What Comes After

August 23

The sky looked less gray this morning, and I could hear the howling of wind all night. Maybe there was a storm brewing over the horizon or maybe there was some weird jet stream change. I wonder if the blue sky will reappear sometime this week with the wind blowing all the clouds of ash inland.

Anyways, in the morning, I saw Mira wetting towels and laying them out. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Preparing the seeds," she said. "I talked with Mom and Dad. We're going to try growing some mustard greens and peas and a couple of onions and potatoes."

"Maybe we'll finally get fresh food," I said. "And things will become better."

"Don't get your hopes up too high," she said and placed the seeds on the wet towel to help them first germinate. "Actually, on second thought, keep your hopes up high. Maybe some of that positive energy can help the plants grow as well as they would be in the South."

There was an awkward pause before I said, "He made it, you know. Don't worry about it."

She sighed. "It's just— It's so frustrating not knowing. It's like that cat in the box, you know, where he's both made it and not made it at the same time. And with all those raiders and looters."

There was a pause as she abruptly cut herself off before she said, "Sorry for dumping all of that on you. God, I feel like one of those people that dumps all their insecurities and worries on other people."

"Don't worry about it," I said and smiled a bit. "I can handle it."

"I still feel guilty," she said. "You know what, here's something good that happened today: I think I saw the sun come out."

"What?" I exclaimed.

"Well, not technically out," she said. "I woke up early this morning and saw a bit of pink between the clouds near the mountain, and when I squint and concentrate hard enough, I can see a faint blue."

I looked outside of the window and gazed at the sky, squinting hard. I didn't see any blue, but maybe I wasn't using my imagination hard enough. "You sure you're not hallucinating?"

"Maybe I am," she said. "But it's better this way."

"That's the right type of mentality," I said. "You just got to believe, you know."

"It's hard to though, with all the possible scenarios running through my head about everything terrible that can happen."

There was a pause before I asked, "Have you tried journaling? Like writing down all your thoughts and everything? It might just be good to get all your thoughts down and out of your head to just rationalize them."

"Will it help?"

"It could," I said and shrugged. "I'm really guilty for doing what you're doing right now, with my whole anxiety after finals even though nothing I could do afterwards could change it, so take anything I say with a grain of salt, but maybe it could help you, not move on, but move on with the idea that everything's not going to be alright."

She nodded tentatively, so I asked, "Did anything of what I just said make any sense? Sorry for the bad explanation. There's a reason why I quit debate club freshman year."

"It made sense," she said, nodding. "Well, at least as much sense as it could."

She turned towards me. "Do you actually believe everything's going to be alright?"

I paused before saying, "Yeah. We've just got to hold out hope."

That was a half-lie, and the truth is that some days I feel like everything is going to turn out fine and that life as we knew it will return back to normal and we won't have to worry about what comes after and then some days everything feels hopeless, ash-storms clouding the midday sky, a pit of throbbing hunger in my stomach, the memories of my old life slowly fading to gray. But I kept the second part out because it wouldn't help Mira, and I'm worried that if I tell the truth that I'll make things worse for her.

I'm such a hypocrite because I'm not practicing what I'm preaching, but maybe this is one of those good lies and good times to be a hypocrite. And if I say it enough times, maybe I'll fully believe what I'm saying.

In the afternoon, I was just about to leave, my backpack filled with books and the cans for Charles, when Mom stopped me. "It's too dangerous to go."

"What?" I exclaimed, my plan to help Charles falling apart at that moment.

"I know," she said. "But with the news of the looters and raiders, it's just too risky."

"But those are just rumors," I retorted. "And they're probably not true since people sometimes just create panic and chaos because of their wild imagination."

"You think that those men in guns were imaginary?" Mom asked rhetorically, and I didn't respond because it would only get worse. "That's what I thought."

"Thirty minutes, Mom," I said. "I just need twenty minutes to tell Charles about this change of plans. It's not like our phones work, and I can just text him."

"Twenty," Mom said. "And you better be home on time."

"Fine," I said and quickly slipped into my shoes before speed-walking to the library, being careful that my backpack didn't clang too much as I left the house, so that Mom and Dad would not find out.

Even though my heart was racing, and my mind was jumbled with panic thoughts (the same ones that Mira was probably experiencing), random and outlandish plans, and the terrifying thought of telling the truth to Mom and Dad, I felt oddly focused. It's like those times during finals, where I feel overwhelmed, but at the same time, feel a weird sense of determination. Maybe it's because the lives of Charles and his family are at stake right now.

When I arrived at the library, nobody was there. I wasn't too surprised. Meeting each other in the afternoons was always fraught with error without a clock since it was difficult to tell what time it actually was. So I decided to head to where I knew he was going to be: his home.

But before I did that, I needed to return the random books in my backpack, so I grabbed an old flyer about that summer fair festival back when the Sun was still shining bright and scrawled "Book Return" on the paper with a sharpie from my backpack before placing it on the stack of books that I had. Hopefully, the volunteer will pick it up tomorrow.

As I neared his house, I noticed more and more shattered windows, leaves and ash being blown into people's abandoned homes as the ocean breeze gusted across these empty streets. It felt symbolic, in a way, that the scent of death was being blown into the homes of people who deserted our neighborhood for cleaner skies and warmer air.

It's almost as if the world is hinting that all those who had left had died. Or maybe it's a warning to those of us who remained that death was coming for us, and that those who had escaped made it out before death could engulf them. Or maybe I have been thinking too much about literature class and not about actual survival and real-life stuff.

As I turned into his neighborhood, I saw that almost every single window on this street was smashed, the glass shards glimmering in the brighter than usual sunlight. I was a couple of homes away from his house when I heard my name being called from being me. I looked back.

Charles was running behind me. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't see you at the library," I said and then looked down at his leg, where there was a thin rivulet of blood. "Your leg is bleeding."

He looked down and swore. I stepped towards him. 'What happened? Do you need help?"

"It's nothing—"

"Doesn't seem like nothing," I said. "Is everything alright?"

"It's fine," he said, but in the tone when he told me everything was alright even though he and his family were quickly running out of food. And I knew that he was hiding something again.

He continued. "I just fell in the morning. It's a small scratch, and it's nothing."

I looked at him skeptically because there was no way that this was from a fall. People scrape their knees and elbows during a fall, not the sides of their calves. Unless it was a very awkward fall, I knew that this didn't come from a fall. But I didn't question him then because there were more important things to handle, so I just said, "Okay."

"Don't need to worry about me," he said. "Anyways, what did you run to my house for?"

"I don't think we're going to be able to meet up," I said. "Not for a while with all the looters and judging by everything that's going on, this while might be a long time."

"And I just want to give you this," I added and opened my backpack with the cans. "I can help take it to your house since it's, like, a couple of houses down."

"It's fine," he said. "You seem to be in a rush anyways."

"Yeah," I said and sighed. "My mom gave me only twenty minutes to give this message to you, and I literally had to run from the library to get to your house."

I took out the cans and placed them on the ground. "Are you sure that you're alright? Is there anything—"

"We're doing fine," he said. "It's the truth."

"Okay," I said, but I think he knew that I didn't believe him.

"So when are we meeting again?" he asked.

"Actually," I said. "Meet me in front of my house next Tuesday. I know my mom is worried about the whole raiders and looters thing, but hopefully, if we're close by, then there won't be any issue."

"I think I'm over time," I said. "See you next week?"

"You better have your fourth goal down," he said. "I think we're already past our summer deadline."

"Well that was before the volcanic eruptions," I said and looked back as I walked away. "Bye!"

"Bye," he said and turned away, and for some reason, the soles of the thick boots that he was wearing seemed to glisten under the sunlight, almost like little shards of glass. But I ignored it. Much like Mira seeing blue skies, maybe I was just hallucinating too.

When I got home, Dad announced that we were going wood-gathering tomorrow because he, like pretty much everyone in our family, forgot about the wood-gathering Monday since we gathered wood on Thursday, which just messed up everyone's internal clock schedules. As the sun set after we had finished dinner, I gazed outside, hoping to see a flash of orange or pink or just vibrant color from the sky, any sign of life at all.

But the sky remained gray before shifting to deep indigos and darkness, and all I saw was the soft light of the Moon behind the clouds, reminding everyone about everything they've lost. Hopefully, the winds blow more ash out of the skies, so at least, the bright sunsets and sunrises will make the bright Moon taste less bitter.