets because my cot was next to Dad's.
"This better be important because I literally have the worst migraines ever. It's like my brain wants to murder me," May complained, grabbing her head.
"What brain?" I said, and she scowled and gave me the finger.
"Let's get down to business," Mom said and looked at Mira. "What have we missed?"
And Mira broke the news to them, not only about the greenhouse but about our position in the city council being usurped, and I could tell that Mom and Dad kept getting angrier and angrier, weirdly enough Mom more so than Dad but that's because Dad's mostly still out of it. He only stopped wildly hallucinating and murmuring in his sleep today.
"We were poisoned by the Shepards," Mom said. "That's what happened. It was so clever of them to ruin the festival that we had organized and claw back power just–"
I wish I almost laughed because it was so outlandish, and it doesn't make any sense. Well, thinking about it now, actually, maybe it could make sense if I were to be overly cynical. The Xiaos have no special skills, with a baby consuming valuable resources and the Johnsons aren't having as much luck foraging in nature. The people who remained, like James or Caspian's family, have got useful skills: gunslinging, engineering, medical expertise, and if we were deposed in a freak accident, no one would turn against each other.
"Woah, Mom, slow down," Mira replied with a light chuckle, though Mom remained dead serious. "Poisoned? We're jumping at conclusions here–"
"Why? It makes complete sense. They're not sick, and we are. And changing the council rules while we're sick. That's not something that someone innocent does."
"It was just to stop us from getting paralyzed in case lots of us are out. When the vote happened, things looked dire. So many people were throwing up, and no one knew whether any of you guys were going to make it, so it had to be done," Mira said. "It was a unanimous vote."
"Unanimous?" Dad responded. "You didn't even try to fight back? Have you gotten soft?"
"No, I've done what's necessary for our future," Mira said. "If you two want to wield power, you need to win the hearts of everyone, not hide behind some slanted rules that offer no real protection in case things get worse. It was for the best, and sometimes, we have to make tough sacrifices for the greater good."
It's weird that normally Mira sounds too idealistic, but here she sounded like the real adult in the room, willing to make the difficult compromise for the greater good. I think that surprised Mom and Dad a bit because it took them a long time to formulate a response. I guess they're always so used to being able to condescend on Mira a bit, but their hopes that we'd hold onto the veto forever was actually the unrealistic dream here.
"What about the greenhouse situation?" Mom asked after a long silence. "We're–"
"No one here is heartless, Mom. You need to stop worrying and start believing more. I mean, you were the one that created the Dream. You knew that things wouldn't always be in our control and that eventually, we'd have to trust the others," Mira said. "Let's be honest, two greenhouses wouldn't have taken us very far. We needed to make this change–"
"Let us think about it," Dad said. "We're all tired and need time–"
"No, we need to stop delaying and commit right now," Mira responded. "If we're to make it, we have to teach the others to garden, and we have to embrace scavenging and not just vote for but do a lot more of it. You've seen everyone here, and you know that the only path to avoid getting desperate enough to become raiders is to make sure that everyone feels secure in the future."
I think that for the first time, Mom and Dad finally had to confront our precarious position at the crossroads that we've all been trapped in for weeks, tip-toeing between community and isolation without making a firm commitment towards our future. And I could tell that they knew that Mira was right. Right now, as far as we could tell, everyone was fully embracing being a part of the community, and if kept up being openly cagey and overprotective, eventually, we'd get pushed out. It's like what happened in school to me. Maybe Mom and Dad aren't familiar with this, but I just know from experience.
And I guess the weirdest thing is that I was just frustrated that we were stuck here, rehashing the same conflicts over and over again, inching forwards when we needed to leap miles. And I don't know why, but I was just feeling especially bold. Maybe it's because of all the confronting that I had to do recently, confronting Dad about his trauma, Caspian about always dodging the past, me with Charles' letter, or maybe it's just because waking up from that sickness, which felt like it had stretched for a year long, has left me feeling like I was 17 and on the verge of adulthood. But I did something that even I didn't expect.
I hobbled out of bed, my legs weak and rickety, and, grasping onto the railings of the bed, made my way to the Johnsons. I didn't look back, afraid that everyone in my family was staring at me in disbelief because I was erratically or because I wasn't supposed to do this, and once I reached the curtain, I peeked behind. Luckily, the Johnsons were awake, and they both gave me a weak wave. I can't even imagine how embarrassed I would have been if they both had been out cold.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"Well, we're still alive. It appears that the universe still has plans for us. Thank God because I didn't feel ready to go this year," Mrs. Johnsons said. "What are you doing up? You ought to be in bed getting some rest."
"Well, maybe the universe gave me the strength to stand up and walk to you guys," I said before collapsing into a chair. Who knows when I'll be able to lug large buckets of water when I can barely carry myself?
"Then surely our creator has imbued you with this strength for a purpose," Mr. Johnson replied.
"Sure, yeah," I said. "You know, you've been asking me a bunch about wanting to help grow crops, and I guess, after talking it out with my parents, we all thought it'd be a good idea to teach you all how to garden. I don't think our family alone can make enough food to last us this winter, let alone spring and summer, depending on how conditions are."
"This would be a wonderful blessing if it were true, but you always mentioned that your parents were always reluctant. I can't imagine they'd be in the most trusting mood," Mr. Johnson replied. "I've certainly had revelations after coming closer to our creator but of the spiritual kind, not the material."
"Well, I mean, do you think that the universe or whatever, came to me to deliver you a lie, you know?" I asked, all while delivering the most bald-faced lie possible.
"That is true," Mrs. Johnson said before turning to Mr. Johnson. "Perhaps this sickness was a blessing in disguise for new revelations and unexpected paths forward. You remember the last time that this happened?"
"Of course," Mr. Johnson said, with a bit of a twinge, before turning back to me. "When would it begin?"
"I'm not too sure to be honest, probably when we all get better and get some new supplies. Just wanted to break the news to you guys. Hopefully, it cheered you up a bit," I said, before pushing myself up. "I think I'm going to get some sleep now. You know, the universe is calling."
Standing behind the curtain, I took a breath to steady myself because I just knew that Mom and Dad and Mira and May, they'll all be staring at me, and I'd have to face the consequences of my decision. Even though it's not something that I'm particularly familiar with, I guess I wanted to project confidence or, at the very least, the neutrality that I usually wear with ease.
Of course, naturally, I ended up stumbling a bit, tripping on air and just barely catching myself on the railings on one of the beds with a loud clatter. Now, I not only had Mom and Dad and Mira and May's eyes on me, but everyone else's, and the most that I could do is stare at the ground so as to not get knocked down again by the blows of their stares.
"Neal, what are you doing up?" Caspian said, appearing to just suddenly materialize out of nowhere, though I'm sure I just missed hearing his footsteps with my still-dulled senses. "You should be in bed."
"Yeah, I should be. I don't know. I guess I just went and did something crazy instead."
"Let's get you to bed," Caspian said, reaching his arm around my shoulders to support me as I hobbled a bit to bed, still a bit shaken by my unexpected fall. Normally, I can't stand making eye-contact, let alone extended eye-contact, but I kept looking into his eyes as he gently motivated me to make it to bed.
"What did you do?" Mom asked as soon as I was settled in and Caspian was out of earshot even though she was well-aware of exactly why I had gone to the Johnsons. But I suppose that there was no better way to begin the awkward conversation that was about to come
"I guess I just invited the Johnsons to learn from us for the greenhouses, you know," I replied, my answer only sounding semi-coherent.
"But why? We said we'd talk about it," Mom said. "That was risky, really reckless. It's not something that we expected from you. Maybe, Caspian isn't–"
"This has nothing to do with Caspian. Like, I don't even know where you got that from," I said. "I did it just because, like, we had to do it. There's no way that our family alone would be able to grow enough food forever. I mean, you had to know that this was inevitable."
"We were supposed to ease into it," Mom said. "This puts all of us in massive danger, weakening our position already more so because we flip-flopped and are vulnerable to being cracked apart."
"Well, I don't know why I'm being lectured because it's done," I said, whisper-shouting partly out of anger, partly just acting angry. "And we're going to have to get supplies to help them build the greenhouse, but we've done it before. Isn't there a scavenging mission coming up?"
"Next week," Mira said, nodding with a barely-concealed smile, though Mom's face was much more grim.
"Sign all of us up for it," Mom replied, and I could see that May was barely holding back her smile. "Except for May."
"What?" she exclaimed. "This is literally so unfair. I literally wasn't able to last time, and after Mira's speech, it literally doesn't make sense to–"
"It's not up for discussion," Mom responded. "If something happens to all of us out there, we'll need you here to take care of Grandma and Grandpa because they'll be the first to get left behind."
"Okay, but, like, to keep them safe, I kinda need to scavenge," May said, bringing up a surprisingly good retort. "So, like, your logic literally doesn't make any sense."
"Maybe when we scout some relatively safe locations you can tag along," Mom said, and it was obvious that May wasn't happy with that answer, which was just a repackaged no, since she huffed and rolled her chair back to her bed to sulk. And as the evening rolled in and we got served watery soup, a thick, smothering quiet settled in, as we've reached another crossroads.
A part of my silence stemmed from the same annoyance that fueled my spontaneous decision to change everything, angry that everyone but Mira and maybe Caspian understood that my position, no matter how uncomfortable it was for us and especially me, was the only way forward. But most of my glowering was an act, a projection of defiance that ensures that Mom and Dad don't get tempted to backtrack or that I don't get tempted to take all my words back, convinced by the guilt of my choices and unspoken consequences lingering in the air.
Because the truth is that I wonder if my decision was reckless. Well, not reckless because reckless would be continuing down the same path that we're going on, but whether it was the path that I set us down is the right pathway. It's like the butterfly effect, where one decision snowballs into a million other decisions, and, I suppose, I wonder whether I should have been the one to flap my wings. Because, ultimately, even though I want to have high hopes for the future, I'm fairly certain that not all of us will make it to next winter, and I'm terrified that my choice sparked the chain of events that would lead to this outcome.
It's the same guilt of choice that haunted me back in May when life revolved around deciding the rest of my 85% of my life at just 16. The same choices that I never seem to be able to escape from, no matter how easy it seemed to be in the beginning.