I forgot to pick up her dance costumes.
This is the thought that I wake up to every morning. I forgot to pick up Kenzie’s dance costumes. Her recital had been in a few days. My mom had asked me to pick up her costumes from the dry cleaners after soccer practice. The day the world ended.
I know it shouldn’t matter now. The world’s sick and dark. There was no recital. My little sister is dead, along with my parents. But everyday I remember how I forgot to pick up her costumes, and everyday I hate myself for it because it was one of the last things I could have done for her.
I shake my head and rapidly blink my eyes. I’m exhausted, but I have to keep walking. I’ve been walking for who knows how many days, to who cares where. Anywhere could be better or worse than the places I’ve passed, and I’m going to keep walking until I find the place that’s finally better. Because there has to be a place like that. A place that’s better.
I think I know deep down that there isn’t a better place, but I have nothing left, to lose or gain, so I keep walking. The bandana covering the bottom half of my face is scratchy and smells terrible, and my clothes hang off my body. I was a pretty lean and muscular guy before all this happened. Now, my body is too skinny and bony for even my simple t-shirt and jeans to fit right. My backpack bumps against my spine with every step I take, my black hair curling at the base of my neck, slick with sweat, and my feet ache already in my rundown tennis shoes.
I’m walking down an almost empty street. The shops I pass all have their windows broken, and the insides have been trashed. Random things litter the street as I walk by. A crushed can of tomato soup, a single flip flop, a bunny stuffed animal that’s been ripped apart, by animal teeth of human hands I can’t really tell. I only pass by three people. A man and woman walk side by side, leaning on each other for support. They look about as good as I probably do, which is terrible. The woman coughs and I lean away instinctively, my hand reaching up to cover my mouth and nose that are already covered by my bandana. I see the man glance in my direction as we pass each other and my back stiffens. I have a knife strapped to my belt, but I’ve been lucky and have never had to use it on someone else. I don’t want to start now. But nothing happens, and I relax as I move down the street, away from them. When I see the next person I almost wish I had turned down a different street.
She’s lying on her side in the middle of the street. As I get closer I have to fight the urge the vomit. She’s dead. Her skin is a sickly shade of gray, and her body is so thin it would probably break if I touched it with just the foot of my shoe. Her eyes are still open, bloodshot, her pupils are huge. I tear my eyes away from her, unable to look any longer.This is what happens. This is what happened to my family. This is what’s not going to happen to me.
I hold my breath until I’m a good distance away from the woman. I know the thin layer of dirty fabric covering my mouth and nose doesn’t do much good protecting me from the disease that has had its fun, spreading freely throughout the country. I wonder all the time what’s going on out in the world. With the important people. Are they working to help us, to save us, the ones that are still at risk, the ones that are slowly dying off? Are they just leaving us to fend for ourselves, giving up on the people they once swore they would protect? Or, are they already dead themselves?
I fool myself into believing that once I find the better place I’m walking too, I’ll find them there too, working hard, coming up with plans, so close to saving us all. I was always pretty good at fooling myself.
I’m walking without even trying anymore. My body so used to switching to autopilot, I place one foot in front of the other without even really feeling when it touches the ground.
I’ve left the destroyed town behind me. I pass by houses now, some actually in decent shape, some looking like they’re barely still standing.
Just as I’m considering which house to check for supplies first I heard a scream pierce through the air. I spun around in a circle, eyes scanning every open space around me. I don’t see anyone. I haven’t seen anyone since those three people in the town. Another scream, this one not as loud, cuts through my thoughts again.
I know what I should do. I should keep walking. I should check some houses for supplies and food, and I should keep walking until I’m far away from here, until I come across the next town.
I know what I shouldn’t do. I shouldn’t try to find where the scream came from, who it came from. I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t worry about it, it’s not my problem.
I tell myself I’m going to do what I should do. I tell myself, my feet, to keep walking towards somewhere better.
I was always pretty good at fooling myself.
I scan the street I’m on again, straining my ears to hear any sound that a human could possibly make. I don’t hear another scream, but as I walk closer to one side of the street, towards a small, rundown house, I do hear someone. Someone crying, whimpering, swearing.
I slowly walk up to the front door, stepping onto the porch. I’m worried my feet are going to fall right through, the wood looks so rotted, but it holds.
My breathing has sped up, my heart pounding in my chest as I reach a hand towards the door, my other hand resting on the handle of the knife on my belt.
I swing the door open quickly. If someone is waiting for me inside, waiting to kill me and rob me, I just want to get it over with. I step inside and my breath catches in my throat, my heart stops beating in my chest.
She’s not waiting to kill me and rob me. Far from it.
She’s sprawled out on her back, gasping for air, tears streaming down her face. Her clothes cling to her body which is slick with sweat, and her hands clench and unclench into fists, grabbing at nothing.
I know that she’s sick. I know that she has the virus. I know that she’s going to be dead in a few days.
I know that I should leave. Turn around right now, leave the house, and keep walking like I should have in the first place. I know what I should do. But a second later I find myself kneeling down next to her, placing one hand under her neck and another under her back. Her body jerks, trying to pull away from me as I slowly lift her up into a semi-sitting position. I tighten my grip until her body finally relaxes and her breathing calms. She mumbles something into my shoulder I can’t understand. I adjust her so she’s looking up at me and I’m stunned to silence by the shocking brightness of her green eyes. She’s moving her lips again but only small gasps are coming out. I slip my backpack off my shoulders and grab the flask I have. I tilt her head a little more and hold the flask to her lips. Water comes dribbling out slowly and after a second she begins to swallow it gratefully. She pushes the flask aside and slides away from, leaving me on my knees with the now half empty flask. I can tell that some of her energy is back, but she still looks very weak and, of course, sick.
“What… What are you doing here? Who are you?” Her voice, plagued with sickness, still sounds soft and sweet, just like how I remember.
“I was passing by and heard you from outside. Thought I’d see if you needed any help, which you obviously did.”
Her eyes flash with something, definitely not gratitude anymore, and I see violet specks in them flashing against the green.
“If you’re here to rob me, hate to disappoint you, but you won’t find anything useful.” She stops, starting to cough and gasp again. I offer her the flask but she shakes her head. “And… if you’re here to kill me, save yourself the trouble because I’m going to be dead in a few days anyway.” There it was. I couldn’t believe she’d actually said it. Most people go into denial, not wanting to accept the harsh reality.
But not her.
“I’m not here to rob you. Or kill you. If I was I would have done it by now.” I say, the words coming out harsher than I wanted them to, but she doesn’t flinch.
“Then why are you here?” She asks, leaning back against a wall that doesn’t look very sturdy.
I think for a second, running over each option in my mind. I choose the one I think, I hope, will be the least painful. I choose not to remember.
“Maybe I just need a place to stay for a few days. Maybe I just want to talk to another human being that’s still capable of talking, if only for a little while.”
She stares at me quietly for several minutes and I stare right back.
One of the first rules I learned about this new world of ours, never show that you’re scared, never show that you’re nervous, never show that you’re that weak.
“I’m Mara.” She finally says, quietly.
I know, I want to say.
“I’m Adam.” Is what I say instead.
That was the beginning of our fleeting time together.
We sit facing each other, not talking, for the rest of that day. The air I’m breathing in is hot and stuffy from the bandana, and sometimes Mara has have trouble breathing in general.
As the sun’s setting I stand up, making Mara flinch at the sudden movement. I set the flask by her side and reach into my pack, pulling out some stale crackers. I grab her hand and place the crackers against her palm. Being this close to her, touching her, I shouldn’t be doing it. But once I let go of her hand I find myself wanting to grab hold of it again. I feel her gaze on me as I shrug my hoodie off and lay it across her thin body. I don’t say anything and neither does she, and I retreat to the other side of the room. Leaning against the wall, I catch a glimpse of Mara slowly eating the crackers, and I let my eyes fall shut.
The next two days pass by quickly, but not painlessly. Mara is getting worse and there’s no stopping it. I make a few trips into the town I passed through, always worried I would come back to find Mara dead.
On the third night we lay on a beat up mattress I had found in the basement.
We were laying on our sides facing each other, only a few inches in between us. Mara’s breathing is heavy and she looks even more pale as the room grows darker. My bandana still covers my nose and mouth even though I know I’ve been exposed to Mara for so long now it doesn’t really matter anymore.
“Adam…” Mara whispers.
“Yeah?”
“What happened... to your family? You’re all by yourself. Did they-”
I respond before she can even finish, “They’re dead.”
She looks at me quietly, waiting, waiting until I’m ready.
“My dad… he got sick first. Lasted a couple weeks because we still had some medicine to keep him comfortable before he…” I pause, these memories I’ve tried so hard to forget rushing back at me all at once. “My little sister got sick next. She was already so young, and thin. She barely survived a week.”
Mara listens silently, her green eyes watching me calmly.
“And my mom,” I let out a hard laugh. “Well, she killed herself.”
I see Mara’s eyes widen.
“Yeah, after her husband and daughter both died, I guess she figured she had nothing left to live for.”
We grow silent again and my eyes start to feel heavy until I feel a soft hand on top of mine. My eyes snap open and I see Mara’s hand on top of me, resting in the space inbetween us.
She’s not looking at me anymore, but at our hands. “Both my parents got sick at the same time.” She whispers.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper, not even sure she can hear me through the bandana.
The corners of her lips turn up, only a little, in a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry too.”
After a minute of silence I look at Mara and find her already looking at me, the violet in her eyes clearly visible tonight.
While looking at her I slowly turn my hand underneath hers so our palms are pressed against each others. She’s still breathing heavy and now so am I, but not because of any illness.
We both curl our fingers down, intertwining our hands together. My eyes feel heavy again and I fall asleep for the first time since my family died not feeling so alone.
When I wake up in the morning Mara’s not next to me and my empty hand feels cold. I sit up and look around for her, not seeing her anywhere.
I begin to panic, but then I hear her coughing coming from outside. I jump off the mattress and run out the door to find her lying in the grass on her back.
“Mara.” I say, my voice torn between relief and fear. I kneel down next to her like I did that first day, but this time I pull her body close to mine.
“Adam…” She says, her soft voice sounding rough and raspy. “I’m sorry, I just… wanted to see the sky… one last time.”
She begins to cough, sounding like she’s choking, and I push her pale blond hair out of her face, leaving my hand resting on her cheek.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.”I say, my own voice shaking because I know that it’s not going to be okay. From the way Mara looks at me I can tell that she knows too.
“Adam,” she starts to say, her voice cracking. “I know… I remember who you are.”
As soon as she say that I’m instantly reminded of all the things I’d been trying to bury these past few days.
I see her walking down the hallways at school, smiling at everyone she passes.
I see her outside on the soccer fields, her long blond hair pulled up in a messy bun, her bright green jersey matching her eyes.
I see her working in the coffee shop downtown. I see her in AP Chemistry, three seats in front of me. I see her at the movies where I work with her parents, looking so happy.
I see her lying on the ground, in my arms, the violet fading from her eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” I blurt out. “I didn’t think… I didn’t want to tell you-”
“It’s okay Adam. I know… I know why you did… everything. Thank you.”
We sit there for a minute, Mara looking up at the sky, me looking down at Mara. Her breathing is becoming more shallow and I can see her chin start to tremble.
I let out a deep breath, and then pull my bandana down.
“Adam,” She looks at me in alarm. “What are you doing?”
I don’t respond. I just bend my head down and press my lips to her forehead. When I pull back I say, “If the world wasn’t sick… If everything was normal, I would ask you out Mara.”
I see a faint smile playing on her lips as she replies, “And I would say yes, Adam.”
I forgot to tell her I loved her.
This is the thought I now wake up to every morning. I forgot to tell Mara I loved her, that I’d loved her for so long, even before the whole world changed.
I know it shouldn’t matter now. The world is still sick and dark. I’m still by myself. Mara is dead.
But everyday I remember how I didn’t tell her I loved her, and everyday I hate myself for it because it was the last good thing I could have done for her.
I’m exhausted, but I have to keep walking. I don’t know where I’m walking to, but anywhere has to be better or worse than where I’ve been. And I’m going to keep walking until I find the place that’s finally better. Because there has to be a place like that left in this world.
A place that’s better.