Jonny asked if anyone had heard anything about the Phillies, and it turned out one of the guys in line actually had. The Phillies had played a day game on Wednesday and the game was over before the asteroid hit. They'd taken a charter flight to Colorado, and apparently they were all okay.
I asked if anyone knew Brandon's family or Mrs. Daley, just in case anyone had heard anything about Brandon, but no one did.
There were a lot of rumors going around, like we should be prepared not to have electricity for the entire summer, and some people had heard that the moon was going to crash into the earth by Christmas. One man said he knew someone on the school board and they were thinking about canceling the rest of the school year, and all the kids standing in line cheered, Jonny included. I guess as rumors go that's a lot better than the moon's going to crash into the earth, but I don't think either one is likely to happen.
Not that I know what is.
By the time Mom got back to us, we were almost in the shop. She looked kind of excited, but she wouldn't tell us why.
It took another half hour before we actually got to place our order, and by the time we did, there wasn't much left. But we were able to get a plain pizza and some garlic rolls. I don't think I've ever been so excited about food.
We walked back to the car and when we got in Mom said she'd found a bakery that was open, and she'd bought cookies and cake and a couple of loaves of bread. Nothing was fresh, but it was still edible.
We stopped off at Mrs. Nesbitt's and brought her over for our feast. The electricity was on so we reheated the pizza and the garlic rolls and they tasted great. For dessert, we had chocolate cake, and Jonny drank one of those weird never-go-bad milks I'd bought. The rest of us drank ginger ale. Horton hung around hoping for treats.
"This may be the last meal like this we have for a while," Mom said. "We shouldn't count on pizza and burgers and chicken until things get back to normal."
"There was rationing during World War Two," Mrs. Nesbitt said. "That's probably what they'll do now. We'll pool our ration points and we'll be fine."
"I wish I trusted the president," Mom said. "I just can't imagine him handling this."
"People rise to the occasion," Mrs. Nesbitt said. "We have, after all."
Just then the electricity went off. Only somehow it felt funny and we all laughed. Mom got out the Monopoly game and we played until there wasn't enough sunlight left. Mom drove Mrs. Nesbitt home and I went to my room, where I'm using a combination of candlelight and flashlight to write by.
I wonder when we'll get electricity back for good. It's going to be an awfully hot summer without air conditioning.
May 23
The national day of mourning meant that there were memorial services on the radio. Lots of clergy, lots of politicians, lots of sad songs. They're still not giving a number for how many people died, but maybe that's because people are still dying. With so much coastline lost, the oceans keep rolling in and destroying more land and more buildings, and people who didn't want to evacuate or who couldn't because the highways are all jammed have been drowning.
Mom says we're still plenty inland and have nothing to worry about.
The electricity came on for an hour this afternoon. There was an e-mail from Matt saying he was still planning on getting home Wednesday.
I know it's dumb of me, but I keep thinking that once Matt gets home, everything'll be okay. Like he'll push the moon back into place.
I wish there was school tomorrow. I keep thinking about cafeteria lunches and how I always complained about them and how much I want to eat one now.
May 24
The electricity came on around 9 this morning and Mom grabbed Jonny and me and we drove around looking for any stores that might be open. We did find one supermarket that was open, only it just had school supplies and pet toys and mops.
It was so strange, walking around this big store and seeing all those empty shelves. There were only a couple of employees there, and a security guard, although I can't imagine what he was protecting.
Mom didn't think we'd be hungry enough to eat pencils, so we left without buying anything.
A lot of the appliance stores had boarded-up windows. There was broken glass in the parking lots, so I guess they'd been looted. I don't know why, since there isn't any electricity to run the flat-screen TVs or anything else, for that matter.
It was funny seeing which stores were still open. The really expensive shoe store had boarded-up windows but it was open. Mom said the world might be coming to an end, but she still wasn't going to pay a hundred bucks for a pair of sneakers.
The sporting goods store was closed and its window was boarded up and someone had painted in giant letters: NO MORE GUNS OR RIFLES.
Mom still has cash left and I could tell she wanted to buy something. She's started to look at all the soups and vegetables and peroxide at home and feel proud of herself.
We finally found a clothes store that was open. There was a cashier, but no one else. It was the kind of store we never go to ordinarily, small and not well lit, and everything looked dingy. Mom bought two dozen pairs of socks and underwear. She asked if they had any gloves, and when the cashier found them hidden away in a drawer, Mom bought five pairs.
Then she got this scary I-just-had-a-brilliant-idea look that I've noticed more and more the past few days, and asked if they had any thermal underwear.
I practically died of embarrassment and Jonny didn't look too happy, either, but when the cashier dug out the long johns, Mom bought them, too.
The cashier got into it, then, and started pulling out scarves and mittens and winter hats. Mom went berserk and bought everything, whether it would fit any of us or not.
"You could open your own store now," the cashier said, which was probably her way of saying, "Thank God I found someone even crazier than I am and maybe she'll buy everything and I can go home."
We carried bagloads of stuff back to the van. "What are we going to do with kids' mittens?" I asked Mom. "Give them to Lisa for her baby?"
"You're right," Mom said. "Baby things. I should have remembered." And she went right back into the store, and when she came out, she had armloads of baby shirts and baby overalls and baby socks and even a baby coat.
"No brother or sister of yours is going to go cold this winter," she said.
That was kind of sweet of her, but I think she's gone crazy. I know Lisa and she'd never want a baby of hers to wear the clothes that store was selling.
Actually, it should be kind of funny to see Mom make the big presentation to Lisa and Dad. I guess she'll do it when she picks up Jonny at baseball camp and takes us to Dad's for August. Of course by then Lisa's parents will have visited and the baby will have enough clothes for a lifetime. And there Mom'll be, handing over all those socks and things and Lisa'll be trying to act like she's grateful.
Maybe if the store stays open, Mom'll be able to return all the stuff. I know I don't plan on wearing long johns next winter.
May 25
Mom and Matt should have been home by now. We have electricity, so Jonny's watching a DVD, but he's nervous, too.
It was a long, weird day and it's already feeling like a long, weird night. For the first time in a week the sky is completely clear and you can really see the moon. It's so big and bright it feels like we don't need lights on, but we have them all on anyway, just about every light in the house. I don't know why Jonny and I feel like having them all on, but we do.
School started again today and that didn't make things feel right, like I thought it would. The bus was only about half full. Megan was on, but she was sitting with her church friends, so we just said hello. Sammi was nowhere to be seen.
It's funny how over the past few days I haven't felt like calling them. The phone's worked most of the time, but we haven't gotten many phone calls or made many. It's like we were so occupied with taking care of ourselves we didn't feel we could handle anybody else's lives.
School looked exa
ctly the same as it did last week, but it didn't feel the same. There were a lot of absentees and a lot of teachers were missing, too, and there weren't substitutes for them, so classrooms doubled up and we all had extra study halls.
No one had done any homework since last week and no one seemed to know what we should be doing. Some of my teachers had us doing our regular work and others had us talking about what was going on.
It was funny, what we'd talk about and what we wouldn't. Mom told Jonny and me not to tell anyone about how we'd practically bought out the supermarket last week. She says it's better if people don't know what we have stored away, like someone is going to break into the kitchen and steal our cans of soup. Or the long johns. Or the two dozen bags of kitty litter.
I don't know if other people weren't saying what their mothers had bought, but a lot of kids didn't seem to be saying a lot of things, if that makes any sense.
Instead of fifth period, we went to the auditorium. Usually we have to have two assemblies, because we wouldn't all fit otherwise, but there were so many kids absent, there was room for all of us.
It wasn't really an assembly, not the kind with a program, anyway. Mrs. Sanchez stood on the stage and made announcements.
She started by saying how grateful we should be that we were all safe and sound and she thanked all the teachers for everything they'd done, which was pretty funny, seeing as so many of them weren't there.
Then she talked about how what had happened wasn't just a local crisis, even though we might feel that way, since we didn't have electricity we could count on, and McDonald's wasn't open. She smiled when she said that, like it was supposed to be a joke, but nobody laughed.
"This is a crisis the whole world is going through together," she said. "I have complete faith in our ability as Pennsylvanians and Americans to be able to pull through."
A few kids laughed at that, even though we obviously weren't supposed to.
Then she got to the part about how we were all going to have to make sacrifices. Like we haven't been making sacrifices for a week already. Like the supermarkets were miraculously going to reopen and gas wasn't going to cost $9 a gallon.
There would be no more after-school activities. The class play, the prom, the senior trip all were canceled. The swimming pool was no longer available. The cafeteria would no longer serve hot lunches. Starting on Tuesday, there'd be no more bus service for the high school.
It's funny. When she said the stuff about the prom, a lot of kids started yelling and I thought what babies they were. But when she said the pool was closed, I yelled, "No!" and by the time she told us about no more buses, pretty much all the kids were yelling and booing.
She just let us. I guess she knew we couldn't be stopped. When the bell rang, she got off the stage, and the teachers all told us to go to our next class, which we mostly did.
Some kids went into the classrooms, though, and started breaking windows. I saw cops come in and drag kids out. I don't think anyone was hurt.
I really missed Sammi at lunch. Megan joined me, though. Her eyes were all bright and shiny, kind of the way Mom's have been getting when she sees something else to stockpile.
"This is the first time in a week that I've left Reverend Marshall," she said. "We've been sleeping at the church, just getting an hour or two of sleep each day so we can keep praying. Isn't it wonderful, what God is doing?"
There was a part of me that wanted to tell Megan to shut up and another part of me that wanted to hear what God was doing that was so wonderful. But mostly I wanted a hot lunch.
"What does your mom say about all this?" I asked. Megan's mom used to like Reverend Marshall, but she's never been as crazy about him as Megan.
"She doesn't understand," Megan said. "She's a good woman, really she is, but she lacks faith. I pray for her soul, just the way I pray for yours."
"Megan," I said, like I was trying to grab the friend I'd loved for years and bring her back to reality. "There are no more hot lunches. Half the time there's no electricity. I live five miles from school and gas costs nine dollars a gallon and we can't use the pool anymore."
"Those are just earthly concerns," Megan said. "Miranda, admit your sins and embrace Our Lord. You won't care about hot lunches and the cost of gas in heaven."
She could be right. The problem is I don't see Mom or Dad or Lisa or Matt (especially Matt—I think he's a Buddhist these days) or Jonny admitting their sins and embracing anybody even if it means a ticket to heaven. And I don't much want to be in heaven if they're not there with me (okay, I could manage without Lisa).
I considered trying to explain that to Megan, but it would have been like trying to explain to Mom that I wasn't going to wear long johns no matter what the moon did to us. So I left Megan and went to where the swim team was and groaned and moaned along with them.
Dan said he heard from his mother who knows just about all the coaches in the area that all the schools in Pennsylvania have closed their pools and so have the ones near us in New York. It's because without electricity the filters can't run, and without the filters the water isn't sanitary. So no more meets for the time being.
Karen mentioned the pool at the Y, but a couple of the kids said the Y was closed. The town has a pool, but it's outdoors and it isn't heated, and even if they have it working, it won't do us much good until the end of June.
So I mentioned Miller's Pond. There were actually kids who didn't know about it. I guess they live in the new developments and don't know about things at my end of town. It's still too cold to be swimming at the pond, but once it warms up enough, it's all natural and doesn't need a filter. And it's pretty big.
So we agreed we'd start swimming at Miller's Pond weekend after next. I guess that gives me something to look forward to. And I think Dan was impressed that I came up with a solution.
Now if I could only solve the hot lunch situation. It's amazing how much I miss the cafeteria macaroni and cheese.
I hear Matt and Mom! Matt's home!
May 28
Things seem so much better now that Matt is home. He's been throwing batting practice to Jonny (I've been catching) and that makes Jonny happy. He and Mom went through everything in the house, all the food we bought, and all kinds of stuff Mom's grandparents had hidden away in the attic and cellar, yarn and a crochet hook (Mom says she hasn't crocheted in years, but she thinks it'll all come back to her if she works at it) and mason jars and canning equipment and a manual can opener and an egg beater and the sorts of things kitchens had in the olden days.
He and Mom spent all day yesterday organizing the food so we know how much tuna we have and how many canned peaches. I think we have enough stuff to last forever, but Mom says she'll be relieved when the supermarkets open again. Just to hear her say she thinks they will cheers me up.
Matt and I haven't had a chance for a real talk yet. He doesn't really know any more than I do about what happened and what's going to happen, but I still feel like if I hear it from him, I'll believe it more.
School was better by Thursday. A lot more kids showed up (including Sammi) and more of the teachers, too.
The high school is 5 miles from here, which Mom says is walkable on a nice day. Jonny's lost his bus service to the middle school, and that's a little farther away, so Mom's been trying to work out a car pool. Matt got out all our bikes and he's spending the weekend getting them in shape. I used to bike a lot, and I guess it's as good a way as any to get around (I'll certainly get to school faster by bike than by foot).
Peter showed up this evening, which was a nice surprise, especially for Mom. He brought us a bag of apples that one of his patients had given him. He and Mom couldn't go out anywhere so the two of them baked an apple crisp for all of us. We had pasta with marinara sauce for like the tenth time this week, so the hot dessert was a treat. Matt got Mrs. Nesbitt, so it was really an event, six for dinner, with a main course and a dessert.
Of course by the time we were ready to eat the electricity had gon
e out again. It was out most of the day, but we're used to that by now. We had electricity for an hour during school yesterday and it was like none of us knew what to do about it. At home, when the electricity goes on, we rush to the TV and turn it on. We could listen to the radio all the time, but Mom wants us to preserve batteries so we only listen in the morning and in the late evening.
It's such a weird way to live. I just can't believe it's going to stay like this much longer. On the other hand, I'm already starting to forget what normal life felt like, clocks that were on time, and lights that went on with the flick of a switch, and Internet, and streetlights, and supermarkets, and McDonald's, and...
One thing Matt did say to me was that no matter what the future is, we're living through a very special time in history. He said that history makes us who we are, but we can make history, also, and that anyone can be a hero, if they just choose to be.
Matt's always been my hero, and I think it's a lot harder to be one than he's saying, but basically I know what he means.
But I still miss ice cream and swimming laps and feeling comfortable looking at the night sky.
May 29
The electricity came on this morning around 9 and Mom did what she always does when we realize it's back on. She started a load of laundry.
It was only on for about 15 minutes, and it stayed off all the rest of today.
About 10 minutes ago, we all woke up because of this strange roaring sound. We all raced toward the sound, which turned out to be the washing machine going back on.
Who knew the rinse cycle could be so scary?
Mom says she's staying up until the clothes can go in the dryer. She doesn't think the electricity will stay on long enough to dry the clothes completely, but she figures it's worth a shot.
I really wish we had electricity at 2 pm rather than at 2 am. But I guess I should think of Mom as a hero of the all-night laundry.
Life as We Knew It Page 5
