What Comes After

August 31

Today was a mostly quiet day.

It was still quite busy. In the morning, Mira reported that the mustard seeds had germinated and grown thin roots, so it was probably time to plant them in the greenbox before they got too used to the wet towels that we stored them in. So that's what May, and I were assigned to do in the morning while Mom, Mira, and Grandma worked with creating some sort of fertilizer with the kelp that was now stinking up the house.

"How'd you manage your whole gardening job?" May asked as we scooped little germinating mustards and put them in the aluminum cans.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Gardening sucks," she said. "I had a dream where we were all eating oranges, but I'm starting to think that I don't really want that if gardening is this much work."

"Well, life is life," I said and formed an indent in the soil with my thumb. We were planting five mustard seeds per can since it would be a waste of space to do once per can.

"Everyone says that all the time, but what does it even mean?"

"I don't know," I said. "I guess it's just a way to condescend to younger people or dreams or who knows?"

"I guess we'll never find out since life is life," she said and brushed her hair before turning towards me. "Can you cover for me, next Tuesday?"

"Why?"

"I'm going on a solo mission," she replied. "To scope out one of the houses that was broken into. Maybe the people missed something."

"That's a terrible idea," I said. "How am I supposed to even cover for you? Mom won't even let us leave the house, so I can't use me visiting Charles or you visiting your friends as an excuse."

"I don't know," she said. "You'll figure something out. Say I'm in the bathroom or something."

"For a couple of hours?" I said in disbelief. "Mom would never believe you."

"Mom and Dad barely pay attention anymore," she said. "They're too busy giving each other cold glares and looking at the plants and just laying around—"

There were footsteps behind us, and I saw that Dad was dressed in his outdoor clothes, thick parka and pants, with the axe in his hand, a mask on his face, and the wagon in his other hand. May turned towards him "Where are you going?"

"Wood-chopping."

"Did Mom approve of this?"

"It doesn't matter," Dad said before opening the door and stepping out. "Just like she did what she thought was best for the family, I'm doing what I think is best."

"Well, don't die," May said.

"I won't," Dad replied gruffly before shutting the door with a slam that may have been a result of the wind or some sort of lingering anger.

It was hard to tell, but as soon as he left, May turned back to me, and I said, "Well, even if I can cover you, it'll be dangerous. There's going to be glass everywhere and not to mention the militia. You could get shot."

"They're a night watch," she said. "They do night patrolling and not in the middle of the day. And plus, I have these things called eyes and ears, so I won't die or anything from glass or guns or whatever."

"I thought you didn't want to die," I said. "Isn't that why you literally stopped us from doing the rockfall—"

She cut me off. "You also stopped us from going, and anyways, that's different. A landslide is just out of your control, and you can't really stop it from happening because it just does, but this is different. I'd know when the militia is coming or if there is glass that I might step on."

"I don't know about this—"

"It's not even illegal," she said. "Other people broke into the house, and I'm just taking the leftovers. And you're not even doing it, so there's literally no worry for you."

"How will you tell Mom and Dad about the supplies that you find?"

"I won't," she said. "Not until later when they become desperate enough to see that what I'm doing is right. So will you do it?"

"I don't know," I said. "We'll see."

"That's good enough for me," she said, and we returned to our comfortable silence, spooning mustard roots into the canned soil and filling up the greenbox with little bits of life.

Later on, Mom and the rest of them brought their kelp mixture for the plants. They ended up washing and shredding half of the kelp with scissors and are going to mulch the soil with it and the other half is currently fermenting in a bucket of water outside to make a liquid fertilizer for later on to help the plants grow. The rest of the day was pretty quiet. I picked up an old cowboy book and started reading it while Mom and Mira washed our week-long backlog of dishes before I was summoned to dry them.

But it was at dinner when everything erupted.

After weeks of soup, we finally got rice today, just a handful for everyone, along with one can of mixed vegetables for everyone. I managed to trade out all of the carrots from my can with May in exchange for her string beans without Mom and Dad catching us. Today was supposed to be our gratitude day, but no one was grateful for anything that happened these past few days.

"So, does anyone want to start?" Dad asked.

We looked up from our bowl of rice and steaming can of mixed vegetables before looking back down and spooning it into our mouths. May stuffed the rest of her food into her mouth and stood up. "Goodbye."

Dad stood up. "Where do you think you're going?"

"It's not like we have anything to be grateful about," she said. "And this is a stupid idea anyways."

"Sit down right now," Dad said, louder and sterner, but May refused to move. I don't know what's gotten up with her since she seemed fine in the morning, and this wouldn't even help with her whole plan to disappear under Mom and Dad's radar.

"No."

"May," Dad said and raised his voice.

"I'm already grounded for the rest of my life," she said. "Who cares?"

"We need to do this," Dad said, though it was more like a shout. "To stick together as a family, so sit down and share."

"No," May replied and crossed her arms. "It's not like you and Mom have been helping keep this family together all week with your all-day all-night arguing."

Dad crossed his arms and turned towards Mom. "Aren't you going to back me up?"

Mom shrugged and said, "I don't think anyone is in the mood for this this week. Maybe next time."

"This is supposed to be our family thing," Dad said. "And we can't stop doing—"

"You made this," Mom said. "Not us. I know that you went wood-cutting today without even asking all of us, and you keep making unilateral decisions without even asking. We need to make decisions about things together. Not separately."

"I'm doing what's best for the family," Dad said. "Someone has to step up."

"Stepping up is not dying," Mom said and their argument droned on and on and on. In most movies and TV shows, arguments move people forward, like they find some sort of solution to make it stop or they find some sort of middle ground compromise, but it seems like they keep arguing about the same things. Maybe this is what happens when you're stuck with each other for a long time with more time in the future when everything new is exhausted and you're only left with old grievances.

You know, before Saturday, everything was going great. The sun was out, and this was supposed to be our week of celebration, of the sun and our garden and leaves and the sky and constellations and everything because we don't know how long it'll last or whether it'll disappear tomorrow under a layer of ash as the cold returns and seeps whatever life we have away, one day at a time.

September 1

Today was a silent day.

No one really talked to each other, like we were all walls. The most that Mom said to me and May was that we had to open up the textbook and read at least one chapter, but May was still mad from last night, so she just ignored Mom even though Mom took her side, and I was the only one that actually read my textbook.

I flipped open the first chapter. It was an overview about the Earth, in all its blue glory punctuated by blobs of green and tan colored deserts like the Sahara. I don't think Earth looks like this anymore. It's probably more gray, maybe with a bit more orange from the volcanoes, but far less green and some more blue and a little less Florida.

I tried reading the first few pages, I really did, but every time that I got through a few lines, my eyes would dart right back to the Earth and how great it used to look and how awful it must look now. Even though the textbook was made relatively recently, it already feels outdated, and at that moment, everything that I was reading about felt pointless, so I closed it to gather dust once again.

Instead, I pulled out the set of colored pencils that I got and began sketching landscapes and filling them in with vivid colors. I tried showing some of my drawings to Mira, but the only response she gave me was an impersonal "Looks fine," so I kept my drawings to myself.

I've also been drawing a lot of mountains lately, not our boring rolling hills filled with dead branches that will someday blossom with dull looking leaves, but from one of our old travel books about Western landscapes. The tall ice-capped mountains, the alpine woodlands and meadows saturated with green, and the lakes that seemed to reflect the shimmering skylight with the perfect amount of rippling. I know that I wouldn't want to live there since it's too cold, but there's something beautiful about them.

Frankly, I don't know why I've become a bit obsessed about mountains since my conversation with Charles. I guess there's something solitary and protected about them, like an escape from society and suffocation, unlike the beaches, open and probably full of people. Maybe it'll give me some time to think.

Because sometimes, I wonder if what I feel towards guys is actually real and not something that I'm making myself feel in order to feel special or something. I know that it sounds awful when writing it down, but it's something that I think about. Can you convince yourself that you like someone even if you don't really? I'd ask someone this, but that would be too much of a weird question for anyone but myself because it's too personal and personal stuff is just weird to talk about.

But still, I wish I knew. Maybe that's why I'm thinking about mountains because I wonder if those people that wander and live in the Rockies for much of their lives know the answer, and I wonder if maybe some time to myself or maybe with Charles or something, I'll find the answer, far from society and from judgement and everything. But I think, like he said, it's not possible right now because there's no running away from the moon and volcanoes.

At least not now.

Or ever.