Work Text:
I don’t know why I expected those first rays of sunshine to fix everything. That small patch of blue felt like hope, the future, and life rolled up into a perfect little ball. The whole neighborhood celebrated, and I expected… something.
But reality set in with the passage of hours, and the sky closed its eyes again to us. Was it any wonder, then, that the government didn’t suddenly send us more supplies, that the pharmacies weren’t stocked, that the power didn’t stay on? We were living mostly the same life, but with the occasional patch of visible sky and sun. The solar panels, at least, got a little out of it, and the garden finally produced something other than potatoes and tiny apples.
Even in the suburbs, little had changed. They got small patches of sky every so often too, but there wasn’t much their money could buy them to clear the ash faster, to bring back the sun without devastating their protection from it. They weren’t as lost as we were; they, of course, had stockpiles and resources, but their situation hadn’t improved enough for them to have more to offer in trade, even if we wanted it.
I came down to Clifford and Susan’s one morning to find Kalia and Jasmine down with Susan, while Hakeem, Jake, Clyde, and a band of teenagers pedaled to keep her oxygen running. We managed to secure a supply of tanks of oxygen and a couple of propane cans from another hoarder in the suburbs who had lost his mother a year ago, but kept the tanks. He hadn’t been ready to give them up last time, but by now, he claimed he had accepted her death.
Grief does odd things, but it seemed a strange thing to me to hoard a lifesaving resource as a way of processing it. Either way, I was grateful that he had gotten to a point where he was willing to part with it and that we could add to Susan’s reserve. Tanesha, Clifford, and I had supervised while the tanks were moved into the garage a while ago, and Susan would be well stocked for over another year now. It truly had been quite the stockpile.
“You need to sit down,” Susan told me gently and offered her hand to pull me onto the couch. The power was out again, but it wasn’t entirely dark with a tiny sliver of sunshine peeking through the window. “You haven’t stopped moving for a year.”
How could I, when there was always more to do? Even during the storms, I hadn’t been able to stay in. There had been moments — coffees offered — where Susan had at least convinced me to stand for a little, but I hadn’t really rested. Home is a thing that you build together, and I was busy with a hammer and a nail.
As I lowered myself onto the sofa beside Susan, she offered me yarn and a crochet hook with unsteady hands. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but I think you need this more.”
It had been a long time since I had done any crochet, but she was right. I squinted in the dim light and copied her motions until I got back into the swing of it. I didn’t even realize the time was passing until it had been over an hour and the cycling kids came in after a shift change, trading jokes and smelling heavily of sweat. Everything might not be fixed, I thought, but we were alright.
I almost moved to get up and help fix them a snack, but Susan took me by the hand and shook her head.
“They’re quite competent, our young people,” she smiled. “They can find a snack while you sit a while more.”
I shook my head but I didn’t move. “Alright.”
Somehow, in the cool haze of craft and company, I felt my eyes grow heavy. Soon enough, I was falling asleep.