February 7
Mom's birthday.
Christmas, when Mom had shared her candy with us, I ate 2 of the 4 pieces I took, and saved the other 2.
So Mom's birthday present was 2 pieces of candy.
Jon let her beat him in chess.
And Matt walked to and from the staircase 3 times.
She said it was the best birthday she'd ever had.
TWENTY
February 9
Jon's strong enough to demand time on the skis and I've run out of excuses to keep him from using them.
Every morning I go out and ski by myself for an hour or so. It keeps my mind off food, and that's good, too.
Then after lunch I go out with Jon and watch while he skis. Mom won't let him be outside alone yet. He doesn't last more than 15–20 minutes, so it's really not that bad.
Matt walks to and from the staircase 3 times every morning and 4 times after lunch. I think he's going to try climbing the stairs next week, just a couple at first, and then build up, however long it takes.
Mom isn't ready to do laundry, but she's making our lunches again. Somehow everything tastes better if Mom's the one who prepares it.
At my insistence (and I love that I actually won an argument) we kept the plywood off the one window. Most of the snow is gone from the skylights, so there's a little more natural light in the sunroom. I don't think the air quality is much better, but I can tell the days are getting longer.
There's a lot of stuff to worry about, but I've given myself a holiday. I can always worry next week instead.
February 12
I came home from my morning ski and found Mom frying something in the skillet.
It smelled wonderful. We haven't had any fresh vegetables in so long, and there's no point frying canned spinach or string beans. We were practically jumping with excitement by the time Mom served lunch. I couldn't figure out what we were eating. The texture was kind of like an onion, but the taste was a little bitter.
"What is it?" we all asked.
"Tulip bulbs," Mom said. "I pulled them out of the ground last summer before the ground froze. I've been saving them for a nice treat."
We all stopped chewing. It was almost as though Mom had sautéed Horton.
"Come on," Mom said. "We won't be the first people to eat tulip bulbs."
It was a comforting thought. That and hunger pushed us through lunch.
February 14
Valentine's Day,
I wonder where Dan is.
Wherever he is, he's probably not thinking of me.
February 15
Matt walked up 6 steps.
We all pretended like this was no big deal.
February 18
I stayed in this morning. I said it was because the book I was reading was so interesting, but of course that was a lie.
We had lunch and then Jon and I went out while he did his skiing. I thought he'd never get tired, but after a half hour or so he was ready to go back in. I think by next week Mom'll let him go out on his own.
We went back to the house together. I ran in, got the skates, took the skis and the shoes and the poles from Jon, and said I'd be home in a couple of hours.
And then I did what no other athlete has done before. I won 2 Olympic gold medals in 2 different sports in the same afternoon.
First I won the cross-country ski race. I went from home to Miller's Pond and won by so much I couldn't even see my competitors.
But that was just a warm-up. When I got to the pond, I skated my legendary gold medal–winning long program. I could hear the thousands of people in the stands cheering my every move. My crossovers, my Mohawks, my spiral, my spins. My breathtaking single toe loop. My Ina Bauer. The brilliantly choreographed, seemingly spontaneous footwork sequence.
The ice was showered with flowers and teddy bears. The TV commentators said they were honored to be in the arena to see such a performance. I wiped away a tear or two in the kiss and cry. Every one of my competitors came up to me and congratulated me on the skate of the century. I stood proudly on the podium as the American flag went up. I smiled and sang along to "The Star Spangled Banner."
America's darling. The greatest athlete in American history. And a shoo-in for 8 gold medals in swimming at the next Summer Olympics.
"Did you have a good time?" Mom asked when I got back from the pond.
"The best," I told her.
February 20
"Jonny, why haven't you eaten any supper?" Mom asked him this evening.
"I'm not hungry," he said.
That's the third day in a row he hasn't been hungry at sup-pertime.
I guess he went into the pantry when none of us were looking. I guess he knows now what the rest of us figured out already.
I wonder if he's noticed that Mom's hardly eating anything.
February 22
We were all asleep when suddenly noises woke us up. Noises and light.
I think we all woke up disoriented. The only noise we ever hear is each other and the wind. And light comes only from the woodstove, candles, oil lamps, and flashlights.
This was a different kind of noise, a different kind of light.
Matt figured it out first. "It's electricity," he said. "We have electricity."
We leaped off our mattresses and ran through the house. The overhead light was on in the kitchen. A long-forgotten radio was broadcasting static in the living room. The clock radio was flashing the time in my bedroom.
Mom had the good sense to look at her watch. It was 2:05 AM.
By 2:09 the electricity was off.
But we all can't help thinking if it came on once, it'll come on again.
February 24
"You know," Mom said at lunch today. "That little burst of electricity got me thinking."
"Me too," I said. "About washing machines and dryers."
"Computers," Jon said. "DVD players."
"Refrigerators," Matt said. "Electric heaters."
"Yes, all of that," Mom said. "But what I was really thinking about was radio."
"All we got was static," Matt pointed out.
"But if we have electricity, maybe other places have it, too, and radio stations are broadcasting again," Mom said. "And we don't need electricity to find that out. We should turn on a radio and see if we can get any stations."
For a moment I wanted to tell Mom not to try, that the whole world had probably died from the flu and we were the last ones left on earth. I think that sometimes.
But then I realized someone had to have done something to give us those four glorious minutes of electricity.
The thought of our not being alone was thrilling. I ran into the living room and got the radio.
Mom's fingers actually trembled as she turned it on and tried to get a station. But all we got was static.
"We'll try again tonight," she said. "After sundown."
And we did. We waited all day for the sky to go from gray to black.
When it finally did, Mom turned the radio on again. At first all we heard was static. But then we heard a man's voice.
"In Cleveland, Harvey Aaron," the man said. "Joshua Aaron. Sharon Aaron. Ibin Abraham. Doris Abrams. Michael Abrams. John Ackroyd. Mary Ackroyd. Helen Atchinson. Robert Atchinson..."
"It's a list of the dead," Matt said. "He's reading the names of the dead."
"But that means people are alive," Mom said. "Someone has to be reporting who died. Someone has to be listening."
She played with the dial some more.
"In other news today, the president said the country has turned the corner. Better times are predicted for the weeks to come with life being back to normal by May."
"The idiot's still alive!" Mom cried. "And he's still an idiot!"
We burst out laughing.
We listened to that station for a while, until we figured out it was broadcasting from Washington. Then Mom found a third station, out of Chicago. It was broadcasting news, also. Most of the news was bad, t
he way it had been last summer. Earthquakes, floods, volcanoes, the litany of natural disasters. There were a few things added to the list, though: Flu epidemics and cholera. Famine. Droughts. Ice storms.
But it was still news. There was life going on.
We aren't alone.
February 25
Matt figured if the radio stations were back on, maybe we had phone service and just didn't know it. So he picked up the phone, but it was still dead.
The only person who might be trying to reach us is Dad. Other than that, it doesn't matter.
February 26
Electricity again.
This time at 1 in the afternoon, and it lasted for 10 minutes.
Jon was outside skiing so he missed it.
"We're going to start a laundry next time," Mom said. "Whatever gets done gets done."
It's so glorious to think there could be a next time.
February 27
12 minutes of electricity at 9:15 tonight.
Mom changed her mind about the laundry. "We'll give it a try in daytime," she said. "Maybe tomorrow."
February 28
6 minutes of electricity at 4:45 AM.
Big deal.
I know I should be excited because we've had electricity 3 days in a row, but we need food more than we need electricity. A lot more.
Unless electricity can make us some canned vegetables and soup and tuna fish, I don't know what good it's going to do us.
I wonder who'll read our names on the radio after we've died of starvation.
March 3
No electricity for the past 2 days.
We were better off without any electricity. Why did they have to give us the taste of it just to take it away?
Mom listens to the radio for half an hour every evening. I don't know why. She goes from station to station (we're up to 6 now) and all they broadcast is bad news.
No, that's not true. They broadcast bad news and the president saying things are looking up. I don't know which is worse.
It scares me a little that Mom is willing to burn up batteries just to listen to the radio. I think it's her way of accepting that there's no point in the batteries outliving us.
March 4
Matt had been up to 10 stairs and I was sure by the end of this week he'd be climbing the whole staircase.
But today he only did 6 stairs. I know because I tiptoed behind him and peeked through the living room door. Mom knew that's what I was doing and she didn't tell me not to. Jon was outside, but even he's down to 20 minutes skiing.
I don't think Matt knows I was spying on him. I got back to the sunroom before he did and I was real quiet.
Mom hardly spoke all afternoon. Matt got back on his mattress and slept for 2 hours. Not even Jon walking back in woke him.
Sometimes I think about everything I went through when they were all sick and it makes me so angry. How dare they die now?
March 5
It snowed all day. At least we could watch it through the window in the sunroom.
I don't think we got more than 4 or 5 inches, and Matt pointed out it was good to have fresh snow for drinking water.
Mom's told me not to bother washing the sheets for a while. I guess I should be glad, since the sheets are my least favorite things to wash (they're just so big). She says it's because if we get electricity back for good, it'll be so much easier to wash the sheets that way, but I think it's because she's worried I burn up too much energy washing things that bulky.
I finally figured I should know the worst and I checked out the pantry.
I wish I hadn't.
March 6
Jon was outside and Matt was sleeping this afternoon. Mom gestured to me and we went into the living room.
"I hate to ask this of you," she said. "But do you think you could skip lunch a couple of times a week?"
Mom's been eating every other day for a couple of weeks now. So she was asking less of me than what she's doing herself.
"Okay," I said. What was I supposed to say?
"I want Matt and Jonny to still eat every day," she said. "Can you live with that?"
I burst out laughing.
Even Mom grinned. "Bad choice of words," she said. "I apologize."
"It's okay," I said. I even kissed her to prove I meant it.
I think Mom figures Jon still has the best chance of surviving. And I think she can't bear the idea of seeing Matt die.
Neither can I. Better Mom should go first, then me, then Matt. Matt will see to it Jon makes it through.
March 7
This is so stupid. I started looking at this diary and all its empty pages. I was so excited when Mom gave it to me at Christmas. I even worried I'd finish it up by April and have to go back to the blue books.
So many empty pages.
March 8
Electricity again. This time for 16 minutes around 3 this afternoon.
I don't know what that means.
March 12
Mom fainted this afternoon. I don't think she's eaten in 3 days.
I made some soup and forced her to eat it. I'm not ready for her to die yet.
I did another inventory of the pantry. There's so little in there, it didn't take much time for me to check. There's maybe 2 weeks worth of food if only Jon and Matt eat. With Mom and me eating occasionally, we'll run out of food in 10 days. If after we die Matt stops eating, then Jon gets another few days, which could give him enough time and strength to get out of here. Matt can tell him who to go to so he can barter any leftover firewood for food.
I wonder what Jon will do with Horton.
March 13
The four of us shared a can of tomato soup for lunch. Then Mom insisted Matt and Jon share the last can of mixed vegetables.
It might be easier for Mom and me if we stopped eating altogether. We only had a couple of sips of soup anyway, just enough to remind me what food tastes like.
My birthday's next week. If I'm still alive, I hope Mom will be, too.
March 14
Nearly an hour of electricity this morning.
I stupidly looked at myself in a mirror when the lights were on.
For a moment, I actually didn't recognize myself. Then I remembered what I look like.
Not that it matters. Who cares what a corpse looks like.
March 16
I dreamed last night that I went into a pizza parlor. Sitting there were Dad, Lisa, and a little girl who I knew right away was Rachel.
I slid into the booth. The smells—tomato sauce, garlic, cheeses—were overwhelming.
"Is this Heaven?" I asked.
"No," Dad said. "It's a pizza parlor."
I think the dream gave me an idea. But it's hard to tell what's an idea and what's nonsense when you can't even tell the difference between Heaven and a pizza parlor.
TWENTY-ONE
March 17
By the time I fell asleep last night, I knew what I was going to have to do today. The only question was would I have the strength.
But when I woke up, I saw Mom struggle to get off her mattress, as though she needed to be up and around to do things for us. And that made up my mind for me.
After Matt and Jon rose and we all pretended like today was just another day, no harder than any we've been through, I made my announcement.
"I'm going into town," I said.
They stared at me like I was truly crazy. They were probably right.
"I'm going to the post office," I said. "I want to see if there's any word from Dad."
"What difference does it make?" Jon asked. "You think he sent us food?"
"I want to know if Lisa had her baby," I said. "I need to know that. I need to know that life is continuing. I'm going to town and find out."
"Miranda, can we talk?" Matt asked. I nodded, since I knew someone was going to question me about this and it might as well be him. We left the others in the sunroom and went to the living room to talk privately.
"Do you really think you have
the strength to make to town and back?" he asked.
I wanted to say, No, of course I don't and we both know it and that's one reason why I'm going. I wanted to say, Stop me, because if I'm going to die, I want to die at home. I wanted to say, How could you have let this happen to me? as though it was Matt's fault and he could have saved us somehow. None of which I said.
"I know it's crazy," I said instead. "But I really need to know if Lisa had the baby. I feel like it's okay for me to die if she did. And maybe the post office is open and maybe there is a letter. How much longer can I last anyway? A week? Two? I'm willing to lose a few days for peace of mind. You understand that, don't you?"
"But if you can, you will come back," he said after a long pause.
"I hope I can," I said. "I'd rather be here. But if I can't, that's okay, too."
"What about Mom?" he asked.
"I've thought about that," I said. "I think this is actually better for her. If I don't come back, she can always have hope that I'm okay. I don't want her to see me die and I don't know that I can outlive her. This is really best, Matt. I thought about it a lot, and this is the best."
Matt looked away. "I'm sorry," he said. "But what about the skis? Jon's going to need them after we're gone."
Well, that was it, wasn't it? I was leaving home to give Jonny just a little better chance. We were starving ourselves to give Jonny just a little better chance. If I really wanted him to have that chance, then I'd better accept that this casual stroll to town was meant to kill me. In which case, I didn't need the skis.