October 20

"What's your mom doing all day at your house?" I asked.

"She's building a clinic," Caspian replied. "The last time that I stayed back, we spent all day dragging down the mattresses and setting up a cot area."

"That's cool," I replied. "Though I don't think that the Hunters would appreciate all the moving around."

"People still live in that house?" he said with a hint of surprise.

"I'm joking," I said.

"Ha, ha, very funny," he deadpanned.

"Well, I'm kinda joking. I guess it's complicated. They basically just gave us their key and then disappeared. Who knows when they're going to pop up again?"

"Well, as long as they're not real hunters, I think we're going to be fine."

"I'm pretty sure they were," I replied. "We got a whole bunch of camping–"

I stopped myself before I could reveal more information. Even though Caspian has been spending all day in our house and probably knows the location of all our food and supply stores, I guess I'm still filled with the bit of doubt that Mom and Dad had embedded in me. It's not like he and his family are supposed threats anymore, and I want to be hopeful, but I'm just scared of making a mistake that I won't be able to take back.

"How long has it been since they left?" he asked.

"Three months, I think," I said. "I just realized. We're a month away from the sixth month anniversary. I don't know if we should be celebrating or not."

As soon as those words came out, I wished that I could take them back because I just knew on the inside that he lost people during the initial day along with his home and his neighbors and any sense of dignity. It's not like us, where everything that happened just felt like a far-away nightmare, because it's real. I could immediately tell that the atmosphere became gloomier and that I had badly screwed up.

"We should celebrate," he said, with a hint of bitterness. "We're still here. It's not like the guy in the sky can throw anything worse."

"Then the universe suddenly decides to implode," I replied, trying to shift the conversation to a lighter tone, hoping to undo my mistake.

"Well if I'm going out, I might as well go out like that," he replied. "There are worse ways to pass away..."

Then he turned away, and I could tell from the hitch in his breath that he was trying not to sound like he's crying, going uncharacteristically quiet to hide the crack in his voice. I wish I knew what was going on, and I wish that I could help him. But I felt like because we barely knew each other that it would be awkward for me to ask him to spill out what is specifically hurting him, so I just sat there in silence before mustering up a meek "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said before obviously lying. "I just got lost in my train of thought."

I just nodded, and any conversation after that just fizzled out, neither of us particularly engaged in whatever topic he brought up despite him embracing the facade of optimism and carefreeness. But it's at that moment that I felt a bit of a change because I actually truly understood how he felt, holding back all the emotions pushing on the valve and trying to just embrace normalcy and pretend all the feelings away. For me, it's the emotional intimacy that I'm so scared of, but given how open he is, I think there's just more than that. But maybe it's not in my place to speculate.

I think it's also why he left characteristically early, probably also because May had beaten him over and over in Speed. His excuse was that he wanted to get some more sleep, but I knew that he was lying and that the conversation that we had was bothering him. It was also an incredible coincidence that just after he left that Mira was forced to leave an hour earlier than usual.

"I thought your night watch was later," I said as she was at the front door, preparing to leave.

"I'm taking one for the team," she said and looked back at me with a bit of sadness in her eyes and voice. "Some of the people just stopped checking in a couple of days back, so we've all got to pick up some extra shifts."

"Are they alright?" I asked. "The people who disappeared."

"I didn't know them well, but I'd hope so," she said. "But maybe the worst has happened because I knew that they were getting sick."

"Caspian's mom has a clinic," I said. "You could send them there."

"I wish," she said. "But it's not the type of sickness that could be cured by doctors."

And I knew exactly what she was talking about. It's starvation, the disease that creeps up slowly, like frost crystallizing across the landscape, the steady battering down of a person until all their morals are shattered or they fall down, unable to continue. It's so frustrating because it's not something that we need a doctor to cure, and we have the power at our hands, if we only had warmth and sunlight and seeds. I just realized that there's more to the greenhouse than just providing food and hope. We're going to be providing healing, not only for starvation but the bonds between people, and maybe that's what matters the most.

But unfortunately for me, getting to the greenhouse involves navigating May's scavenging trips, and with everyone but my grandparents and me gone, she noticed the opportunity and pounced.

"I think you know what time it is," she said.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"What happened to no questions?" she replied, snapping at me. "Cover for me."

"Well, be back soon," I said. "No more than half an hour."

"I'll be back in time. Stop worrying so much, like geez, you're a control freak or something."

"Well I'm just saying that maybe it's time to, I don't know, like not do this anymore," I said. "I mean, Dad's agreed to go scavenging now, and it's always safer to do things in groups."

"He only agreed because I pushed it," she said. "I'm actually being the mature one here and taking action instead of just being forced to hang on the sides and literally be useless. Grandma literally sews a million times faster than me–"

"Well, I mean it's good practice," I replied.

"It is actually useless though. Let's be honest, basically no one touched the clothing stores, so we have infinite clothes," she said. "Plus, why don't you spend hours of your life just failing to sew and poking your finger every other time?"

"Will you stop if I do it?" I asked.

"No," she said and tied her hair back. "If Mom and Dad come home, make sure you have your excuse ready."

She then grabbed a backpack and slipped out of the backdoor before hopping over the fence. The swirling ash and dust in the air enveloped her, leaving no one but Grandma, Grandpa, and I in the house, and because both of them were taking a late afternoon nap, I sat in front of the fire before gazing at the flames, watching their flickers, before my sight shifted to the net laying on the ground.

When I tried sewing the fake lure and hook onto the net, I finally understood May's pain. They'd constantly slip from my hands, the hook catching my skin at times, and given how sweaty my fingers were, the needle kept slipping from my grasp and poking my fingertip. None of the stabs drew blood, but they were painful and annoying, and I guess I could see why she hated this job. There's nothing instantly gratifying about working on a long and painful project, and it's difficult to appreciate the end product when you contribute negatively to it.

Mom and Dad were out extremely late, arriving when the sun had completely set with a large wagon of wood, so May had safely arrived without being caught. I didn't look at the illicit goods in her bag, just making sure that she didn't have any glass shard cuts on her hands or arms. But when I examined her shoes, they sparkled in the light, embedded with tiny glass shards.

"Your shoes are like a disco ball," I said. "If you walk anywhere with them, Mom and Dad would be able to tell."

"That's why I don't wear these pairs for anything but scavenging," she replied. "Don't you know what my usual shoes are? Are you, like, blind or something? Unlike you, I'm thinking a million steps ahead–"

"I don't really care about shoes."

"Well, you should," May said. "Do you want to die? Because you need to start learning scavenging, and not in the way that Dad does it, but properly."

"Why don't you just fight harder to get included–"

"Because Mom and Dad think I'm too young," she replied. "Why can't I just skip to, like, twenty or something. I won't have any acne, and people will take me seriously. They won't be like, 'Look at this bratty fifteen year old', but like, 'Wow. What a smart young woman.'"

"Maybe don't talk–"

"I do not talk like an annoying person, so don't like, victim blame me," she said. "This is literally Mom and Dad's problem, and while they change, I will be getting ready to debut my better, apocalyptic self."

"You think the end of the world made you better?"

"Uh, obviously," she said, and I couldn't tell if she was being serious or sarcastic.

I guess I get May now, at least just a little bit, about the reason why she likes scavenging. It's more than just cheap thrills or the awe of finding new clothes and fancy valuables, but it's about respect, not now in the present but in the future. It's about preparing yourself for worse times, where scavenging transforms from this luxury into a necessity, and while I think that's too pessimistic, I get that in this new world, if everything we're building collapses, it'll be May that'll be the one standing. I think that's why the end of the world has made her feel better because she's finally great at one thing.

And that does beg the question: Did the end of the world make me a better person? After thinking about it throughout the evening, the answer is that I don't know yet. Is being angry and mournful and bitter at times make me a better person, even if Mira would think that me being more open is just better? Is failing my best friend when he needed me the most and sending him on a who-knows-how-long trip to possibly another frozen landscape make me a better person?

I both feel like my metamorphosis has been tinged with failure and disappointment at every step and that I haven't really changed, still being the same guy who lives by his ideals only his head.

It's the only place where I do everything right.

October 21

It's supposed to be the eve of our scavenging mission after preparing for weeks for it. And yet, today was fairly boring.

"Are you excited?" Mira asked, as we packed some small supplies into our backpacks, primarily dried oats into ziploc bags and other small miscellaneous supplies in case we got stuck and needed to stay overnight somewhere.

"I don't know," I said. "You seem pretty excited though."

"I do, a little bit," she said.

"Doesn't it feel a bit hypocritical though?" I asked. "You being a part of the night watch but are taking supplies."

"I mean, it's for the greater good," Mira replied. "It's not just scavenging for scavenging's sake, but we're building something greater. I guess somewhere along the way, I realized that I needed to prioritize what matters to me the most and that getting this done, that's what really matters."

"What do you think we'll be doing once this all gets built?" I asked.

"I'd want to become a diplomat," Mira said, and I raised my eyebrows.

"A diplomat, huh?"

"I know it sounds really out-there," she replied. "But I want to be out there, meet other communities, and find a way to band all of us together."

"That's certainly bold," I said. "I think I'd just stick with staying in the greenhouse and living out my farming dreams."

"Where's your adventurous spirit," Mira said. "I'm just kidding. Sometimes, I'd wish for a nice, quiet life, but with everything that has happened, it's just not enough for me."

I guess at that moment, I just felt this admiration for her because she lost someone close to her and has managed to pull herself together and keep her big dreams. If there's anyone that became an unambiguously better person during the apocalypse, it's Mira. Even though I could just feel a bit of pain at the end of the sentence, there was this quiet hope just pulsating there that she just isn't satisfied with our current life.

"You'll be able to see the world," I said.

"It's going to be so weird to see how it's changed."

"Well, if you go up to San Francisco, tell me if the Golden Gate Bridge is still here."

"You spotted the lights in SF?"

I shook my head because the city was just too far away to be spotted from the mountains. "But there's always a chance."

"It's a possibility," she said and gazed off into the distance. I wonder what San Francisco looks like right now. Will the bridge remain upright and strong or dissipated and rusting, broken by the massive earthquakes? I just realized that I haven't visited the city in so long that I forgot what it felt like walking over the bridge or the specific shade of red. It's these small details that no one thought about that will be eventually lost forever.

I guess I spent most of the afternoon not doing much, just mostly sitting in my now-empty room, shuffling through all the books that I have borrowed but haven't gotten to and triple checking that everything I'd need for the adventure was there. While I was reorganizing the book shelves, I heard the door open.

"Neal, I want to talk with you," Mom said.

"What?" I asked because I knew that no good conversation started like that.

"Did you pack everything?" she asked.

"Yes, I've got the food rations, heavy jacket, water bottle, and the first-aid supplies," I said, pulling out each item.

"What about the knife?" Mom asked. "You will need it, and I know you don't like it but you can't be stubborn about it–"

"I have it," I said, gingerly pulling it out of the front pocket. "I just didn't want to pull it out because I didn't want to stab myself."

"You can't be afraid like that," Mom said. "You need to get comfortable with it, just in case anything happens."

"I know. I brought it to the solar panel trip," I said. "I can not like it and still be able to use it."

"Keep it in your pocket when we go out," Mom replied. "That's not a suggestion."

"You're being annoying."

"Just do it," she said. "We don't need this type of stubbornness. You did martial arts when you were younger so what's the big deal now?"

"Dad made me do it," I replied. "And fine, whatever."

To be honest, I'm probably not going to have that knife hanging in my pocket because the probability of me accidentally stabbing a major artery is much more than me going into a situation when using a knife would be useful as a weapon and not a practical tool. I think it's mostly as a way to make us feel safer, even if it's not particularly useful or safe. It's just a nice story that we tell ourselves.

Dinner was quiet today. There wasn't any of the joyous attitude that was present at other monumental events, and it was just mostly silence. I think a part of it was that we kept pretty quiet to respect that Dad was uncomfortable with the whole scavenging situation, especially celebrating it. But another part was that we were terrified about jinxing the whole mission. Celebrating prematurely is hasty.

I wonder if the world is just setting us up to knock us down and that the whole trip will be this massive bust. It's so scary that our whole future depends on securing these materials, and it's like, if there's no clear tarp, then we're all on borrowed time because that's the only way to create a long-term food source. Maybe we'd find a solution with clear plastic bottles and window panes or something, but by the time that happens, it'll be too late. It's just so scary that we're essentially rolling the dice and just hoping that everything works out. It's like whatever happens to us tomorrow is just out of my control, and that whatever happens, happens.

I wonder if that's why I'm so paranoid about forgetting because it's just out of my control. I wish I could just reorganize my brain to save all the important moments and let go of pre-calculus and physics and chemistry and all that useless stuff. But instead, I've got the pythagorean theorem embedded in my mind even as small shards of our last day slowly slip away from my grasp, like broken glass being dragged into the ocean.

October 22

Optimistic.

That's how I feel after today. Mom wanted to pop a bottle of champagne (more like one of our last cans of soda), but Dad didn't feel comfortable celebrating lawless activities. Still, he cracked a small smile while the attitude was over-the-roof positive. It's finally time for something unapologetically good to happen. Our plan might actually work!

I suppose the only dampener is that Caspian didn't come out today, much like yesterday, and I feel like I completely screwed up by mentioning death and the past and of the uncomfortable stuff that he would much rather forget. Now, I don't know whether he's silently mad at me for bringing up these uncomfortable subjects or is being forced to deal with his emotions before he's ready for it. I should've just let him move on, and not drag him through my own flaws.

Instead of Caspian coming with me and Dad, it was his mom. There was this palpable, cordial coldness when Mom and Cora were around each other, as if the tensions had been reduced to a simmer. Because our plaza was further away, and we needed to get more materials, Dad and I got the bikes while Mom and her group were forced to walk to the pool supply store.

"There's a pharmacy nearby?" she asked as Dad and I were about to take out on our bikes with her on a scooter.

"There's a small CVS across the street," Dad replied. "But we aren't going there. It's too dangerous."

"I'll be going there alone," she said. "If we're going to be stuck together forever, I might as well start beginning my new life here."

"Well, why don't we focus on getting greenhouse supplies first," Dad replied. "We'll need containers, mountains of them, and that's our top priority."

"I'll be getting the medicine. You all wouldn't understand," she responded sternly, her eyes seemingly focused as he stood on her scooter. "Let's go."

"Half and half," Dad replied as he got on the bicycle. "You get medicine every other time that we go to the plaza."

"Fine," she said, pushing off even though only Dad and I had the directions memorized, so we had to chase after her to make sure that she didn't get lost or veer off course.

This trip was much less exciting compared to the journey to get the solar panels since the memory of the streets that I've grown up around have been burned into my mind, even if some of the landmarks had disappeared, either from the ashfall or the earthquake. It's weird how there were just empty spaces scattered indiscriminately alongside the path, as if I was in a cracked mirror world, the gaps of missing shards representing these lonely areas. This feels a whole lot more otherworldly than the ash coating the ground and skies.

When we arrived at the plaza, Dad gazed around, making sure that no one was nearby, especially given how we were blindsided before. But it was truly empty. There weren't even any cars in the parking lot, and the ash piled over the painted lines and curbs was smooth and untouched. At that moment, we felt like the only people in the world.

I could also see Caspian's mom looking around, only following us as we quickly pedaled towards the art supply store, looking like phantoms as we kicked up dust with our bikes. The windows were already smashed, helping us avoid another one of Dad's dilemmas, and we pulled our bikes and scooter in, making sure that the wheels didn't land on any glass before setting them in a secure location.

The store, for the most part, seemed completely trashed, especially the front of the store, where the collapsed shelves and shards of ceramic were too broken to be damaged just by the earthquake. It was disheartening to see the waste, and I guess I also felt a bit angry too because there's just no point to senseless destruction since someone else could someday need the materials being ruined for fun.

It all seemed helpless until we wandered deep into the darkness, armed only with a dim flashlight, and when we clambered over some overturned metal shelves, that's when we discovered a bounty of riches.

Somehow, the shelves in the back survived the earthquake, staying upright, and because of the minor barriers in front of the glassware, none of the mason jars on the shelves had shattered. There were several dozen of them just lying there, untouched and uncracked, distorting the faint light we were pointing at it, as the glass seemed to shimmer.

"Is this real?" Dad said, somewhat marveling at the jars.

"It's a trap," Caspian's mom said. "There's no way that so many survived the earthquake. This all feels too convenient."

"I think if people were making traps, they would use food and gasoline and stuff like that," I replied.

Cora gave me a hard look, and I wanted to just shirk back into a corner and disappear. If she was my doctor, I think I'd be even more scared of the doctor's office than I am now. "I've seen people do worse when they were desperate. You two wouldn't understand."

"We wouldn't understand what?" Dad responded, backing me up. "You've mentioned that twice already, so why don't you just explain yourself? We need to stop with this deflection."

"You wouldn't understand because you guys have had it easy. You haven't lost people the way we did," she said with a heavy sigh tinged with bitterness. "My family, we've had to work to survive in whatever way we could. There was no fallback plan, no extra food, no guaranteed shelter. We saw people lose themselves to the cold and the hunger, and we saw desperation with our own eyes. It's not unreasonable to think that this good luck is just good design."

"It's good luck," Dad said. "I'm not letting these go to waste, even if I wish that I was privileged enough to do so. You're not the only one whose family has lost people."

Even though it was a tense moment with Dad and Cora staring each other down, I almost let out a small laugh because just until extremely recently, Dad had absolutely hated the idea of scavenging for supplies, and now, he was in full favor. Maybe he was just doing this for Mom to project a unified front so that the Coopers wouldn't utilize any gaps to pry our family apart, but I wonder if he's had a change of mind. He had set a hard rule against having multiple groups out scavenging, but we already broke that rule about as soon as it was made.

I wonder if that's something that he has to do, where he just pretends to himself that things are changing slower than usual by making strict rules that crumble almost immediately. Maybe that's how he retains this sense of normalcy with this performative resistance to change.

"You just wouldn't understand," she said, and Dad scoffed before we began gently placing the mason jars in the backpacks. There were also some plastic cups scattered in the back that we piled in grocery bags that we hung from the handles of our bikes and scooters, and we ended up biking back in complete silence, except for the bobbling of the grocery bags in the wind.

We ended up getting a massive pile of supplies, maybe not massive but a pretty decent amount of supplies, from the art store. After we had emptied the store of mason jars, getting roughly eighty or so jars, we began scavenging for other supplies. There were some ceramic cups, but not a ton since they were located in the front of the store and were mostly broken. We did get tons of duct tape, close to fifty or so rolls, which should be more than enough for a lifetime along with gallons of glue and other adhesives since apparently being able to stick two things together is literally the most important thing at the end of the world.

We just grabbed as many low priority items as we could since it was unlikely that they would be there if we returned. We got tons of string and yarn and twine for netting and sewing along with tons of markers and colored pencils and watercolor paints for trading and boredom. It's only after we had done several rounds, making sure that we had gotten sufficient supplies of all that we needed, that we left the art store. The smell of paint in the air was making everyone feel sick, and by that time, the sky was getting dark, so we wanted to get to the nursery and gather supplies before it became impossible to see.

"I'm checking out the pharmacy," Cora said when we had arrived in front of the nursery, and at this point, we had gotten pretty much everything that we had needed from the art store, and Dad was so tired that he just let her go, leaving just the both of us to scavenge the store.

I think, unsurprisingly, it was just fairly dead and eerie, with rows of thin trunks and branches of mini tangerine and lemon trees lying bare, along with dried husks of plants thrown out from their flats. The flaps on top of the greenhouse were torn, whooshing around with the gusts of wind, and I noticed that the back half had collapsed.

When we checked for seeds, Dad and I were only able to come up with three packs that had slid underneath a shelf of potted herbs, and all they were were just more lettuce and cabbage seeds. The fertilizer had been taken and pesticides were not particularly useful, so we just grabbed some gravel and clay dots because they could help with drainage issues. Things weren't looking too good until I spotted a dried, brown tomato lying on the ground.

"We can get seeds from these things," I said. "If we peeled them open, we wouldn't need seed packets or anything."

"That's a good idea," Dad said. "I'm proud of you, son."

"Cool..."

"I'm being serious," he replied, once again a bit too positive. "When you put your mind to things that matter, it's like these ideas just come natural to you."

"Okay," I said, somewhat uncomfortable and embarrassed by Dad's try-hard attitude.

"C'mon, let's go fulfill you and your Mom's dream," he said while slapping my shoulder lightly.

"Do you actually think it's going to happen or not?" I asked, just as he was about to walk off.

"I mean if your mom thinks it's going to happen, I know it's going to happen," he said. "For me, I'm starting to believe. I'll probably change my mind tomorrow, but for now, I'm cautious but optimistic. As long as we don't lose our way, we're going to be fine."

"What is our way?" I asked. "Like, what are we going to do with the Coopers? We can't kick them out because they're already making a life here. Would they be a part of the way?"

"We'll see," Dad said while turning a bit away from me, motioning me towards a shelf of dead, withered plants to begin seed searching. "We'll have to turn away people, eventually, you know."

Even though I didn't say anything as we scrounged for dried tomatoes and other shriveled up fruit-vegetables and dumped them in a ziploc bag, I wanted to tell Dad that we had already lost our way if we were thinking about turning away people. I mean, in the normal world, we would never turn someone away for help, so in some way, we've lost our way since the beginning. It's like Dad just wants to selectively keep some parts of normalcy while discarding other parts. I guess it just annoys me that I just don't understand what's going on in his mind.

My strategy ended up working, and we ended up getting tons of dried vegetables, and after loading those up, we still had some space, so we grabbed some more netting. Unfortunately, there was no clear tarping, which did cause Dad to feel disappointed, and after doing a sweep a second time, we grabbed the last bits of some white looking rock called perlite, and met up with Caspian's mom, who was waiting outside impatiently.

Even in the fading light, I could see that her backpack was bursting with supplies, bulging and lumpy, and from what I glimpsed from one of the open bags she was hanging from the scooter handlebars, there were tons of essential oils, like eucalyptus or lavender or mint. However, it's what's on the other handlebar that caused Dad to instigate a fairly irrational fight.

"We don't need those," Dad said.

"These?" Cora said, holding up a box of, well, trojans, if you know what I mean. "Reproductive supplies are in short supply, and we're going to need them if we're expanding the community to avoid the spread of STDs."

"No one is going to reproduce or, you know, at the end of the world," Dad said. "Don't you have real medical supplies that you could be retrieving."

"You and I both know that's not true," she replied. "So why don't you tell me the real reason that you want me to throw these away."

"I don't want to encourage this type of behavior," Dad replied. "I've seen Caspian around my youngest, and I don't want anything–"

Caspian's mom started laughing, and even I stifled just a little bit of laughter because of just how wrong Dad was.

"What's so funny?" Dad said. "I'm serious. We cannot afford a baby–"

"Dad, Caspian is gay," I replied.

"Oh," he said. "Well, he didn't look like it. I don't know much about this, but he could change his mind and become normal and gay–"

"Bi?" I replied. "That's now how it works, you know. I don't think you just change your mind."

Caspian's mom decided to jump on Dad at that moment. "Either way, these help prevent babies, though less effectively than birth control, and that makes them very valuable supplies for trading with other people."

"Then let's keep it just for trading," Dad replied. "No need to take from your own supply."

Cora gave a non-committal response and started scootering away, apparently already having memorized the pathway, while Dad and I had to rush to hop on our bikes, adjust our masks, and pedal to catch up with her. When we all reached home, Mom made her dump all the medicines into grocery bags to take back since we lent the backpack to Caspian's mom. It was also a strategic move for Mom to take a look at the different medicines that she had retrieved, a miscellaneous bunch of bottles, each one seemingly colored differently, and we sent Cora off with her medical supplies and two cans of food for their family.

But when Dad left the door and just before she was about to walk off, I decided to ask, "Excuse me, do you know where's Caspian? I guess, I just haven't seen him in a couple days."

I thought that I was going to get another snarky or cold response, but instead, her eyes softened, as she said, "It's been tough for him, these two days, so he wanted some more time for himself."

"Okay," I said. "Well, I hope that he gets better."

She nodded a bit hesitantly. "Thanks for looking out for him."

"No problem," I mumbled as she walked away.

When we saw her disappear into the distance, I went inside as Dad turned to Mom. "How'd your trip go? I was so busy just bringing back the art supplies that I didn't get to check."

"We didn't get much," Mom said, though the small smile peeking from her face betrayed her prank.

"You got the clear canvas," Dad said, half a question, half a statement.

"Mira, you want to break the news to your Dad," Mom said before looking at Mira.

"We got it, Dad," she said. "More than enough to cover the greenhouse. It'll still require a lot of work to prepare, but we're almost there. We're so close."

"That's great. That's really, really great."

"See," Mom said. "I told you that this was a good idea. There's no need to be so negative–"

"I'm not," Dad said. "It's good news, and I know that I definitely need a little bit of that. I still think we need to be careful not to get too caught up–"

"Lighten up a bit," Mom replied. "At least just for now. We can be scared and desperate tomorrow, but there's good news now, so let's just hang on to that a little longer."

"I toast to that," Mira said, raising her fist. "To fresh food."

"To not having to eat gray food for the rest of my life," May said before adding, "Wait. I take that back. We are not going to do that cringey thing where we all toast."

"Too late," Dad said. "I'm toasting for a successful day."

"Well, I'm toasting for a brighter future," Mom said. "Maybe one day, the greenhouse will expand to the point where we're all safe from starvation."

"Not starving does not sound like the brightest future," May replied. "I want prom and actual people just being completely normal–"

"One step at a time," Mira said with a laugh. "I mean, if you really want, we can throw a prom tomorrow–"

"Eww, no. Family prom is what, like, homeschooled losers do. I think I can wait a very long time for a proper one."

"Well, I'll toast to Mira's prom idea for May," I replied, raising my first and pretending to hold a glass.

"Now, we're definitely doing a family prom," Mira said, and May groaned while Mom and Dad laughed.

When I checked what Mom and Mira got, I knew exactly why they were celebrating. There were boxes of nails and even a couple of packs of non-rechargeable batteries that we could use immediately in case of an emergency. They somehow managed to get a gallon of liquid fertilizer along with more plywood, plastic piping for building shelves, and more giant buckets and plastic tubs for plants. From the pool store, they managed to get tons of styrofoam boards and pool noodles and even some goggles (maybe to protect our eyes from the ash). They also got buckets of chlorine powder, probably to purify water, something that I hadn't thought of at all.

But most importantly, they got the clear tarp. I saw the stack, probably around a dozen, maybe even more, eight by eight feet sheets. They were really telling the truth. We could build maybe two or three greenhouses with all this tarp, which should just be enough to sustain all ten of us for the rest of our lives if nothing breaks.

But when I was just about to leave, I caught a glimpse of a plastic bag poking out from one of the opaque tubs, and when I opened it, I saw a bag filled with a variety of beans and cooking seeds, from sesame to mung to what looked like rye or some kind of grain. They probably came from the spilled bags from the grocery stores nearby, and I think they just avoided telling Dad because getting it would have meant that they broke one of his conditions. I knew that Dad would get mad, at least for a little while, and I wasn't going to tell anyone, so I just stuffed the bag deeper into the tub and closed the lid properly. I didn't want to be the one that ruined today.

So I got back to the living room, where everyone was just sitting around and talking, illuminated with the warm glow of the fireplace, and sat down as everyone's talking quieted down.

"Since we're all here," Mom said and grabbed the board from its place before grabbing an expo marker. "I want each of you to put an idea on the board. We're so close to finishing the greenhouse and fishing net, and I want all of us to put more on the board–"

"Let's slow down a little," Dad said. "First the greenhouse, and then, we can deal with more."

"I know," Mom said. "Let's just put it out on the board, just to be sure that we have the imagination to make it. It's our ideas that will keep us focused and safe. Just trust me on this one, okay?"

"I do," Dad said. "I'll even go first. Rainy reason should be coming soon, so getting water barrels and tarps out would be good–"

"Dad, that's so boring," May said. "Where is the creativity?"

"Do you have something you would want to add?" Mom asked before turning to Dad. "I think that's a great idea. It's a good practical solution, and I think the kids would appreciate not having to gather as much water."

"I know that this is a far off dream," Mira said. "But when we've got more than enough electricity, having a radio station would be great. There are other communities out there, and we could actually work together to achieve more."

"I think we need to work on building up ourselves first," Mom replied. "But maybe one day when people are better, we could make it work. Right now, though, it'll put us at risk."

"I know," Mira replied. "It's just that the world is so empty right now that we'll need everyone that we can find, so being able to broadcast that we're here–"

"That'll be too dangerous," Dad said. "There are bad people out there."

"Well, there might not be as many as you guys think. I mean, you and Neal didn't see anyone bad out there, so there's just a chance that maybe the world isn't trying to kill us but is waiting for us to revive it."

I knew that Dad was going to reveal the raiders that had passed by my house, and I knew that it couldn't come out in that context, especially given that I had told Mira all about the glowing lights on top of the hill but left the less hopeful aspects out. So I decided to add my suggestion for the dream to cut off their conversation.

"I've got an idea for the board," I said. "I know that it's not really related to survival, but I think that we should build a kind of memorial for all the people who died and all the people who are just gone, you know. I don't know because it might be too personal, but I think it'd be good for everyone."

"I like it," Mom said, and Dad looked a bit away from me because I think he thought I was talking about Charles, and maybe I was thinking about him a bit when I made the suggestion. But I think I was thinking about everyone because I feel like we've all lost people, especially in the very beginning, when there was just a sliver of time to process everything, cut short by the ashstorms.

Eventually, everyone shared their ideas. Mom wanted to find a way to create a smokehouse, so that she would be able to smoke the fish that the net would catch. This, naturally, was very much opposed by May since she most definitely did not want to be inundated by the certainly pungent fish odor. May, instead, wanted to create snares and other animal traps so that Mom would be more focused on smoking edible meats, but when Dad asked whether she was ready to kill those animals, she was pretty silent. As for Grandma and Grandpa, they just want a modest greenhouse expansion and some more seeds, probably having the most reasonable and possible ideas.

At the end, when we were all drunk off of brainstorming ideas, Mom put the board back up to its place, and even though it was still very empty, the new ideas dotted the board, just waiting to expand. The best analogy I can come up with is that each idea represents a coral larva landing on a piece of bare rock, just waiting to expand. Of course, they are fragile and take a long time to grow, so maybe a dandelion seed would be a better comparison. Well, probably not better but certainly a more hopeful comparison.

I guess, just thinking about the memorial, I wonder if it's going to make things worse with Charles. I know people like to look at gravestones and feel a sense of closure, but all I feel when I look at the letter that he left is just regret. I wish that I could tell him what I know now, but I know that with every passing day, he's moving further away, and I wonder if memorializing it will just keep reminding me that it was all my fault.

I guess that's the dilemma that I'm in. I'm so scared of forgetting him but remembering is almost as painful.

October 23

Even though we had gathered all the equipment, we still had to stick to our routine with wood and water gathering Monday, which is what we spent all day doing. It was so cold this morning, probably the low thirties, and even when I was cloaked in two jackets, I felt the freeze permeating through the thick clothes and touching my skin. There was frost on the leaves on the ground, now faded brown, as we trekked to gather around ten buckets of water each in preparation of our plan to heat the greenhouse.

But Caspian was back, and I guess, it made everything less miserable, though he was acting pretty weirdly.

"Hey," he said and waved at me as Mira, May, and I, all bundled up, were walking out of the house with empty buckets.

I waved at him. "You're back."

"Like I never left," he said. "What'd I miss on your trip to the store?"

"My dad thinks that you and May are getting together," I said. "I mean, I wouldn't really mind since it's her life, but it'd be a bit awkward, you know."

"Me and your sister?" Caspian. "Well, I'm glad to let him know that that's not happening."

"Yeah," I said, nodding a bit as we walked along. We talked about other things, like the unusually cold weather and just about trivial things, but the truth was that I couldn't pay attention to his conversation because I was thinking of the best way to broach the subject of his mysterious disappearance. I didn't want it to become a situation where it'd be awkward between the two of us. It's not like I could just magically find another person to be friends with.

But at the same time, I guess I was just worried about him because I just have a feeling that whatever he's going through is like what I'm going through, and I don't want him to end up like me. It took me two trips of water gathering before my mind was too tired to prevent me from asking, "Are– are you alright?"

He scrunched up his eyebrows, and I thought that I had screwed up. "Yeah, I'm doing fine."

"I guess, I don't know, but I feel like things were awkward between us a couple of days ago, and I guess, I'd just like to apologize if I said anything that may have triggered or–"

"Naw," he replied. "It was just a bit of a stomach bug. One of the cans probably had gone a bit bad or some of the water must've not been fully purified."

"Your mom made it out to be worse than that."

"My mom can get over worried at times," he said. "You remind me of her a bit, you know."

"Okay," I said because I had no idea how to respond to that. "I guess, what I'm just saying is that, like, if you were not okay in the not stomach bug sense–"

"I'm fine," he said, kinda snapping at me before he swore at himself. "I'm sorry. Damnit, I– I'm sorry for that."

"It's fine," I said. "I shouldn't have, you know, pried like that since it's probably really personal."

"No, no," he replied. "It's all my fault. You were just checking up on me. You did nothing wrong. It's just been a rough couple of days."

"Yeah, I totally get it," I said, and there was this heavy and awkward silence that laid between us.

I know that he thought that I was disingenuous, but I did mean it. I've never been the best at reaching out to people, and it's not like we had this whole backstory since we literally met a couple weeks ago, so I get him getting a bit mad at me. Yeah, I guess it kinda hurt, but it's pretty much my fault.

"You know what's been bugging me?" he said all of a sudden. "There's this tune that's been playing in my mind, but I cannot remember what song it is. All I know is that it comes from when we were younger."

"Why don't you hum it," I said. "I think I'll be able to figure it out."

When he hummed it, I guess it just took me back to summers when I was younger, flashes of that soccer camp that Mom and Dad had sent May and I to, of playing Pokemon Platinum in my bedroom in the evening, of Walkathons that our school hosted, where music would blast from loudspeakers as we ate otter pops and hang out with friends. I don't know if it's just me, but sometimes, when I hear a particular song, it just evokes such a powerful collection of memories that leave me more than a bit emotional. The song just tasted of summer, carefreeness, and the kind of freedom that's there when no one has any expectations for you.

"I know it," I said. "It seems so familiar, like insanely familiar."

"That's what I'm saying," he said. "Do you remember any of the lyrics?"

It's also funny how you can have such a strong connection to the melody and vague sound of the song and not be able to remember the lyrics or the title of the song. I played the tune in my head over and over again, but my mind either drew a complete blank on the lyrics or started making up completely nonsensical lines. The only aspect that I could remember I told him.

"I think it was a duet," I replied. "Like there was a guy and girl singing it."

"Was it?" he said. "Oh, yeah, you're completely right."

"Unfortunately, that's the only thing that I could remember," I said. "But I can ask Mira and May about it."

"I know you'll figure it out," he said. "You're the type of guy that remembers everything."

"Uh, thanks," I said, a bit embarrassed by his compliment.

I wish I was that guy, the one who remembered everything, because I'd imagine it won't be as painful. Yeah, you'll remember all the terrible moments in crisp detail, never able to fully move on, but you can actually remember the best moments in life. It's like you'd never have to lose anyone because they'll always be alive in your mind. Even words can't preserve people in that way because eventually, the memories that filled in the tiny little details would fade away. You'd have all the big emotions and physical things but none of the warmth.

When I went up to Mira and hummed the tune, she seemed to smile a bit. "I remember that song. Not the name, but I know that it was playing at one of my middle school dances."

"Do you remember any of the lyrics?"

"I think there were a lot of Ohhs in the chorus," she said. "I might be confusing it with another song though since all of the songs did that when we were younger. I miss the songs of the early 2010s."

"Me too," I said. "Things used to be good back then."

"Give me a day to think about this," Mira replied. "I'm so close to remembering what it is, like I can just feel it on the tip of my tongue."

"Well, good luck," I said and drifted back to Caspian.

"No luck?" he asked. "Did you ask May?"

"I doubt that she remembers. She's not a big fan of happy music."

"That's fine," he said and breathed a heavy sigh. It seemed a bit sadder than I thought it was going to be given that this was a fairly light-hearted conversation.

"Is there a reason why you're asking?" I asked.

"No reason," he said before walking a bit faster, leaving me breathless as I struggled to keep up with him, unable to continue the conversation. But from what I could tell, I had a feeling that it was what was keeping him away and alone for the past couple of days. It's those damn memories attached to music.

Because we had to gather 10 buckets of water, by the time that we came home, sometime mid-afternoon, we were all exhausted to the point where we all just collapsed on the couch, completely unable to move. The only person standing was Caspian, and he left early to, and I quote, "Organize firewood," whatever that is supposed to mean. When Mira had to leave early for her night watch, she literally dragged herself off of the couch, and even our resident looter in chief was too tired to move from the couch.

"If we have to do this everyday, I don't think I'll ever be able to get more supplies," May said.

"That's real life," I said. "It's pretty boring."

"Your conversations with Caspian don't seem boring," she replied. "You know, you've got a friend, and you don't even like talking to people. Why can't there be just a girl my age or non-gay guy?"

"I'm sure someone will pop up," I said. "When we expand our community, people will flock towards us."

"They'd all be crazy," May replied. "So I'd prefer to be alone. It's pretty crazy of me to even think of dating and girl trips anyways."

"It's not crazy to dream."

"Then you're the crazy one," she said and rolled down from the couch and onto the bed, lifting her head to gaze at the flickering flames of the fireplace.

"What about prom?"

"That was a joke, if I need to make it obvious to you," she replied, though the more somber tone made it feel like she was lying to me, as if she really does believe in it a bit. "It is called being ironic."

"Yeah, totally," I replied before adding, "There's this song that's been stuck in my mind. Do you remember it?"

I hummed it to her, and she said, "Oh yeah, that song."

"What about it?"

"It was just so happy," she replied with a sigh. "It's literally so depressing now, and you just made it even more so. Now, everything sucks, and I've got a song about good times stuck in my head."

I wanted to ask her if she'd rather listen to depressing music, but as soon as she finished talking, she stood up, dragged herself to her bed, and flopped onto it before falling asleep. I spent the rest of the afternoon just trying to conjure up the lyrics to the song, but there was just nothing in there. All I had was a melody and a faintest memory of two different people singing the song. Maybe I should put this unknown song onto the memorial because I guess it and its message are long gone now.

Maybe that's a little too pessimistic because there's a chance that Mira could somehow figure it all out and even then, I guess, in some way, the song still lives in our minds. I know that it's weird for me to make such a big deal about not remembering a song, but I guess, it's just at this moment that I'm actually realizing that once we forget something even just as simple as a song, it's functionally gone forever. The internet, as far I can tell, doesn't exist anymore, and it's been the source of permanence and knowledge in my life. Now, it's like anything can be gone forever, and there's no way to get it back.

Maybe it's just better to think about the good times of the past. May finds it depressing to think about, but for me, it's just the opposite, and thinking of all those dance-pop songs about partying and feeling good that played all the time on the radio when I was younger just, in a way, uplifts me.

I wonder if that's a consequence of living too much of my life in my head. Instead of living in the present, I can just dwell in my past, reliving the best moments even if I just never seem to move forwards.

October 24

We spent all day placing the clear tarp around the greenhouse and still have more work for the top, and I know that it doesn't seem like a lot, given how we spent close to eight hours outside attempting to figure it out, but the situation was more complicated than we had anticipated.

The wind had blown ash all over the floor, but we wanted to secure the plastic tarping over the greenhouse before even attempting to clean up the mess. The most we did was Mom bringing out a mop to get rid of the worst of the dust, and even then, we kicked up dust every time that we moved, so at the end of constructing it, the floor was back to its original dusty state.

The plastic tarping had holes on the corners, so I thought that we were going to use rope to tie and secure the pieces of tarp together, but after many futile attempts, May suggested that we use duct tape. I think all of us collectly slapped our foreheads because that was such an obvious solution. She was very smug all day, constantly reminding us how she outsmarted everyone despite being the "least smart."

We then lined the walls of the greenhouse, which was a narrow, maybe around four or so feet wide, stretched from our sliding backyard door all the way to the tall fences at the end of our backyard. One aspect where we had completely lucked out was that our backyard was south facing, meaning that we'd get just a bit more sunlight than if our house had been located in another orientation. It's a bit of a random fact, but I've been skimming the environmental science book, searching for ways to optimize the greenhouse and capture what little sunlight remains.

We ended up just using duct tape to secure the tarp to the fencing and our house while taping the interior of the greenhouse, the white pipe shelves and the canopy skeleton, to the tarp to make sure that it stays in place. The first major issue was that because we couldn't tape tarp to the floor, the wind kept kicking in dust from underneath the tarp, and the structure was rickety whenever the gusts blew against the greenhouse, threatening to topple it. What we ended up doing is adding weights to the flaps of the tarp, Dad bringing out some old dumbbells that he bought for New Years and never used while the rest of us piled up stones until the structure was secured.

Then, we had the biggest problem to deal with: the roof.

"Let's just make it flat, notch the win, and call it a day," Mom said. "I want it running as soon as possible."

"No, we have to do this right," Dad said. "If we had to go out of our way to get the supplies, then we better be using them as effectively as possible."

"The tilted roofs should help capture more sunlight and more heat," Mira added. "It'll make the greenhouse work a bit better."

"Well, let's just make sure that it doesn't take too long," Mom said. "I don't want anything impeding our progress. We've got more things we need to do and things we need to build."

"Let's just make sure what we build will last. Supplies are limited out here."

"I know," Mom said. "But there are plenty of supplies–"

"See, that's what I'm saying," Dad said. "We're becoming addicted to scavenging–"

"We aren't. Looters just take and never give back, but what we're doing is different. We need to keep on building to keep up with the freeze," Mom replied and then sighed.

"Look," Dad said. "I'm just worried that us going downtown and exposing ourselves to whatever people may be lurking out there for extra supplies isn't responsible. We should keep to ourselves, our area where we know that there aren't any threats nearby, instead of constantly venturing out to places where we could be spotted."

"Let's just continue working on the greenhouse. We can talk about this another time."

The process of making a proper slanted roof was filled with lots of pain. Basically, the premise was that we essentially needed one long horizontal wood that ran from the house to the fence to essentially be able to drape our clear tarp over. While we could hammer the wood piece into the house or try to stick it onto the wall since the house was tall enough, we need to build a vertical structure to hold the horizontal wood piece. Basically, given that none of us were seasoned architects or have any experience with hammers and nails, it was going to be a massive pain.

Suffice to say, it led to an untold amount of arguments and people snapping at each other because everyone had competing ideas and arguing whose were better despite the fact that we were all clueless about building things. What we ended up doing is fashioning some weird plywood abomination that's most definitely not stable but works for the moment. Dad did his best cutting the giant pieces of plywood into thin strips with the handsaw that we got from the Hunters, but it was still messy. By that point, we had given up on finding extreme long term solutions and just wanted to get it done.

We didn't have the fancy glue for wood, but I think just normal glue seemed to work fine. We glued the pieces of plywood on top of each other, and for the top platform, we glued a horizontal piece of wood to it, so that it would support the long horizontal ridge of the roof. It wasn't that stable, especially since the vertical plywood planks were so thin, so we glued some supports underneath the platform, just to make it a bit thicker, and called it a day. It was sagging a bit, but tomorrow, we're going to tear down one of the bamboo supports to add a bit more stability.

The long horizontal roof ridge was just assembling and gluing long pieces of wood together and just waiting for it to dry, which it didn't do in time. I was responsible for gluing a wood block to the house wall to support the ridge since Mom was adamant that we do not nail anything into the house walls. It'd be too risky and we didn't want to mess with any of the wiring in the wall, especially since Caspian's dad was on the roof, cleaning up the solar panels, one at a time, with the evaporated water that his family had collected overnight.

Caspian dropped in sometime in the afternoon, knocking on the fence door that connected the front of the house with the backyard, before saying that it's him. Mira went to go and talk to him since I was busy pouring glue on a block of wood, and when she got back, she gave me a weird glance, so I asked, "Did something weird happen?"

"Have you noticed something weird going on with him?" Mira asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I mean, he's just been gone, you know."

"Because I think he was drunk," she asked. "Just slightly so, but I've been to enough college parties to tell when a guy has been drinking."

"But, I mean, he's like a good athlete and does meditation and stuff, so I don't think he's drunk or anything. He probably just missed his morning session."

"I wish," she replied. "But he's definitely drunk, not completely visibly so but you can just tell. Do you have any idea why he'd be drinking?"

"It might have something to do with the song," I said. "I don't know. He just brought it up randomly. By the way, do you remember anything about it?"

"Not really. It was just so long ago. It's like I can remember the outlines of it but not the middle," she said. "But we need to go back to the subject."

"I mean, I'm not going to stage an intervention," I replied.

"You should just check up with him," she replied. "You two are close. It's what friends do."

"I just feel like we're worrying too much and that things are just fine," I said. "It's not like we know each other like Charles and I, you know. I just don't want him to think that I'm the guy that's always worrying."

"If you're worrying, that means that you care."

And when I thought about what Mira said here after a quiet dinner, I wondered if it's not the fear of appearing too worrisome that's bothering me here, but the idea that I care too much. It all circles back to me caring more about other people than them caring about me. I don't want to be that guy that obsesses over another guy's personal life and constantly asks if they're alright because I know that they're going to think I'm just over-stepping boundaries. It's people's right to heal by themselves, and I don't want to impede their process.

But at the same time, I guess I feel like I'm just making excuses for probably the actual reason that I don't want to reach out, which is that I'm just scared that he's going to snap at me again. To be honest, Charles and I, we virtually never fought over anything, and I know that it sounds unhealthy, but it's like whatever disagreements we had never really rose up to the level of a full blown argument with us snapping at each other. But it's different with Caspian because I just don't know him, and I don't want to be the person that forces him to relive whatever trauma that he faced in the past.

At the same time, I wonder if I'm just blowing this all out of proportion and overthinking like usual. I had a tendency to catastrophize in these awkward social situations before everything, and with things quickly moving to a version that is closer to normal, it's like these old problems are resurfacing, festering unaddressed.

It's like I had forgotten what the world was like.

October 25

Another day spent on building the greenhouse. At least it'll be our last for now. But beyond that, I think it's safe to call today an unequivocal disaster.

When we tested all the planks, putting on some heavy duty gloves to make sure that our hands didn't become chock full of splinters, none of them seemed to break as we moved them around. The glue seemed to hold, but just to be extra sure, we duct taped the planks together so that there'd be extra stability, and then began propping them up.

For the vertical support by the fence, we just ended up nailing the plywood into the fence, much to Mom's dismay. But it was clear that the duct tact wouldn't last that long outside and nailing the board to the fence would be the only long lasting solution. We couldn't afford having the greenhouse collapse, especially in the middle of the night in the middle of winter. I think Mom understood that pretty quickly, and Dad hammered the vertical board to our fence before attempting to shake it. It was stiff and didn't move, so we moved onto the next issue: placing the horizontal ridge on the greenhouse.

It was not that painful to be honest. For the most part, our platform held well, and our measurements were correct, the plank reaching the other side, and at that moment, we thought that everything was going perfectly.

But then the clear tarp roofing came in.

It turns out that we had slightly miscalculated how high the horizontal ridge should be, and we ended up in a scenario where the tarp draped perfectly in the middle, couldn't reach either side. While we could attempt to adjust the vertical fence plank, the wooden block was fairly stuck on the house, and it'd be such a pain to adjust.

"We have to tear it down," Dad said.

"No," Mom said. "That'll be a waste of our valuable time. We can just have two long strips of duct tape, taped slightly over the other, and that should be fine."

"It won't," Dad said. "We need something solid–"

"Well why don't you suggest something instead of causing the problems?" Mom asked.

"I don't have all the answers," Dad replied.

"Pointing out all the problems doesn't help!"

"It's better than letting a flawed design remain and kill us in the future."

"What about using the pool boards," Mira said. "They've got good insulation and are solid enough. We can cut them into thin strips and line the edge of the structure to provide us that bit of additional height that we need."

"See, that's the type of ideas we need," Mom said.

"I agree," Dad said. "That's my point about your solution–"

"Can you guys just not argue?" May said. "We get it, so can we just hurry up. I am literally freezing out here."

That's what we spent pretty much all noon doing, just cutting up pool boards and taping them to the structure until we had lined the perimeter of the top with thick strips of styrofoam. It was enough for the tarp to reach both ends, and after we duct taped the tarp to the tarping to the skeleton frame of our greenhouse, we were complete with the roof, and so close to moving on. All we had to finish was covering the triangle shaped opening at one end of the greenhouse with tarp, and we'd be free from all external construction duties.

Life did not have the same plans as me though.

The issue with the triangle shaped opening was that we were faced with a dilemma. Cut a piece from a valuable piece of clear tarp that we have and possibly ruin it or waste a whole piece of clear tarp to cover the opening, meaning that we'd have to sacrifice the size of a future greenhouse. Honestly, I'm just so sick and tired of all the arguments and people messing up and just everything today. The greenhouse was supposed to be a fresh start, but it's just turned into this bickering war between everyone. We were supposed to be a strong, unified front, but we had argued so much that I noticed Caspian's dad giving up weird looks as he talked with the panels on the roof.

We ended up not cutting it, against Dad and May's protests, and decided to embrace the waste, and after we had secured that last piece, we all double checked everything, making sure that all the plastic sheets were duct taped to a hard surface and that there were no holes. Everything seemed to be fine at that moment, and what was supposed to be a massive celebration turned into a weary trek indoors with everyone crabby and irritated. Mom and Dad were going to collect wood today, but they weren't in the mood (and I doubt that they would have gathered any significant amount).

Everyone was napping at the end of the afternoon except for May and I, and she was just throwing a tennis ball at the wall, bored out of her mind and uninterested in making conversation. We then heard a knock on the door, and for a second, my heart rate shot up before I realized that it was probably Caspian. Sure enough, when I peeped through the hole, it was him, and I opened the door.

When Caspian stumbled through the door, after not being here all day, I knew immediately that something was wrong. He was dressed in a thin sweatshirt, his eyes bleary and slightly crazed, and he was mumbling to himself a bit, his words slurred.

I guess Mira was right yesterday because Caspian was most definitely very drunk today.

"Hey," I said.

He gave me a dopey smile. "Wassup?"

"You're drunk, right?"

"It was only a little bit," he said, and then started giggling. "Okay, fine. I'm hella drunk."

To be honest, he scared me a bit because there's nothing less predictable than a young person who's on alcohol, at least that's how it's been shown in movies. Mom and Dad get into his annoying mood, where they make awful jokes and attempt to be funny in the least funny way, so maybe it's a bit more predictable than I'd thought. But still, I wasn't going to take any chances.

"You're not going to vomit?"

"I dunno?" he responded, steading himself on the frame of the doorway. "I'm completely fine. See me standing so straight."

"Do you want to go outside?" I asked. "Some fresh air might do you some good."

To be honest, I was more worried that he might either scare May or Grandma or Grandpa and ruin our partnership, and I didn't want anyone to see Caspian like this, all unhinged and weird. Also, there was a risk that he'd wander into the backyard and destroy the carefully constructed greenhouse, which would almost definitely crush everyone's dreams, and I couldn't let him do that to any of us.

"I wanna see the sunset," he said, surprisingly cooperative with my suggestion, and we left the house to a spot in the middle of the road that pointed westwards, where the sun would disappear under the horizon. The ash clouds seemed lighter than usual, and I could see a mix of golden and lavender lights filtering through the clouds, the dreams of clear skies veiled under gray.

When we sat down, he leaned against my shoulder since he'd fall over if I wasn't there. I thought that it'd be more, I don't know, like romantic and stuff, but in reality, his breath stank the air up with a sharp, acidic alcohol smell, and I was just praying that he wouldn't vomit on me. We both sat together in silence before I asked, "Where'd you get the alcohol?"

"Top-secret cabinet," Caspian said. "There were a ton of bottles, but Mom took them all for 'disinfecting' stuff, except for the one that I took, like a cool spy."

"Okay," I said with scrunched eyebrows. "I guess, why are you drinking?"

"It's what people do when they're sad," he said. "You're supposed to forget all of your problems when you're drunk. I'm supposed to feel better. Maybe I haven't gotten drunk enough."

He then began to stand up, but couldn't even get on his knees before bucking. I managed to catch him before he hit his head on the ground, and put it on my shoulder. "I think maybe it's best if you cool it for a while."

He then started crying into my shoulder, and for a second, I was paralyzed because I've never been in this situation with a stranger. It's like all these thoughts flooded my mind, the overthinking pretty much overwhelming me to the point where I just impulsively went with the first that came into my mind since I knew that I had to do something. I put my arm around his shoulder and sort of patted it to reassure him. To be honest, writing it down makes it sound much weirder and more awkward than it actually was. I think we just sat there for a few moments, me looking at him with some serious concern because it seemed like he was having a breakdown while he just remained silent-ish before finally speaking up.

"He's gone. I let him slip out of my hands: the guy that I was supposed to be with forever," he said, barely. "He was supposed to be here. We were supposed to celebrate his birthday, but now he's gone."

He then cursed out the Moon and went on a lengthy tirade against the ocean before collapsing against me. His head turned towards mine, his eyes looking up at mine when he said, "You're lucky, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"You write. It's such a gift," he replied. "I never had the patience to keep a diary and write so much. I regret not writing down every moment because I should've preserved all the moments and memories. Now, it's like they're just slipping out. I can't even remember my boyfriend's favorite song."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually."

"It's no use. It's gone forever," he said, kinda yelling it as if he was making a statement to the universe. "You wouldn't understand it. That's why Mom hates you guys–"

"I did lose someone," I said, more softly because I wasn't sure that I wanted to admit it to a stranger so loud. "He left a few days before you guys arrived. His family is heading to the South, to a better place."

"Sounds like he died."

"He's not dead," I replied. "I know he's still out there."

"That's what I imagine too," he said, and as the sky darkened, the clouds in the distance covered up the fading light of the sunset, leaving the air cloaked with black.

We ended up leaving soon after when I saw that he was shivering noticeably, and I ended up holding his hand to help guide him home as he stumbled and walked awkwardly, occasionally grabbing his shoulder to steady him. He had pretty much gone silent, his eyes more glossy than crazed now, as if he was lost in thought. When I knocked on the door, Caspian's mom answered the door.

"What happened to Caspian?" she asked.

"I think he drank too much," I replied.

"Did you guys give him the alcohol? I knew that I shouldn't have–"

"I think he got it from some secret alcohol stash," I said. "Maybe the medical one."

"He's never done this before," Cora said, and Caspian mumbled incoherently as I handed him to her.

"Yeah, I can tell."

"Next time, you should bring him to the clinic here right away," she said. "I'll have to check him for alcohol poisoning."

"Yeah, totally," I said and nodded a bit awkwardly.

Just as I was about to close the door and leave, Caspian's mom asked, "Are your parents serious about the offer, where we make a partnership?"

"I'm not too sure," I replied.

"Because I don't want to be building all of this for nothing," she replied. "If you all aren't going to keep up with your end, I feel like it's only fair that I get informed right now, so I can get ready to move."

"I'll let my parents know."

"Good," she said and waved me a terse goodbye, as I walked down the streets. I just realized that it was less than a week before halloween. Normally, there'd be cobwebs and spooky decorations lining the houses along the street, the faux gravestones and giant spiders and blanket ghosts springing from the ground. Now, it's all empty, and I'd assume that any skeletons that we notice wouldn't be crafted from plastic but the real thing. The deserted homes were arguably more eerie than any halloween trick.

When I got home, a normal dinner was being cooked, nothing special even though today was supposed to be joy and celebration, and I think this was just the first clue that dinner was going to spiral into disaster.

"You guys remember Dean?" Mira asked while we were eating a soupy rice and mixed vegetable dinner.

"Who's that?" Mom asked.

"He's my night watch partner," Mira replied. "He spotted Dad and Neal when they were coming back with the solar panels, and I think he knows what we're building."

"Does he pose any threat?"

"No," Mira replied. "I'm not sure. I want to believe that he's good–"

"Please do not tell me that you told him," Dad said. "You might have ruined everything–"

"I didn't. Calm down, Dad," she said. "I just wanted to lay all the cards on the table, to be completely honest because I want all of us to make an informed decision about what to do with the net."

"Because putting the giant net up will for sure alert them to us since it's so visible," Dad said. "We can't let the net go up."

"No," Mom said. "We have to. Imagine the food that we could be catching. Instead of starving here all the time, we could have plenty to spare. No more soup every day of the week–"

"We can't lose what little we have," Dad replied.

"The greenhouse won't be able to provide enough food in time, especially if we experience a crop failure or if the tarping tears and the seedlings get frostbitten," Mom said. "We need the additional food from the net. The food from the oceans are only going to last so long–"

"But we need to live to fight another day," Dad said, and I just knew that he was going to drop the bombshell from our trip and that I was powerless to stop him because he was just barrelling forwards without thinking about the repercussions.

"When we went out there, it was, like we had said, empty for the most part," Dad said. "But it's not like we didn't face any human threats. The truth is that we had just barely avoided being spotted by armed looters."

"We don't know if they were armed," I replied.

"They had a vehicle, which required gasoline," Dad replied. "I think you're smart enough to have put all the pieces together. My point is that it's not like the human threats out there are just some figment of imagination. They're there, and putting something as blatantly visible like a giant net in the tidal zone will only alert more people to us that won't have the best intentions. It's more than just the night patrol and their guns finding out. The net will put all of us in danger."

"Is this actually about safety or about the ocean?" Mom asked.

"It's about safety," Dad snapped back. "We need a better strategy for the net, one that doesn't make it so visible and compromise our position, given what I've seen outside of our little bubble."

"Well, it's important not to make hasty decisions," Mom replied. "The net is still a couple of days away from completion, so we've got time to deal with your problems."

"The problem, not my problem," Dad said. "I'm fine!"

But with his outburst, we could all tell that he wasn't fine, his eyes wide open with a vein just creeping out from his forehead, and you could almost hear the ocean sloshing in his mind, his mind holding onto that one memory even as he was probably forgetting everything that he wanted to remember. I know that Mom was angry at Dad, and I was too because I had to deal with an awkward conversation with Mira about why I had lied about something so important, but I guess I just felt bad. I don't think I'll ever be able to fully understand what had happened that night.

Still, his mention of the other looters did spark some genuine concern in Mom, and I guess I expected Mira to be much more surprised but she seemed to just be more, like, neutral than usual. I don't know if it's because she had expected that we'd see looters or that she was just unsurprised that I was lying, and to be honest, I don't know which option is better. After I finished dinner, I buried myself in a book, desperately avoiding talking with her because I just wasn't ready to deal with her disappointment. I don't know why I do this to myself, being so self-destructive when it comes to lying when I know that it'll blow up in my face.

Once everyone had fallen asleep, I went to my room and grabbed Charles' letter. I guess I just impulsively wanted to open it because I realized that the letter was like the song that everyone had forgotten. I don't want to forget so much that by the time I open the letter, it doesn't mean anything because it's supposed to mean something. That's why he had written it so last minute because it was just so meaningful and so raw that it'd just be impossible to tell me directly to my face.

But something just stopped me because I guess I felt like I was just opening it to just get it over with. That's not the way that I should treat the last few words of my best friend, as if they were something just to get over with. It matters, and I know that I should treat it like it matters, to find the right time to open it when I actually need to. But the thing is that I wonder if I'm ever going to reach that moment because truth be told, I don't know if I'm moving forwards like I should.

And I wonder if that's because I'm so afraid to forget. Is forgetting part of the process of just moving forwards? I wonder by preserving our memories in this journal is what's holding me back, but at the same time, I'm thinking back to our last day, nearly a month ago, and I'm realizing that it's like what Mira said about the song. The outline is there but it's the details that are growing fuzzier and the more I think about it, the less clear and more confounding the details become.

I just wish I could find a way to remember the whole past without being haunted by it. But is it possible to never forget and still move forwards?

I don't want to admit this because I'm so scared, but I don't think so.