What Comes After

August 28

Just when things couldn't get worse on this sunny week. Apparently, Mom's job wasn't real.

Well, it was real, but the key word is "was." It turns out that that job was only a two-week stint, and afterwards, when most of the students and families that chose to stay had gotten their books, the school library closed down forever. It was probably because of electricity concerns.

With the ash knocking out solar panel farms and disrupting wind turbines (since ash quickly wears down and clogs the rotating systems for those turbines), the only power plants that could be producing power were hydroelectric and coal, both of which can only produce a bit of energy (especially since there literally is no coal in California). And even then, whatever electricity is left has to be divided up between the hospitals, natural gas, and water systems, and I guess there just wasn't any room for the library.

"Told you so," Dad said. "It was a lie."

"Well, it's better than going to die," Mom replied. "You should be glad that I saved your life."

"No one died."

"How do you know?" she asked. "We don't have any internet, TV, anything."

"Common sense," Dad said. "Because if they did, people would be marching towards the city hall and tomorrow it'd be burned down to ashes."

"They wouldn't," Mom replied. "People are scared and nervous, but they wouldn't do that. Not when they need the government."

"How do you know that people died?" Dad asked and raised his voice. "It's not like you have the internet or any connection. We needed that gas—"

"How was I supposed to know that it was a lie?" Mom shouted back.

Looking back on it, I think it was obvious. That librarian was too nervous, too scared, especially when Mom found out that she'd been getting gasoline. Maybe she was worried (somewhat irrationally) that Mom would stalk her and rob her house for gasoline since every drop is like liquid gold, especially since the volcanoes, where the only cars with gasoline were Leon's and those weekly food delivery trucks. That's probably why she offered Mom the job that wouldn't exist after she had left, so that Mom would wait for two weeks for gasoline instead of taking a risk and robbing her house for some. It was just so obvious, but I don't think anyone was cynical enough to put that together.

They continued arguing, going in circles over and over again, until both of them got tired of repeating the same exact points again and again and just resigned to giving each other icy glares with the occasional snarky comment. I think I normally would've broken up the argument, but with May disappearing to the kitchen and Mira still frosty towards me, there was nothing I could do that wouldn't have made it worse.

So I sat in the bathroom and locked the door behind me and hoped that the wall drowned out the sounds of shouting because the sounds of people arguing are the worst in the world, even over the clattering of plates or the squeaky sounds of wet rubber soles on smooth wooden floors. I don't know why, but I could feel my heartbeat rushing, fluttering too fast, completely unable to focus on anything with this pit of dread sitting in my stomach. I stayed in the bathroom until May knocked on the door to ask what was taking me so long, and I spent the rest of the day in the living room, trying but failing to read one of those fantasy books.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Lately, Dad has been making a lot of soup and today, we had soup and mixed vegetables, and everyone sipped the warm soup in silence.

"I'm cold," May said.

"Go get a sweater," Mom replied.

"I'll go turn up the heater," Dad said at the same time.

"No," Mom said. "It's warm enough right now, and we need to conserve natural gas right now."

"We need to keep the plants warm too," Dad replied and stood up. "If it's cold enough for May, then whatever seeds we had sprouted will be dead by morning."

"Listen to me. It's sixty degrees in the house already. There's no need to turn this place into a greenhouse."

"Well maybe you should've listened to me when I said we should've taken the job and gotten some gasoline and food instead of trusting strangers over family and the government."

I tuned out for the rest of the argument and stirred the carrots bobbing on the surface, trying to convince myself that carrots were delicious, but as soon as I put one in my mouth, I spit it out. Because Mom and Dad were deep into their argument, I slipped away quietly from the table, hoping that they wouldn't notice that I hadn't finished all of my food.

I ended up hiding in Dad's office study area, swiveling in the twirling chair before quickly leaving after hearing the storming of footsteps in the kitchen area. Everywhere I went seemed to send a spike in my heartbeat as I dodged Mom and Dad, trying not to get caught in their storm of rage, and ignoring Mira, who keeps giving me icy looks.

In the end, I ended up hiding in the bathroom again, gazing into that man's dreamy eyes in the magazine until the thoughts and questions and weirdness about these feelings started flowing and making something that felt so natural just awkward, and I shoved those glossy papers in the back of the cabinet. I don't think I can handle any more of this stuff anymore, at least not right now.

August 29

If yesterday was the storm, then today is the aftermath, not rainbows and sunshine filtering out into rays from behind the clouds, but that uncomfortable dampness that rises from the asphalt when it stops pouring and the clouds clear the sky.

Wood gathering was tense, and unlike last time, when Mom and Dad and all of us were like a well-oiled machine, picking and gathering maybe a week's worth of wood that day, today we maybe gathered enough wood for two or three days, if I'm being generous. Mom and Dad weren't working well together and while I wasn't getting the same icy looks as before, I knew that Mira was still mad at me. It wasn't really anything based on evidence, but just a feeling, you know.

The only other thing that happened today was that Dad moved the greenhouse closer to the heating vents so that the hot air would blow better on the plants. Even though the sun is out, it's still around fifty-degrees at most during the afternoons and the mornings are pretty frigid, so even though everything about the sky screams summer, from the early dawns to the sunsets around seven or eight, the weather still feels like the depths of winter.

Actually, one other thing happened today. I saw Mom filming the sunset today, the bright reds and lavenders filling up the sky tonight, colors swirling so much with the clouds and the walls of the houses and ash-rimmed windowpanes that I felt like I was in a hallucination.

"What are you doing?" I asked, even though I knew exactly what she was doing.

"Filming the sunset," she said. "For times when the sky isn't so clear anymore and the clouds return again."

"Have you talked with Mira about the collage idea?"

"She hasn't said a word to me since Saturday," Mom said. "Any luck with you?"

I shrugged and gazed out the window as the indigos of the night began dimming the celebration of colors.

"I'm surprised you haven't played any of your phone games," Mom said.

"I thought you and Dad were all about restricting my screen time."

"I think a two-month break is more than enough," Mom said. "And maybe it'll be a good idea to have something normal to do."

"I guess," I said. "But it's better to use the phones for the flashlights for the greenbox."

"Calling it the greenbox now," Mom said before nodding her head. "You truly are your father's son."

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean," I said before leaving Mom to capture the dimming of the sun as it slipped behind a wall of shingled roofs and the sloshing ocean.

August 30

I nearly got caught this morning.

I had already prepared the bag of canned food last night, and all I needed to do was to drop it off in front of the porch in the same spot as last time, so that Charles could fill up his bag safe from the prying eyes of Mom and Dad. And in the dawns of the morning, I unlocked the front door, making sure that the heavy lock did not thud too loud, and managed to get the bag into place. But before I could hurry back inside, May had seen me outside.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Stuff," I said before gazing at the wispy tendrils of clouds above me. "Looking at the sun and the sky."

"Looking at the sun and sky..." she repeated.

"Yeah."

"Yeah..."

"Stop repeating after me," I said, on the outside, probably sounding pretty annoyed, but I was panicking on the inside. I think she would've said something if she knew because May isn't the type of person to hide her thoughts, but who knows? "What do you want?"

"Nothing, geez," she replied. "I was only asking. It's not like you have something to hide or anything."

"Whatever," I muttered and walked inside. I don't think she knows, but I know she's suspicious, and I know that one day I'll be caught. I don't know how I can keep living like this, sneaking food out every week and having a scare every single time, mostly because of my paranoia but sometimes because I'm just seconds away from being caught and losing everything. But if I don't do this, then I'll lose my only friend, and I don't know what I'd do.

I guess I still feel suffocated, you know, by the world. I thought that when everything happened that I'll finally have at least a little freedom to live a little and for a while, it actually came true, but now, it's like the world has snapped into place again. College and jobs are just being replaced with starvation and death and the cold that's going to come in a couple of months.

I waited all afternoon for Charles outside until Mom asked me why I was sitting outside with the dusts of ash kicking dust into the air and told me to wait inside.

"Charles is coming here," I said, and she sighed at my loophole to her rule before doing whatever else she was doing before. I think it was after an hour or so that he finally appeared.

"Hey," I said and closed the door behind me before stepping outside. "You got it, right?"

"Yeah," he said and turned back. "I got the package. I feel like I'm a spy or something in the movies."

"That makes it sound a lot cooler," I said before remembering what I saw last time, with the rivulet of blood. "How's your leg doing? You know, after last time."

"It's fine," he said before scuffing the ground with his boots. "I'm fine."

"That's good," I said and nodded before gazing at his boots, remembering how their soles shined with the glittering of what I imagined was glass. But these weren't the same shoes, and I think these were new, the sides undusted by ash and the laces unfrayed. "New shoes?"

"Not really, no," he said. "More like my dad's old pair that we found buried in the corner of our attic that probably haven't been touched since I was in kindergarten."

That sounded really odd to me since I thought they had pawned everything away during July. He couldn't be lying to me about that since he looked sick, and I know that I'm not imagining it. But there are things that just aren't adding up, unless I'm thinking about it wrong. But I don't think I am.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I be sure?" he replied.

"Okay," I said. "I guess everything is fine."

He nodded before saying, "So what's your fourth one? I know we didn't get much time to talk last time."

"I don't know," I said. "I guess I just wish I could just leave everything behind."

"Like running away?"

"Yeah but not really," I said. "I guess I just want to leave some stuff behind and just disappear into the mountains. Maybe the pretty ones around Wyoming—"

"Wyoming," he exclaimed. "That's in the middle of nowhere. And who knows what's going to happen with Yellowstone?"

"I mean, if you want to live life on the edge..." I said.

"Maybe I should," he said. "Who knows when an earthquake will collapse a building on me when I'm sleeping?"

"That was awfully specific," I said with a soft chuckle. "And really dark. Anyways, maybe the mountains around Montana, and just live in the woods, you know, with the tall trees and crystal streams and everything without the pressures of society."

"Wow," he said with a smile. "Leaving me behind. That really hurts."

"Fine," I replied with a smile of my own. "You can come, and we can, I don't know, do whatever people do in the mountains, like being cowboys and riding horses or herding sheep or fishing even though I have no clue how to do any of the things that I just said."

"I thought your dream was Hawaii or some warm place?" he asked.

"I guess," I said and shrugged. "I'm probably reading too many westerns right now. I don't think it's even possible anyways, probably just my overactive imagination."

I expected him to say no or something, but instead, he just nodded on before softly saying, "Yeah."

I looked down. "Yeah. I know."

"It's not like it's not possible," he said. "I just feel like that's for something in the future, future, you know."

"It was a stupid idea anyways," I said before sighing.

"It isn't stupid," he replied. "I wish we could go camping in the mountains and disappear or something, but it's not possible, you know. It's not like your Hawaii dream, where we could go to the library and travel the world on book pages."

The winds kicked some ash into the air and Charles coughed a bit before I said, "I thought we could ask anything."

There was a bit of silence between us before he cleared his throat.

"I guess some dreams aren't possible now," he said. "At least, not right now."

Then he stood up suddenly. "You know what? Remind me in twenty years when we're a lot older and the world will be back to normal, and let's do it: camping, sightseeing, whatever-you-want in middle-of-nowhere Wyoming."

And then he was back to normal Charles, not the more hopeless one that I've seen more and more, but just normal him, and I smiled. "How will we even keep in touch?"

"I don't know," he said. "Send letters in the wind, and destiny will bring them to each other."

"That sounds like it comes from a cheesy romance movie," I said. "And plus, I think by then, cell phones will actually be working."

"Cell phones better be working," he said before picking up his bag.

"You have to leave?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I've got stuff to do for my parents, you know."

I nodded. "I'll see you next week?"

"You better have your fourth wish down," he said to me as he walked down our porch stairs, facing back at me. "Consider your current one as a future wish."

And then he walked down the street and disappeared into the sun, and with his talk about letters, I think I knew what my fourth wish was. I think I want to write a novel or a book. I'm not sure what, but I just want something for people to remember me by, like Mom and her sunsets and Mira and her collage. I guess I want to just have something permanent, so that in twenty years in the future, it'll still be there, unchanged. I know that I have this diary, but I just want more than this, if that makes any sense.