WALTER SMITH:
Daisy pulled my arm, down a pathway, and I stumbled behind her.
We were just at a creek, weren’t we? How’d we get here?
I wrapped my jacket tighter around me and shivered. My eyes burned. Every step ached. Dear James, I hate cicadas. I hate gnats. Dear James, when you come home, bring a bottle of water with you.
Daisy said, “There’s a house. They’ll help you. They have to help you.”
I squinted my eyes. Two stories, yellowing paint.
“Daisy. Look at me.”
She was covered in dirt, sweat. Her hair tangled and falling out of her ponytail, her shirt too big.
“The people in the house might be dangerous. We might have to run. Do I look like I can run?”
She shook her head.
“You can’t wait for me,” I told her, “You run and you don’t look back.”
Tears in her eyes. Dripping down her face, rinsing the dirt away in little stripes. “What about you?”
“I’ll find you. We’ll both be fine.”
The back of my head pounded, and I sat down on the grass and rested my head on my knee. Wind evaporated sweat from my skin, my shirt. Hot, and then suddenly cold. I couldn’t stop shivering.
Daisy stood over me, holding out her hand. The ears of her stuffed bunny were tied around her belt loop.
“You ready?”
She pulled me up, and we walked down the pathway, toward the house.
Part of me hoped no one would be inside. At least I wouldn’t have to wonder about intentions. At least the only option would be to keep walking.
Dear James, I hate hard choices, don’t you?
Almost there. The paint on the door bubbled and faded.
When I took another step, the dirt shifted. Something from inside the house screeched.
I squeezed Daisy’s hand. Maybe I should’ve felt scared, but all I wanted to do was lie down. Curl up and try to ignore the pressure in my arm.
Daisy whispered, “Look!”
Someone stepped out the front door, a little older than me. Crossbow in his hand, pointed at us.
I raised my good arm. Pushed Daisy behind me. “Please.” But my voice was too soft.
Daisy yelled, “Can you help us?”
He lowered his crossbow. Scrunched his eyebrows. “What’s going on?”
“I’m hurt,” I told him, “We need help. Please.”
His eyes softened. I almost let myself feel relieved.
Then someone else pushed past him and stepped into the grass. The girl. The girl from the grocery store. I cursed under my breath.
Just my luck.
“That’s him.” Her face twisted into something like disbelief, anger. “He stole from the Greenhouse.”
Crossbow guy gave her a look. “He needs help.”
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“What’s the alternative? Watch him die on our doorstep?”
“Who’s the reckless one now?” She spun towards him. “You’re gonna let him in? Waste supplies on two strangers?”
Their voices muffled. My hands and knees in the gravel. Something about human decency. Something about stupidity, safety. Her voice, sharp like a razor: “Hypocrite.”
My vision seemed wobbly, like I was underwater.
Crossbow Guy’s voice getting closer: “And if you were in his situation?”
She scoffed. “I’m not dumb enough to get into that situation.”
He mumbled something under his breath. Knelt next to me. “Give me your hand.”
I gave him my hand, and he pulled me up. I said, “Daisy.” But I couldn’t tell if anyone heard me.
Through the house. A kitchen, potatoes on the counter. A couch with stuffing spilling out of one cushion. Into a large, tiled bathroom, fogged windows.
He sat me on a bench. My arm pulsed. The windows let in white sunlight, and it gnawed at the back of my eyes.
Dear James, save me save me save me. I forced my eyes to focus.
Four people around me.
Daisy. Still holding my hand. She was okay. Thank God.
Crossbow guy. Digging through cabinets, setting bottles on the sink counter.
The grocery store girl. Arms crossed. Standing in the corner.
A younger girl. Round glasses. Long, dark hair, same color as Crossbow guy’s. She sat on a stool, swinging her legs. A book in her hands.
She asked, “Does it hurt?”
I nodded. Took a shaky inhale.
Gauze. A bucket of water. Someone peeled off my jacket, and the young girl made a face.
I winced. “That bad?”
“It’s infected.” She shut her book. Knelt next to Crossbow Guy. “I’m Ivy, by the way.”
Crossbow Guy grabbed one of the bottles from the counter. “Anderson.”
“And that’s Christine.” Ivy pointed.
Christine scowled.
I introduced myself, then Daisy.
Ivy kept talking, maybe to distract me from whatever Anderson was doing. Water, a damp towel, something cold. It hurt, but I clenched my jaw. Forced myself to keep a straight face.
“…and every second, your body replaces millions of cells, and plants grow a millimeter, and the universe expands fifty miles. Don’t you think that’s kinda neat?”
When Anderson poured the hydrogen peroxide, I hissed and yanked my arm away. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I saw Christine smirk.
Ivy held her book out. Showed Anderson how to wrap the gauze. Said if my arm felt numb or tingly, I should loosen the material a bit.
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She led us to the kitchen table. A bowl of rice appeared in front of me. Christine said something snide, and for some reason I thanked her.
So hungry, I was nauseous. Slow bites, try to keep everything down.
A pile of clothes in my arms. Anderson: “For you and Daisy. We have room for you to stay until you get better.”
I blinked up at him. “Really?”
Christine’s voice behind me. “Why don’t we give him our propane tanks? Our batteries too, while we’re at it?”
He kept his eyes on me. “It’s temporary.” I think he was talking to both of us.
I tried to straighten up, smile a little. “Thank you. Seriously.”
Ivy led me upstairs. A guest room. A bed. Clean sheets. Dear James, there’s some goodness still, even if I can’t find it in you.
Daisy pushed past us and shrieked, “Pillows!”
We watched her pick up a pillow, hold it in the air.
“I’m glad we get to help you,” Ivy said to me.
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When she shut the door, I sank to my knees, pressed my forehead against the carpet. Whispered thank you thank you thank you into the fibers.
I changed. Helped Daisy into her new clothes. A faded pink shirt with a butterfly on it.
She said, “your head is warm.”
“I know.” Her palm was cold.
“Will the tooth fairy find me here? Do you think I can put my tooth under the pillow?”
I sat on the bed and leaned against the wall. Spork still in my pocket. “Yeah, she will.”
“We’re so lucky, aren’t we Walter?” She untied her bunny from her belt loop, set it next to me.
I said, “It’s temporary.”
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James,
Do you know how long the lines are at the government office? So long. You’ve probably never stood in a line for so long. At the end I always get told the same thing: no letters from James Smith.
Someone always cries. Usually at the front of the line, when it’s their turn. About money or paperwork or bureaucracies. One time a woman reached over and grabbed a worker’s neck. She said to give her one more week or “God help us all”. I always wonder how seven days could make someone so desperate.
What do you think? What can happen in seven days?
Mom hates that question, by the way. She says I probably shouldn’t go to the office anymore.
But when you write back, I want to know. I want to see your handwriting. Read your thoughts. I’m sure you want the same from me, right?
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and then Add to home screen.