What Comes After

August 6

Leon left this morning.

We all stood in front of the front door as Leon put on his shoes and turned towards us. "Thank you for all this."

"And you're sure you can't stay?" Mom asked.

"I— I'm sorry. I just can't," he said, and his voice began to crack. "I have to go. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Mom said. "Sometimes, there are things that are just beyond our control. There's no need to apologize for them."

"I know, but it's just that I wish things were different."

"Don't we all," Mom said and sighed. "C'mon, give me a hug."

Leon and Mom embraced each other.

"Safe journeys," she said. "I hope everything's great in New Mexico."

"I'm coming back," he said. "Sometime soon."

But when they released themselves from their hug, I could tell by the expression on Mom's face that she thinks Leon might not return. Even if the government finds a way to make everything alright again, fixing up the roads and infrastructure connecting states will take years to do. And who knows what might happen during Leon's journey or what kinds of hardships they'll face.

"C'mon, give me a hug," Dad said and they hugged each other. "If you ever cheat on Mira, I'll kill you."

"No, sir, I won't," he said and blanched a bit white. But when he saw Dad's small smile, a tiny smile appeared on Leon's face.

Leon gave me a hug. Normally, I hate hugs, but this one felt different. Warmer, sadder, more final, like it was really the end.

"Stay safe," I said.

And when Leon hugged May, her last words to him were, "Don't die."

"Of course," he said with a chuckle.

Leon then hugged Grandma and Grandpa, thanking them for the wedding meals. Grandpa said a couple of things in Chinese, which Mom translated for Leon.

"It means farewell," Mom said.

The last person he talked to was Mira. They looked at each other, gazing into each other's eyes. Mira's face was flushed red, not the embarrassed red, but the red of tear-soaked cheeks of early morning crying. Leon gently touched her palm. "Please, please come with me."

"We talked about this," she said, and her voice cracked with sorrow. "I just can't."

Leon kneeled down in front of her, holding her palms. "Please change your mind. I'm begging you. Please."

"I'm sorry," she said, and tears began spilling out. "I'm so sorry."

"We should give them some privacy," Mom said. "Let's go."

So all of us moved into different corners of our house. Mom and Dad went to the garage to get the greenhouse thing working, May went to her bedroom, Grandma and Grandpa went to their room, and I sat in the living room, watching the grey skies through the windows.

I could imagine Mira and Leon's conversation. Leon, kneeling down, pleading, begging, promising everything in the world if she came with him because despite his outward optimism, even he knew that this was probably going to be the last time they ever talked to each other. Mira, holding his hands and making a sacrifice so great that I can't imagine how hard it is on her, pleading Leon to stop talking and breaking her heart, all because of a stupid lie that I told her and some pointless arguments with Mom and Dad.

And then, I could see Leon's heart breaking in his eyes as his last-ditch efforts to convince Mira to leave were ignored. I could see Mira trying to stay strong even though there's a part of her that just wants to leave. I could see them embracing for one last time— possibly the last time they'll ever do so— and I could see Leon reach into his bag and pull out a letter filled with all the things he wanted to say to her.

I heard some soft sniffling and the gentle closing of the door. I went over to the front door and saw Mira staring out of the window, watching Leon's car disappear into the ash, fading into the dust, like everything around us. Love, life, family all just crumbling to ashes.

And when Mira pressed her hand on the window and began crying silently as love slipped away from her fingers, I suddenly felt angry. We've all been so selfish. Mom and Dad just not getting over the fact that Mira is an adult. May for being so cruel to her in the beginning. Me for that lie that made her feel like she had to stay to get to know me better. We were all so self-centered and so mean that we made her want to stay here instead of finding a better future.

And with nothing better to do today other than gathering the meager amount of food from the food drive, which happened without incident, I began re-reading my old diary entries, and I just wanted to rip them to shreds.

How could I be so ambivalent about everything that is happening? It's like I was so afraid of college and of getting a job and everything that comes after it that I'd rather have the world end than leave my childhood behind. I feel almost guilty that while I was kinda-celebrating the apocalypse while Mira was just struggling with the Mooncrash and losing the people she loves.

I know that getting angry doesn't help anybody and it's just pointless, but I just can't help feeling this way.

August 7

Mira was awfully chipper today.

May and I were both completely confused about Mira's behavior. Mom was feeling a mixture of happiness and anxiety at Mira's willingness to fold the laundry and wash the dishes and do all the housework that we all reluctantly did.

"Did an alien come in and snatch Mira's body?" May asked.

"Maybe," I said. "She's been acting super weird all morning."

"We should ask Mira a question that only the real Mira would know," May replied. "Like what her favorite animal is."

"Wouldn't the alien-her already know that," I said. "Since it's controlling her mind."

"Well, have you got a better suggestion?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe it's a coping mechanism or something for Leon being gone. Some people like to throw themselves at work when they're grieving."

"Well, that's a really weird way to grieve," she replied. "But I'm perfectly cool with it since I don't have to do the dishes."

I nodded along with her. People do grieve in weird ways. I remember reading an article a long time ago about people who laugh during funerals instead of crying. But something was just off with Mira. I went over to her as she was scrubbing an old t-shirt.

"You need help with that?" I asked. "You've been working all morning."

She looked at me, her red hair tied into a messy bun. I noticed that the color was fading, just like everything around me. "No, it's all good," she said. "It's been very meditative, you know. Maybe that's why some people de-stress while washing things."

There was an awkward silence between us.

"Is—" I said but hesitated before continuing. "Is everything alright?"

There was a small break in her smile, just enough that I could see the sadness in her mind. "Everything's good. Well, everything except for the weird glances May has been giving me all morning."

"Well," I said. "You've been acting, I don't know, super weird and stuff."

"Don't need to worry about me," she said. "I'm fine."

I was going to follow up with a question about how she's been dealing with Leon's departure, but then, I stopped myself. I've already caused enough pain for her. There's no need to tear open old wounds and make her relive these memories. Maybe it's better that she's cheerful and happy. The anger that I felt yesterday has subsided because I'm bad at staying angry, but the guilt is still there, lingering like dust in a room.

We moved back to the two can diet yesterday, and my stomach is still rumbling. We were spoiled by Leon's two-week trip here, and now, moving back to less food has just been hard. I can't even think about the wedding without feeling a twinge of hunger. Yesterday, each person only got 5 cans of food for the week, and while we can afford two cans a day because of our food stores, for Charles and his family, they won't even have one can a day. I hope he and his family are doing alright.

The only surprise of today was a question Mom asked me around dinnertime. "Do you know when school is starting again?"

I didn't know what to say for a few seconds. School felt so long ago, like a distant memory that's been dusted by the volcanic ash around all of us.

"I don't know," I said. "There hasn't been any mail or anything about it."

"The mayor said something about schools reopening," Mom replied.

"He's said a lot of things that haven't come true," I said. "Like power returning. Anyways, that was so long ago, and a lot has changed since then."

There was a bit of quiet between us.

"But if school returns—" I said before Mom cut me off.

"You'll still have to study for your classes," she said. "With everything being the way that it is, we all have a lot of time on our hands, so we might as well get something done instead of staring at the walls or the skies."

"I was going to ask if we had to actually go to school," I said. "Like being physically present."

Mom sighed. "Maybe, if it's safe, and they've got good air filters and power."

"Wouldn't it be better just to stay at home since going to school without cars means that we'll breathe a lot of ash."

"I haven't even thought about that," Mom said. "I just want to give you guys a sense of normalcy because everything that's happening now is far from normal."

"So is that a yes to home-schooling?" I replied.

"I don't know," she said. "But if you're staying home and doing school that means you need to have some schedule—"

"Why are we talking about school?" May asked as she burst into the kitchen. "The world is literally not going to get better."

"Weren't you the one saying that the world was going to get better?" I asked rhetorically.

"I changed my mind," she replied. "People are allowed to do that, Neal, even if you like to stay the same."

"Whatever," I said.

"Anyways," Mom said, butting in. "You guys are still going to have to pursue academics even is school is out—"

"But—"

"No buts," Mom said. "Both of you are going to pick a subject or two to study, and if you're staying home, I'm going to make a work schedule, so that everyone contributes to the housework."

"That's literally not fair," May said. "Not only do we have to deal with school, even though the world is ending—"

"Don't say that."

"Well it's true," May replied. "But on top of that we have to deal with doing housework. Who knew that the apocalypse would suck so much?"

"I'm pretty sure that everyone knew that," I said.

"Whatever," she said and turned to Mom. "So what do you want us to do today, dictator?"

"I don't know, yet," Mom said. "That's why it's still a work in progress."

"Well, then, I'm going to go now and stare at the sky because there's just nothing to do during the apocalypse."

May stormed away into her room. Mom looked at me weirdly. "What's up with her?" Mom asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know."

Mom sighed and went to the garage. I haven't gone there in a while, but I hope they've made a bunch of progress. Today was pretty cold, somewhere around high forties in the middle of the afternoon, and we all were bundled up in sweaters, thick pants, and ski socks. There was no ashfall today and the sky was clearer than usual, but the sun was still hidden under the gray.

Maybe some miracle will happen, and the sun will come out tomorrow. Hopefully this happens. Everyone just needs a little bit more hope.