Every day after the night in the motel, things went like clockwork. Paul drove the car as far as it would take them until it ran out of gas, then they would sleep in it before switching cars and continuing their drive. Crystal wasn't sure if he actually knew where he was going, but she found herself trusting him more in more. It probably helped that he made it a point to sleep close to her every night. He didn't always touch her, but he would always be close enough that he was impossible to ignore.
Crystal couldn't say that she minded, though. It was nice to have his warmth during the night and be able to listen to him breathe. It made her feel like she wasn't alone, which she too often felt as they traveled from state to state, farther and farther away from her home, his home, and all of the memories. The bad and the good memories trailed behind them in the form of fumes from the exhaust pipe, but the weight of those past emotions still weighed heavily on her mind. No matter how far they ran or drove, Crystal knew she would never be able to leave those feelings behind, but she wasn't sure if Paul knew that. He was determined to run, and they were running fast.
Crystal wasn't sure how many days it took them, but she determined it had to be at least four to five days from how many cars they went through. At least seven cars and one truck, which was the last vehicle to take them all the way to New York. She wasn't sure, but Paul seemed to be very proud of that fact. Paul was definitely a pick-up truck kind of guy. Regardless, his pride deflated the moment they saw New York. Buildings toppled, whole streets completely blocked and destroyed by debris and meteorites, and there was no guarantee on the death toll as most of those whom Crystal assumed had died were under the rubble.
She had thought it was bad in Alabama, but New York was a skeleton — a skeleton of broken buildings and like a frozen moment in time.
"I've never seen New York before. Guess I never will."
Crystal was surprised Paul spoke, but his words rang true, and she didn't need to respond for him to know she felt the same. She had only ever seen the bustling and busy city in books and on TV, but what she saw was far from the image that had been created for her, and it only got worse as they drove deeper into the city. Eventually, the roads were completely impossible to navigate in a vehicle. Paul was hesitant to leave the truck, but he did end up leaving it, though he made sure to take one last look at it before they dove into the dead city.
Paul spared no time in finding the direction of the docks, as his goal had always been to find a boat and leave America as quick as he could. Crystal didn't tell him that she was pretty sure it would be near-impossible to find a boat still docked, and what would be docked, she had no doubt it would be in shambles. Knowing Paul though, he probably already had a backup plan, and if he didn't, it wouldn't take him long to come up with one.
Along the way, they passed some of the smaller shops. Little shops that were pressed in between the larger skyscrapers and buildings. Some were more intact than others, mainly due to the large structures around them taking the brunt of the chaos, but others weren't so lucky.
One of the buildings caught her eye, and — despite Paul's need for speed — she stopped in the middle of the street and studied the storefront, or what was left of it. Half of the sign was still on the ground and could be read as being "Lily's," but the rest of the words were probably hidden the ashes. What had Lily served in her little shop? She could picture a young girl selling pastries and cakes, but the image reminded her more of Alabama with its small town bakeries than a bustling part of a city as big as New York.
The thought left her aching and sore, more emotionally than physically, but it didn't stop her from further exploring. Something begged to be found amongst the pile, but Crystal was also tired of following Paul all of the time. She wanted to do something for herself, so she climbed into the broken windows, the only side that still looked like something reminiscent of a store. The other side was caved in and made a bit of a hutch for the side Crystal climbed into. The lack of proper lighting and windows made it almost impossible to see, but Crystal could make out the outline of a bar or long shelf. While walking closer toward the back, her foot crunched something metallic.
Without much thought, she bent down and tucked the object under her arm. She wasn't sure what it was, but she didn't care. It might be what she had suspected was hiding in the rubble. There wasn't much else of interest, but it was haunting to find tables still standing with broken chairs leaning against their ledges for support. She could almost hear the people talking, the smell of pies being lined up at the bar right out of the oven, and the chipper voice of a young waitress taking them to the tables, hoping for a good tip. It gave her chills and made her heart swell, but she could hear Paul's voice calling for her outside, and he didn't sound happy. She mentally cussed him before rushing back toward the light and climbing out of the window.
He waited not too far from the sidewalk where the little shop had once stood, but the way he stood — arms crossed tightly against his chest and face skewed into a grimace — had her far from willing to just follow him. Instead she took her time, sauntering toward him as she looked at the little metal can that she had stepped on. It read pretty easily, except for the large dent that somewhat mangled the type of roast, but it was apparent that the can was a coffee can. Crystal couldn't help her smile when she realized the little shop might have actually been a pastry shop, and the little can became even more of a treasure. When her eyes met Paul's again, his grimace melted into one of mild curiosity.
Whether he was genuinely interested or not, Crystal didn't care. She held the coffee can up to his face, causing him to lean back and squint to read the letters. He mouthed the word coffee, then peered at her around one side of the can. His frown told her that he wasn't as excited about her discovery as she was, but his feelings didn't dampen her own in the least. If anything, it made her more sure that the treasure was important. It would make Paul smile again, and she would make sure of it.
"Want some coffee?"
Paul let out a sigh, then shook his head. The lines of emotional age were even more prominent than any time Crystal had seen them before. He wanted to head toward the docks, but Crystal wanted to linger and try to recover what bit of normalcy she had left in her before they delved headfirst into a completely new world. She pulled the can back and held it tight against her chest, staring Paul down with the most determined looks she could muster.
He sighed again, but his face was softening, the lines fading back and forming the young face she had first met.
"Do I have to fix it?"
She nodded, tilting her head to the side with a crooked grin, "Of course! I don't know how to build a fire!"
Paul shook his head, feigning annoyance, but Crystal could see the start of a small grin forming on his face. It wasn't a large win, but it was better than nothing.
Paul had been far from willing to stop and cook a can of old coffee, but he didn't put up a fight once Crystal agreed to move closer to the docks before they set up shop. Along the way, they gathered a bar stool, a chair, a broken table, and even a few jars to put the coffee in. It was an odd assortment, and Paul wasn't pleased to find he had to carry most of it, but he bore the burden all the same.
They only stopped once they had cleared most of the skyline, which blocked their view of the docks. Crystal wished they had stopped before then as the sight was far from hopeful. Boats were turned upside down, crushed, and there was no telling how many were in the water, if any. Paul either didn't notice or didn't care; he just stopped and began to set up the table and chairs. Then he walked a distance away before starting a fire with what debris and matches he picked up along the way. Crystal tried to keep her eyes on him, but she found her eyes drifting back to the docks.
She never really figured out if she was going to go with him or not. Whether they found a boat or not didn't really matter. What did matter was that she wasn't sure how far she was willing to follow him. She desperately needed answers, but her heart ached at the thought that it might not be the answer she wanted. Regardless, she couldn't go through life just following him around with no rhyme or reason for doing so. She had done it for too long. He helped her survive and took her places she would've never seen in her ordinary life, but what purpose did it all serve?
Crystal didn't get a chance to answer as Paul walked up to their little makeshift cafe with two jars of black coffee. He set them both down on the table, then slid onto the bar stool. It shook for a moment as he steadied himself, but he didn't mind it too much, instead focusing on the coffee. Crystal tried to smile as she sat down, but wasn't sure if it came off as smoothly as she had tried to make it. With her attempt at normalcy beginning to fall flat, she could only revel in the warmth of the mason jar in her hand, which reminded her a bit of home. Even as she tried to distract herself and enjoy the few moments of comfortable silence, her eyes continued to drift back to Paul, who lifted his own mason jar to his lips, took a sip, and then wrinkled his nose.
Once again, she smiled, but much more easily than her previous attempt. She loved her coffee black, and she had assumed Paul would be the same. It seemed he didn't care for the bitter drink. His own gaze flicked to her face and she could swear his cheeks were beginning to light with a bit of a pink shade. It was strange how easily and comfortably their normal moment was salvaged, but in her newfound comfort, Crystal found her lips spitting out words before she was able to think them through.
"I love you," she said.
Paul stared off into the distance, his face unmoving and blank.
Neither of them had expected to end up like that. Sitting there and just discussing their love affairs over long-past-fresh cups of coffee. How long ago had it been since they could enjoy moments like that?
She didn't know, but did all that really matter with the world as it was? She supposed not. She sat in silence, studying her companion's face, while he studied whatever was left on the horizon. She wondered for a moment if he had become a statue, and her eyes began to swim with boredom before he finally showed signs of life.
His eyes remained on whatever point he decided was fit for his gaze when he finally said, "Does it really matter?" She slowly turned to face the same horizon. What did he rest his eyes on? The only remotely interesting object was the crumbling ... was that the Statue of Liberty? She had never seen it before, and she supposed she would never get to see it again. Even then as they sat together, at a table with three and a half legs, herself in a lawn chair, and him on a bar stool, both looking at the broken and misshapen horizon, Lady Liberty remained up in all her glory.
Her crown was a circle of nubs around her head, which now eerily resembled a crown of thorns, and part of her face had fallen off and was now floating off to whatever other country still remained — a country that probably no longer existed. Europe even exist anymore?
She supposed that small fact didn't matter, either. Her eyes then drifted toward the beacon that surely remained in the lady's hand. The cone that once held the flame of –- was it hope? Freedom? Justice? She couldn't recall all of a sudden, and it left an empty pang in her chest.
No matter, she supposed, recalling her companion's words.
Does it really matter?
She looked towards the stump where the flame had once been. She supposed the flame was also floating to some other, possibly nonexistent land mass. Maybe it could give the people who found it some hope. Wouldn't it be ironic if it made it all the way to France? They could recall the Americans and their symbol of hope and freedom, and maybe they were attempting to rebuild as she and her companion sat there, pondering the post-apocalyptic world around them.
Does it really matter?
Her eyes drifted back to the horizon.
She responded, "No, I suppose it doesn't."
With a new sense of abandon and muddled thoughts, Crystal rose without warning from their little cafe, which caused the broken table to lean. Paul, with a curse, scrambled to steady himself, his jar of coffee, and the table, all while trying to see what Crystal was trying to do. She muttered a halfhearted apology before turning to face the docks head-on. Her feet moved with a lightness she had never had before, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The spring in her step didn't last long as she lifted her foot behind her, hopping along closer to the dock, while trying to pry the Converse from her foot.
She stumbled a bit as it came off into her hand, but she caught herself and immediately went back to hopping as she repeated the process on her other foot. The other shoe came off a bit quicker, and she was glad for it, as she had gotten close enough to be able to feel the spray of the water as it moved and crashed along the docks. She refused to look for boats, having her own project in mind. Paul was calling to her, but she refused to acknowledge him until what she was doing was seen through.
Dangling the shoes by their laces out in front of her, she was reminded of the care and obsessive nature she had when first taking care of them, before the world had ended. The original shoes had been perfect, but they were long gone. Thankfully she had managed to find a similar pair in near-perfect condition. Looking at them as they dangled over the water, she found they had become far from perfect, not unlike herself. They were scuffed on the once white toes with black smudges and dirt. The cloth was torn in some places, and the threading was unraveling. If she turned them over, she was sure the soles were about rub through, but she didn't bother with it.
They didn't matter. They were just shoes, just like Crystal's feelings were just words, but she was surprised to find a soft smile relax on her lips at the thought. They didn't matter then, but they would matter... someday. With that final thought, she released her fist from the laces and she watched as the shoes fell into the frothy surface of the ocean, floating for only a second before they sunk below the depths... out of sight, forever. As the coolness of the concrete beneath her feet began to soak through her socks, Crystal found a sense of calm fall over her. There was nothing that mattered but her own thoughts; the cool, salty breeze from the ocean; and the occasional spray of water against her toes.
But it wasn't long before Paul broke through to her. His words were like static, and Crystal failed to understand them at first. He continued to repeat himself until Crystal fully turned to face him, and she found that his face was screwed up in a strange mixture of surprise, confusion, and anger. It was either anger or frustration, but she supposed he was probably feeling both.
"What are you doing? Why did you do that? Now we have to find you more shoes." He emphasized the last sentence, as if to emphasize the trouble she was causing him.
Crystal only smiled in response.
Paul's face fell into a scowl, but even that melted away in a sigh. Accepting that he would have to find her more shoes, he changed the focus on his original plan: the boat. Both Paul and Crystal gazed up and down the docks, and Crystal wasn't surprised that everything she had feared was in fact what they saw. Empty lines where boats had been docked, boats that were still docked crushed and riding up the side of the dock, mangled frames that Crystal could only assume were once boats of some shape or form. She found the entire trip and plan hopeless, already trying to find a way to salvage the journey, but Paul was already working his way down to one of the frames that had pressed itself against the side of the dock.
Despite Crystal's warnings, he gripped the boat's rope and leaned down to grip one bar of the frame. He tried to lift it out of the water to see how much of it was left, but the water weighed it down enough to prevent him from maneuvering it too much. Thankfully, he seemed to be pleased with what little he was able to see. He mumbled something that Crystal guessed she was supposed to hear, but the ocean's waves were a bit too much for her senses.
"What?"
Paul looked up at her, this time yelling back to her, "If we can't find a boat, I'll build one."
The words fell heavily on Crystal and made her somewhat queasy, but Paul's optimism was a breath of fresh air, and as he rushed off to another boat, calling for her help so he could strip some particular part off of it for his new project, Crystal couldn't help smiling toward whatever the future held. She knew, eventually, what she had always wanted, would matter again.