What Comes After

July 29

I went out to the garden with the bag of food that I promised to Charles. I grabbed the food in the morning before everyone else was even awake. Last night I didn't get much sleep, not because of the nightmares, but because I was nervous about taking food from the pantry.

When the sun was barely creeping above the horizon (I believe. With all the ash clouds in the sky, determining the sun's position is hard), I went into the pantry and grabbed five cans, two cans of mixed vegetables, two of brussel sprouts, and one of tuna, and changed up the spreadsheet. I wish I could've given him more food, but I can't take so much that Mom and Dad begin to notice.

When it came time to bring the food to Charles, I grabbed a backpack and stuffed the cans into them before heading out to the garden.

"What's with the backpack?" Mom asked.

"Charles says that we might be getting a harvest soon."

"Is the mask on tightly?" Mom asked.

"Of course," I said. "I'll be back in an hour."

The backpack felt heavy as I walked. The clouds laid heavy in the sky too, but not with rain, but with ash. The garden looked sad. Most of the leaves on the crops were stunted and short and some of them just wilted on the sides. Charles was bent over, pushing some soil around.

"I brought it," I said. "Do you have a bag?"

"Yeah," he said and grabbed a sack-bag from the corner of the garden.

I placed each can into the sack-bag, careful to not bend or break them even though I knew that they were durable. "Thanks," he said.

"No worries," I said and paused. "Do you need any help? The garden looks a bit sad."

"It's not all bad," he said. "The cherry tomatoes are growing well and so are some of the root vegetables. We might harvest them in a week."

"What about the cabbage?"

"Dead," he said. "Just not enough sunlight to sustain them."

"Do you need me to water anything?"

"No," he said. "You've done enough. You can go if you want."

"You sure?" I asked.

"You'll need time to think about your next wish," he said.

"We're still doing this?" I asked. "Seriously?"

"Of course. I'm not letting any apocalypse get in the way of summer," he said. "So next week you'll come up with something?"

"I'll try my best," I said.

We said our goodbyes and I left the garden early. A chilly breeze gusted through the thin wire fences, picking up leaves and throwing them at the fence. It felt like winter. Most of the trees were bare, except for the buckeyes, whose leaves were sprouting from bare branches.

When Mom asked if I had brought back vegetables, I told her that we might get vegetables next week. It felt like the only truthful thing I've said to anyone in my family over these two days. It's the nearly end of July, and the weather is getting colder and colder. I think we'll make it through— at least for a while— but I'm worried that Charles and his family won't.