WALTER SMITH:
Images swam around in my head. Steamed beans. Can after can of soup. Soft pillows. A room just for me and Daisy! It was too good to be true. It was a dream. It was fake. It had to be.
And yet, for the ninth day in a row, I woke up in a bed. Sat up and found Daisy playing with her stuffed bunny.
She moved the bunny’s arm to wave at me. “We should stay here forever, shouldn’t we, Walter?”
“That’d be nice.” Temporary.
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I tried to avoid Christine. Hide up in the guest room or stay close to Anderson, but she seemed to always be around the corner, her eyes narrow slits, her mouth pinched. Most of the time, she’d ignore me. Other times, I’d hear her complain: Andi, we’ll run out of food faster. Ivy, do you want a stranger in our house? He’s a thief.
The worst part? She was right. It was wrong to stay. I was a thief. All I did was take up room, eat food, and act like a stranger.
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I hadn’t had much of a chance to explore the house, but I was able to get a general layout.
The first floor held the kitchen, with its peeling countertops and old wooden table. Anderson’s room was on the first floor, too, along with the rooms that didn’t have much of a purpose anymore, like their parents’ bedroom and the dining room. Those rooms were used to store bags of rice. Their medical room used to be the master bathroom—its cabinets were stuffed with supplies.
I must confess something: I tore through the cabinets. Stuffed as much as I could in my pockets. Gauze. Alcohol wipes. Band-Aids.
Then I heard footsteps—or did I think I heard footsteps?— I automatically crouched, hands on the back of my head. When I realized what I was doing, I cursed under my breath, ripped everything out of my pockets and shoved them back into their place.
My arm throbbed. Something deep in my stomach twisted.
A single band aid on the floor. Red and blue wrapper. I plucked it off the tile. Shoved it into my pocket.
“She’s right.” I said to myself.
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I’d be a fool to turn away from it all. All the food, all the supplies. Weeks ago, Daisy and I huddled under a corrugated tin roof, splitting a single bag of government rice.
So maybe I was a thief, but wasn’t it justified? Isn’t trying to survive a good thing?
Ivy found me staring at bags of rice in the dining room. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t think this much food even existed anymore.”
That made her laugh, “It’s not that much. It’s enough to feed us for a few months just in case something happens.” She grinned at me, “It was my idea, you know.”
“You’re a genius.”
She smiled even more. Which made me feel guilty, because she shouldn’t have liked me, not when I was eating the food that she so carefully planned. Maybe Christine had a point: I was a thief. Maybe fighting to survive wasn’t a good thing; all I did was take from other people.
“Do you know what it’s like to be desperate for your next meal?” I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
Ivy fidgeted with her hands. “Before Elise’s job, before the Greenhouse, we’d sneak into grocery stores and take anything we could.” She looked up at me, “Chaos says you’re a thief, too. What did you steal?”
“I stole food from your Greenhouse. I’m sorry.”
Ivy shook her head slowly. “It’s an act of self-preservation.”
“What?”
“That’s what Andi says. That we’re all just trying to make it to the next day. That maybe stealing isn’t so bad if you really need it.”
I nodded slowly. Tried to imagine being okay with it all.
“You think he’s right?” Ivy asked, “You think we’re not so bad?”
I turned back to the rice. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
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James,
The electricity went out in our home today, So I’m writing this in the dark with a candle. We’re officially back in the 1800s! Ha ha, I actually don’t mind using candles. It’s kind of peaceful, and the ones that have those fancy names and smell good are my favorite.
Mom saved our last few cans of rice and beans for when you come back. We also have old cake batter that we’ll try to bake. Can you imagine? Cake! I haven’t had it in forever.
Your lemon trees have gotten tall now. We may have to move them outside before you come home. I’m gonna see if I can find a bigger pot to put them in, but mom doesn’t like it when I “waste our resources”.
Also: I found your old MP3 player! It has a little juice left in the battery (I listened to it last night…sorry), so maybe you can listen to it and think of home. I don’t know if they’ll let me mail it, so if you don’t see it in this envelope, some mail man might be listening to your annoying metal music. Kidding. Maybe.
I hope you find the time to write back soon! I check the mailbox every day, and I go by the office every week. I haven’t gotten anything from you.
ns216.73.216.190da2
and then Add to home screen.