December 2

Fridays Matt goes to the post office first thing in the morning. Lately he’s been coming home in the early afternoon. Even though the days are all gray, there’s still a difference between daytime and night and it gets dark very early now.

Mom, Jon, and I were in the sunroom and it must have been before noon because Jon hadn’t gotten anything to eat. We had two oil lamps going because, even in daytime with the fire in the woodstove, we still need two lamps to have enough light to read by.

Jon was the first one to notice. “Does it seem darker to you?” he asked.

He was right. It was darker. First we looked at the oil lamps to see if one of them had gone out. Then we looked at the woodstove.

Mom tilted her head up. “It’s snowing,” she said. “The skylights are covered with snow.”

With the windows covered by plywood, we can’t see what’s going on outside. But since the only change in the weather for months has been the temperature, there hasn’t been much need to see what’s happening.

The kitchen window is covered with plywood, too, and we can’t get to the windows in the dining room, so we all went to the living room to see what was happening.

It must have been snowing for an hour or more. It was coming down at a furious pace.

As soon as we realized it was snowing, we also realized the wind was blowing. “It’s a blizzard,” Jon said.

“We don’t know that,” Mom said. “The snow could stop in a minute.”

I couldn’t wait. I grabbed my coat and ran outside. I would have done the same for rain or sunlight. It was something different and I had to experience it.

Jon and Mom followed me. “The snow looks weird,” Jon said.

“It’s not quite white,” Mom said.

That was it. It wasn’t dark gray, like the piles of plowed snow in March. But it wasn’t pure white, either. Like everything else these days, it was dingy.

“I wish Matt were home,” Mom said, and for a moment I thought she meant that she wished she could share the moment with him, the excitement of snow. But then I realized she was worried about him getting home. The post office is about 4 miles from here, which isn’t that far if you’re biking, but could take a long time to walk, especially in blizzard conditions.

“You want me to go get him?” Jon asked.

“No,” Mom said. “He’s probably on his way home now. And it’s not like he’ll get lost. I’d just feel better if he were home.”

“One good thing,” I said. “If there’s any kind of accumulation we’ll have a water supply.”

Mom nodded. “Jonny, get the barrels and the garbage cans, and put them outside,” she said. “We can collect snow in them.”

Jon and I took everything that could hold snow and put them by the side of the house. By the time we had the last recycling bin out there, the garbage can already had an inch of snow in it.

Jon was right. It was a blizzard.

We went back in but none of us could concentrate on our books. We kept our coats on and sat in the living room, watching the snow fall and waiting for Matt’s return.

At some point Jon made himself some lunch. While he was in the sunroom I asked Mom if I should go get Matt.

“No!” she said sharply. “I can’t risk losing two of you.”

I felt like she’d punched me. Matt couldn’t possibly be lost. We couldn’t survive without him.

Mom didn’t say anything after that and I knew to keep my mouth shut. Finally she went back to the sunroom and when she did, I went outside and walked toward the road just to see what conditions were like. The wind was so fierce it came close to knocking me over. The snow was falling almost sideways and I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead.

I barely made it to the road, but when I got there I couldn’t see anything anyway. Matt could have been 20 feet down the road and I wouldn’t have known. Mom was right. I couldn’t possibly have made it to town. I could only hope Matt could make the long walk and that he’d known enough to leave once the snow had begun falling.

I went back in and made up some nonsense about going outside to check on the snow collection system. If Mom suspected differently she didn’t say anything.

We went back and forth between the sunroom and the living room. Mom went out just past the front door and stood there for a few minutes until I made her come in.

I could see how excited Jon was, the way a kid is when it snows. It was killing him to suppress his excitement. It was killing Mom to suppress her fear. And it was killing me to see both of them trying to hide their feelings.

As the day progressed the sky grew darker and the wind stronger.

“I really think I should go find Matt,” Jon said. “I could take one of the oil lamps.”

“Maybe he should, Mom,” I said. At this point Jon is stronger than me and a lot stronger than Mom. He might even be stronger than Matt, just because he’s been eating more. If Matt needed help, Jon was the only one of us who could give it to him.

“No,” Mom said. “For all we know Matt is staying in town with a friend to wait the storm out.”

But I knew Matt wouldn’t do that. He’d come home. Or at least he’d try to. He’d be as worried about us as we were about him.

“Mom, I really think Jon should go out,” I said. “Just a little way down the road but with a lamp. It’s getting so dark Matt could go right past our drive and not realize it.”

I could see how much Mom hated the idea. I decided to try a different approach.

“How about if I go out first?” I said. “And then in a few minutes Jon could take over for me and then I could take over for him. We’d rotate, and that way neither one of us could get into any trouble.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Jon said. “I’ll go first. Send Miranda out in a few minutes.”

“All right, all right,” Mom said. “Fifteen minutes and then I’ll send Miranda out.”

Jon looked really excited and in a funny way I didn’t blame him. Mom made sure he was thoroughly bundled up: coat and gloves and scarves and boots. She told him not to go too far and to hold the lamp as high as he could to give Matt a beacon.

I waited alongside Mom. We didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare and Mom was way too wound up to make small talk. Finally she gestured to me to get ready.

“I hope this isn’t a mistake,” she said.

“We’ll be fine,” I said. “I bet I’ll bring Matt home with me.”

But by the time I reached the driveway I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to where Jon was. It didn’t seem to matter how many layers of clothes I had on, the wind was so fierce it cut right through everything. I especially felt it on my face. I put the scarf over my mouth and nose, but even so my face burned with the cold. The snow and the darkness made it impossible for me to see anything except what the lamp illuminated. I stumbled several times and the wind blew me over twice. The snow seeped through my pants and even my long johns grew cold and wet.

At one point I pulled the scarf away from my mouth so I could gulp air. But I fell into the snow and swallowed a mouthful, which got me coughing. I wanted to give up and go back to the sunroom, to the woodstove. But Jon was out there waiting for me to relieve him. My idea. My big bright idea.

I have no idea how long it took me to get to Jon. He was jumping up and down, the light swinging wildly.

“You stay warmer that way,” he told me.

I nodded and told him to go back to the house. I gestured toward where I remembered the house to be. “Tell Mom I’m fine,” I said, even though we both knew it was a lie.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said.

I watched as he began trudging back. But in a minute or two I couldn’t see him anymore, even though I knew he wasn’t very far away.

As I stood out there I began laughing at myself, at how desperate I’d been to be alone. Now I was as alone as any human being could be, and all I wanted was to be back in the sunroom with Matt and Jonny and Mom and Horton all taking up space.

I knew I’d be okay as long as I stayed put. I wasn’t going to get lost and Mom would see to it I wasn’t out long enough to freeze to death or even to get frostbite. The only one of us in danger was Matt.

But with the wind whipping around and the snow blinding me and my entire body freezing from the cold and the damp, it was hard to feel safe and secure. In addition to everything else, I was hungry. I’m always hungry except right after supper, but I was hungry the way I get right before supper, so I figured it must be around 5.

I realized Jon was right about moving around so I jogged in place. I was doing okay until a gust of wind caught me off guard and I fell into the snow and the oil lamp went out.

It took all my strength, physical and emotional, to keep from hysteria. I told myself I’d be okay, that Jon would find me, that Matt would get home, that the lamp could be relit, that everything was going to be fine.

But for a moment there I felt as though I’d been thrown into a snow globe by some powerful giant, that I was a prisoner and would never be free. I felt as though the world really was coming to an end and even if Matt made it home, we would all die anyway.

There was no point getting off the ground. I sat there, holding on to the useless lamp, waiting for Jonny, waiting for Matt, waiting for the world to finally say, “That’s enough. I quit.”

“Miranda?”

Was it Matt? Was it the wind? Was it a hallucination? I honestly didn’t know.

“Miranda!”

“Matt?” I said, struggling to get up. “Matt, is that really you?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked and the question was so dumb but so reasonable I burst out laughing.

“I’m rescuing you,” I said, gasping, which only made me laugh louder.

“Well, thank you,” Matt said. I think he laughed then, also, but the wind and my madness made it hard for me to tell.

“Come on,” he said, reaching down to pull me up. “Let’s go home.”

We began walking against the wind toward the drive. Matt walked his bike on one side and held on to me on the other. At one point the wind blew me down and I pushed him down and he pushed the bike down. It took us a moment to get back upright and by the time we had, we could see Jon’s oil lamp bobbing in the distance.

There was no point calling out to Jon, but we used the lamp as a guide and slowly made our way toward it. When we reached Jon he hugged Matt so hard I thought he’d drop the lamp and we’d all be there in total darkness. But the lamp stayed lit and we forged our way back to the house.

We went in through the front door and when we did, Matt called out, “We’re home!”

Mom came racing as fast as she could toward us. Of course she hugged Matt first, but then she embraced me like she’d been as afraid for me as she had been for him.

Mom made all of us dry off completely and change all our clothes and then we sat by the woodstove to defrost. All our faces were red, but Matt swore he was okay and not frostbitten.

“I would have gotten home sooner, but I didn’t want to leave my bike,” he said as we sat by the fire. “It was just Henry and me at the post office, and for a while we didn’t realize it was snowing. Finally someone came in and told us it had been snowing for a couple of hours and we’d better get home right away. I would have gone with Henry, but he lives nearly as far from the post office as we do only in a completely different direction so that didn’t make any sense. I was afraid if I left the bike I’d never see it again. You know how things are. Besides I didn’t know if it was going to keep snowing or if it was just a squall. I hoped I’d be able to bike some of the way home, but that was impossible.”

“You’re not going back to the post office,” Mom said. “I won’t have it.”

“We’ll talk about that next Friday,” Matt said. “In the meantime I’m not going anywhere.”

At first I thought Mom was going to put up a fight, but then she just sighed.

“I’m hungry,” Jon said. “Isn’t it suppertime?”

“I’ll make some soup,” Mom said. “I think we could all use some.”

We had soup first and then macaroni with marinara sauce. A two-course meal, proof that this was a special-event day.

We spent the evening going to the front door and peering out at the snow with a flashlight. I’m going to go back there once I finish writing this and then I’ll go to sleep.

I don’t know if I want it to snow all night long or if I want it to stop. If it snows, that’s more water for us. But there’s something frightening about this storm, even though we are all safe at home.

It doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything about it. It’ll snow or it won’t no matter what I want.

I just want this day to be over with.

 

December 3

It snowed all night and it’s snowed all day.

The recycling bins are full of snow so Jon and Matt brought them in and we moved the snow into bottles and jars. Then we put the bins back out.

The garbage can was half full of snow. We figure there’s been close to two feet of snow and it doesn’t look like it’s letting up any.

“We’ll be okay for water now,” I said, just to make sure. “The snow will last outside for a long time, so we can just bring it in and boil it when we need water. Right?”

“I don’t see why not,” Matt said. “I don’t think we’ll worry about water for a while. Besides, maybe it will snow again.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Mom said.

“It doesn’t have to be a blizzard,” Matt said. “But a few inches now and again could come in handy.”

“And we’re okay for wood?” I asked. I was in the mood for reassurance.

“We should be fine,” Matt said.

I’ve decided to believe him. It’s not like we can go to the Wood ’n’ Water store if we need any.

Now that I think about it, I’m not sure we can go anywhere. The roads won’t be plowed, and I doubt anyone is going to shovel 4 miles of snow.

It’s a good thing we still like each other.

 

December 4

When we got up this morning we found it had stopped snowing during the night. We couldn’t see anything from the sunroom (which is really dark from the snow covering the skylights), but we went first to the living room and then to the front door and checked things out.

Because of the wind, the snow had drifted around. There were some stretches of land that hardly had any snow at all and other places where the snow was close to 5 feet high. I’ve never seen snow that high and I couldn’t decide whether to be excited or scared.

We went back into the house. Mom took some of last night’s snow and made us hot cocoa. Chocolate with an ashy taste is still better than no chocolate at all.

“Well,” Matt said when we were all warm and cozy. “Are we ready for some problems?”

I would have said no but what good would that have done?

“We need to clear the snow off the roof of the sunroom,” he said.

“Why?” Jon asked.

“Just a precaution,” Matt said. “Snow can be heavy and we don’t know if this is the last of it for the winter. We don’t want the roof caving in on us.”

“I don’t want you on the roof,” Mom said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’ll be a lot more dangerous if the roof caves in,” Matt said. “That could kill us. It WILL kill us actually because if we lose the sunroom, we lose the woodstove. I’ll be careful, but it has to get done.”

“You said ‘problems,’” Jon said.

“The ladder is in the garage,” Matt said. “So are the shovels.”

“Let’s see if there’s snow in front of the garage,” Mom said. She went to the sunroom door and tried to open it. But no matter how hard she pushed, the door stayed shut.

“There must be snow against it,” Matt said. “But we can get out through the front door.”

So we did. But instead of being able to look out the sunroom door to see how the garage was, we had to walk over to the driveway to get a look.

Just walking a couple of feet was exhausting. You had to lift each leg high to get it onto the snow, like exaggerated giant steps, and then the snow was so soft your leg sank right through it.

“It should be pretty easy to shovel,” Jon said.

“That’s good,” Matt said. “Because we’re going to have a lot to do.”

We made it to the sunroom door. The snow was 4 feet high. No wonder Mom couldn’t open it.

“Well, that’s on our list to shovel,” Matt said. “Now let’s see how the garage is.”

The garage was real bad. The snow had drifted higher than the padlock.

“We need the shovel,” I said. “Are you sure it’s in the garage?”

Matt and Jon both nodded. Mom took a deep breath and then she coughed. “We’ll have to move the snow away by hand,” she said. “The garage doors open out, so we don’t have a choice. I think pots and pans will make the job go faster, and we’ll all work on it. Jon, go to the house and put the pots and pans in a garbage bag and bring them back here. We’ll do what we can by hand until you get here.”

Jon began the long trudge back to the front door. Once he was out of hearing range, Mom turned to Matt and said, “How bad is it really?”

“Well, we’re certainly isolated,” Matt said. “I saw Dad’s old pair of cross-country skis in the garage once. The shoes that go with them, too. They’ll give us some mobility. Bikes will be useless. Forget driving. I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but it’s a relief Mrs. Nesbitt is gone.”

“I thought the same thing,” Mom said. “Do you think the roads will be cleared at any point?”

Matt shook his head. “There aren’t enough people left to shovel the roads out, and there isn’t enough gas for the snowplows. Maybe the townspeople will clear the main streets out, but that’s going to be it. We’re on our own.”

“I’m thinking about the hospital,” Mom said.

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Matt said. “We can’t get there. Peter can’t get to us. And I don’t think the snow is going to melt before April or May. And there’s the risk of more snow.”

“I like Peter,” I said. “But it’s not the end of the world if we don’t see him for a few weeks. Or even a few months.”

“That’s not it,” Matt said. “What if one of us needs a doctor or the hospital? What happens then?”

“We’ll just be careful,” Mom said. “So we won’t need a doctor. Now come on, let’s see how much of this snow we can remove by hand before Jonny discovers all we’ve been doing is talking.”

The snow got inside all our gloves, and our pant legs grew wet, too. We were relieved when Jon returned with the pots and pans. We each took one and used it as a minishovel. The pans speeded the process, but it still took a long time before the garage doors looked like they could be opened.

Then Mom realized the key to the padlock was in the house so we had to wait until Matt went back, got the key, and returned. Even when he did, it wasn’t that easy to get the garage doors opened. But we cleared some more and we all pulled together and much to our relief the door finally opened.

There were two shovels right by the door. There was also a 20-pound bag of rock salt, which claimed it would melt ice in below-zero temperatures.

“If it doesn’t,” Mom said, “we can always demand a refund.”

This struck all of us as so funny we couldn’t stop laughing until the coughing took over.

“Two shovels,” Matt said. “One for me and one for Jon. Let’s get started.”

“No,” Mom said. “I want us all to go to the house first and eat something. And we should take some aspirin.”

“We’ll be fine,” Matt said. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Worrying is what I do,” Mom said. “Occupational hazard of motherhood. Now everybody back to the house for food and aspirin.”

“What’s the aspirin for?” I whispered to Matt as we made our way to the front door.

“Our hearts,” Matt said. “I guess Mom thinks we have the hearts of sixty-year-olds.”

“I heard that,” Mom said. “I just don’t want you taking any more chances than you have to. Besides, you’ll be aching all over by the time you’re finished. You might as well start on the aspirin now.”

Mom was certainly right about the aching all over. Just shoveling the snow out with a pot made my shoulders and upper back hurt. And I loved the idea of lunch (which turned out to be soup and spinach—I guess Popeye did his share of snow shoveling).

Once we’d eaten, Matt and Jonny went to work, first clearing out the sunroom door, then creating walkways from the house to the garage and from the front door to the road. Then they got the ladder and cleared off all the snow from the sunroom roof. It took them a long time, but they seemed to enjoy it.

“While they’re shoveling, let’s do some laundry,” Mom said to me. “I’ll boil down the snow and you do the washing.”

“Women’s work,” I muttered, but the truth is much as I don’t care for washing Jon’s underwear, I sure don’t want him washing mine.

If I thought my back hurt from the shoveling, it was nothing compared to how I felt after doing all the laundry. On the one hand it was exciting actually having water to wash clothes with. We had done a little with Mrs. Nesbitt’s water, but we haven’t since then and that was about a month ago.

But laundry is hard, hard work. For starters, snow melts down into not very much water, so Mom was constantly having to refill the pot on the woodstove. And of course the water was gray toned, which makes it harder to believe that the clothes are actually clean. Then I’d overcompensate with laundry detergent, and it would take forever to rinse it out. The water was really hot from the woodstove and the kitchen really cold, since it has no heat, and my poor body didn’t know what to feel. My hands and face got steamy hot and my feet and legs stayed ice cold. Then once each sink load was washed and rinsed, I had to squeeze all the clothes dry, which took even more energy than the washing and rinsing. All this for clothes that are permanently dingy.

Mom strung up a clothesline in the sunroom because if we hang wet clothes in any of the other rooms they’ll freeze. So now the sunroom has the smell of wet laundry to go along with everything else. At least the clothesline is nowhere near the mattresses. I don’t want clothes dripping on my face while I’m sleeping.

Matt and Jonny did the roof clearing and while they were at it, they cleared the snow off the skylights, so whatever light is out there we now get.

I’m too tired to be scared. I wonder how I’ll feel in the morning.

 

December 5

Mom told us to get back to our schoolwork.

“Snow day,” Jonny said.

Mom didn’t argue.

I almost wish she had.

 

December 7

We’ve been cooped up in the sunroom for almost a week now. I thought it was bad before, but this is ridiculous. At least before Matt and Jonny could go out and chop wood all day long. Now they’re stuck inside, too.

Sometimes one of us invents an errand to take us away from the others. I’m still in charge of bedpans and chamber pots so I have to walk about 50 feet from the house for that lovely job. Jon cleans out Horton’s litter so he has to go outside at least once a day (besides, he and Matt use the outdoors as a bathroom, poor guys). Matt brings in snow for our water needs. Only Mom never leaves the house.

But we’ll all suddenly remember something we have to get from our bedrooms or the pantry, and no matter how cold the rest of the house is, it feels like heaven just to get by yourself for a few minutes.

Tomorrow is Friday so Matt went out with the cross-country skis to see if he could make it into town. Much to Mom’s great relief, he came back and said he couldn’t. He never really liked cross-country skiing and the snow is very light and powdery and he doesn’t have the skill and probably not the strength to manage 4 miles.

On the one hand I’m kind of glad to know there’s something Matt refuses to try. On the other hand, much as I love him, it might have been nice not having him around for a few hours.

If it’s only December, what are we going to be like by February?

 

December 10

Jon was making himself a can of green peas for lunch when all of a sudden he turned to us and said, “How come none of you eat lunch?”

It’s funny. We haven’t in ages, but Jon was always outside with Matt and I guess he figured Matt ate a big breakfast or something. He didn’t know what Mom or I were doing. But now that we’re breathing the same air constantly, Jon finally noticed.

“Not hungry,” Matt said. “When I’m hungry, I eat.”

“Same here,” I said with a big false smile on my face.

“We all eat when we need to,” Mom said. “Don’t let what we do stop you, Jonny.”

“No,” Jon said. “If you’re all just eating one meal a day, then that’s what I should do, too.”

We all said, “No!” Jonny looked absolutely horrified and ran out of the room.

I remember a few months ago how angry I was that we weren’t eating as much as Jonny, how unfair that seemed. But now I feel like Mom was right. It is a possibility only one of us is going to make it. We have fuel and we have water, but who knows how long our food will last. Mom’s so thin it’s scary and Matt certainly isn’t as strong as he used to be and I know I’m not. I’m not saying Jon is, but I can see how he might have the best chance of making it through the winter or spring or whatever.

Probably if only one of us really is going to survive, Matt would be the best choice, since he’s old enough to take care of himself. But Matt would never let that happen.

I don’t want to live two weeks longer or three or four if it means none of us survive. So I guess if it comes to it, I’ll stop eating altogether to make sure Jon has food.

Matt started to go upstairs to talk to Jon, but Mom said no, she’d do it. Her limp was pretty bad, and I worried about her getting up the stairs, but she insisted on going.

“This is awful,” I said to Matt, just in case he hadn’t noticed.

“It could be worse,” he said. “We may look back on this as the good time.”

And he’s right. I still remember when Mom sprained her ankle the first time and we played poker and really enjoyed ourselves. If you’d told me three months before then that I’d have called that a good time, I would have laughed out loud.

I eat every single day. Two months from now, maybe even one month from now, I might eat only every other day.

We’re all alive. We’re all healthy.

These are the good times.

 

December 11

I went outside to do chamber pot duty and Jon followed me out with kitty litter brigade. I was turning to go back in when he grabbed hold of my arm.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

I knew it had to be important. If Jon talks to anybody it’s Matt.

“Okay,” I said, even though it was 12 degrees below zero and I really wanted to get back in.

“Mom said I should keep eating lunch,” he said. “She said she needs to know one of us is going to stay strong, in case the rest of us need him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She’s told me that, too. And you’re the one we need to stay strong.”

“Is that okay?” he asked. “Don’t you mind?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know if I can be the strong one,” Jon said. “Matt practically had to drag me into Mrs. Nesbitt’s.”

“But you went,” I said. “You did what you had to. That’s what we’ve all been doing. We do what we have to. You’re a lot more mature than you used to be, Jon. I have so much respect for you, the way you handled your birthday. And I’ll tell you something else. When we went for Matt, I fell and my oil lamp went out, and all I could think was, Jon will get me. Jon’s stronger than I am and it’ll be okay. So to some extent it’s already happening.”

“But what if you die?” he cried. “What if you all die?”

I wanted to tell him that was never going to happen, that we’d be fine, that the sun was going to be shining tomorrow and the roads would be plowed and the supermarkets would be open, full of fresh fruits and vegetables and meat.

“If we all die, you’ll leave,” I said. “Because you’ll be strong enough to. And maybe someplace in America or Mexico or somewhere things are better and you’ll manage to get there. And then Mom’s life and Matt’s and mine won’t have been a waste. Or maybe the moon’s going to crash into the earth and we’ll all die anyway. I don’t know, Jonny. Nobody knows. Just eat your damn lunch and don’t feel guilty.”

I’m sure the queen of pep talks. Jon turned around and went in. I stayed outside awhile longer and kicked the snow for lack of a better target.

 

December 13

“I think we’ve been doing this meal thing backward,” Matt said this morning. For one gleeful moment I thought he meant he and Mom and I should be eating two meals a day and Jon only one, but of course that wasn’t it.

“None of us eats breakfast,” he said. “We’re hungry all day. We eat supper and stay up a little while and then we go to sleep. The only time we’re not hungry is when we’re sleeping. What good does that do us?”

“So should we have our big meal at breakfast?” Mom asked, which was pretty funny since our big meal is our only meal.

“Breakfast or lunch,” Matt said. “Maybe brunch like Miranda used to do. I think I’d rather be hungry at night than all day long.”

“What about me?” Jon asked.

“You’d eat something at suppertime,” Matt said.

I had to admit it made sense. Especially if Jon ate his second meal when we’d already eaten. There’ve been a couple of days when I’ve wanted to take his pot of whatever he was eating and pour it over his head. I’d probably feel less jealous if I wasn’t as hungry.

“Let’s try it,” Mom said. “I liked supper because that was the time of day we were together. But now we’re together all day long, so that doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s try eating at eleven and see if we like it.”

So we did. And now it’s 4 in the afternoon (or so Matt tells me) and I don’t feel particularly hungry. And doing the laundry is easier too since I’m not hungry.

Life just improved.

 

December 16

“Are you still keeping your journal?” Jon asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I just don’t have an actual journal anymore. I use notebooks. But that’s what I’m writing. Why?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just wondered why. I mean who are you writing things for?”

“Well, not for you,” I said, remembering how Mrs. Nesbitt had burned all her letters before she died. “So don’t get any ideas.”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t want to read about any of this stuff,” he said. “Do you reread it?”

“No,” I said. “I just write it and forget about it.”

“Okay,” he said. “Well, don’t worry that I’ll read it. I got enough problems.”

“We all do,” I said.

It’s funny how sorry I feel for Jon these days. I’m 2½ years older than him and I feel like I got those extra 2½ years to go to school and swim and have friends and he got cheated out of them. And maybe he’ll live 2½ years longer than me, or 20 years, or 50, but he’ll still never have those 2½ years of normal life.

Every day when I go to sleep I think what a jerk I was to have felt sorry for myself the day before. My Wednesdays are worse than my Tuesdays, my Tuesdays way worse than my Tuesday of a week before. Which means every tomorrow is going to be worse than every today. Why feel sorry for myself today when tomorrow’s bound to be worse?

It’s a hell of a philosophy, but it’s all I’ve got.

 

December 19

Lisa’s baby was due about now. I’ve decided she had it and it was a girl. I’ve named her Rachel.

Somehow that makes me feel better. Of course I have no idea if she’s had the baby and if she has, whether it’s a boy or a girl or if it’s a girl what her name is. Technically speaking, I don’t know if Lisa is still alive, or if Dad is, but I really prefer to think they are. I’ve decided they made it to Colorado, and Dad got Grandma out of Las Vegas and they’re all living together: Lisa and Lisa’s folks and Dad and Grandma and baby Rachel. When the weather improves, somehow he’ll come back for us and we’ll all move to Colorado and I’ll get to be baby Rachel’s godmother, just like I was supposed to be.

Sometimes Colorado becomes like Springfield used to be for me, this fabulous place with food and clean clothes and water and air. I even imagine that I’ll run into Dan there. After I’ve cleaned up, naturally, and eaten enough so that I don’t look like a walking corpse. Also my hair has grown out. I look great and I bump into him and we get married.

Sometimes I speed things up and Rachel’s our flower girl.

I bet Mom and Matt and Jon all have fantasies of their own, but I don’t want to know what they are. They’re not in mine, after all, so I’m probably not in theirs. We spend enough time together. We don’t need to hang out in each other’s fantasies.

I hope Dad and Lisa are okay. I wonder if I’ll ever meet Rachel.

 

December 21

Mom put her foot down (her good one) and we’re back to doing schoolwork. At least it gives us something to do besides laundry and playing poker.

Right now I’m reading about the American Revolution.

The soldiers had a tough time of it at Valley Forge.

My heart bleeds for them.