Page 21 of Wildflowers

And more than enough messages downloaded onto my phone before mobile coverage went down to give me my fill of anguish and horror.

Night has fallen and the storm has moved on by the time I leave the bathroom. My head hurts from crying and my eyes sting like a bitch. But Aunt Betty didn’t have half bad taste in booze. One bottle of wine, however, was insufficient for the pain. Grieving my family and friends isn’t something that’s going to go awayanytime soon. Right now the wound is raw and fresh. I think time will change how I carry it, but not take it away. Which feels about right for this sort of love.

All of the block-out curtains have been drawn. Guess we don’t want to risk anyone seeing a light and coming to say hi. As a woman in the world, I’m used to requiring a certain amount of safety. Being mindful of where I am and what’s going on. Carrying a can of pepper spray in my purse and texting a friend the license plate of a rideshare or a date. But this is a whole new level of worry and awareness.

Things sure change fast sometimes.

Dean is seated outside on the swing chair on the porch. I ate the emergency rations bar he slipped beneath the bathroom door several hours ago. Talk about a comedown from his cooking. There’s a small CB radio in his lap and he’s moving the dial, searching for signs of life. Seems to be mostly static.

I take a seat on the steps. The sky is clear, an endless field of stars. Light pollution is a thing of the past. I stare in wonder at the Milky Way for a good minute or more. It’s mind-blowingly beautiful.

“I thought I could protect you from anything,” he says. “But I can’t protect you from getting your feelings hurt.”

I turn and rest my back against the railing so I can see him. He’s all shadows in the starlight. Half mystery and half monster. Though those percentages may be off. I honestly have no idea these days. Life has not turned out as I expected.

The man genuinely seems to think he has a connection to me. Like he’s been thinking and feeling things about me for a while now. Four days ago, he was the dude with the pretty face who lived across the street. Nothing more. I enjoyed seeing him mow his lawn in the summer. How the muscles in his arms would work. But he was just a passing thought. Hearing him plan formy survival and care about my emotions is so strange. No one has really wanted to look after me since I was a child.

“If you need to be alone to think things through, then okay. But I don’t want you to be lonely.” He pauses. “What I’m trying to say is, if there’s anything I can do…”

“Let’s talk about lonely,” I say, getting comfortable. “If the plan is to find a cabin in the wilderness somewhere, then what are you searching for on the radio?”

“Where people might be gathering so we can avoid those places.”

“Did you find any?”

“No. Not yet. Someone’s playing classic rock and a couple of people are talking about safe routes out of Portland. There’s an emergency broadcast from the government still playing on repeat, telling people to report to FEMA camps. That’s about all so far.”

“People aren’t organizing communities.”

“Not yet.”

“Then that’s what we need to do.”

“What?” he asks in surprise.

“You heard me.”

“Yes. I heard you. Now help me to understand why, after everything you’ve seen today, you would say that.”

“Not everyone is going to be feral or infected.”

“Those aren’t the only dangers to us,” he says.

“Dean, has it occurred to you that the reason why you chose me is the same reason why I am not going to agree to live in an isolated cabin in the woods with you?”

He sighs. “You don’t think this is maybe a little premature?”

“I think where we settle is going to affect how we go on. And I don’t mind spending time on my own, but I’m also a social person.”

“You can talk to me.”

“Whether or not we can be friends is still up for debate,” I say. “It’s also beside the point. Humans need community to thrive.”

“There has to be some sort of compromise we can make here.” The man is not happy. I can feel the grumpy vibes emanating from him on the cool night air.

“Just think about it. We can talk more tomorrow. My head hurts and I’m going to bed.”

“There’s Advil in your backpack, and don’t forget to drink some water.”

---