Life as We Knew It Read online

  "Great," I said. "The world's coming to an end, and we're fixing it with Band-Aids."

  "Vitamins," Mom said. "Get lots and lots of vitamins. And laxatives. Calcium. Vitamin D. This is so hard, trying to remember everything we might need."

  "Or might not," I said. "Mom, I love you, but I think this is crazy."

  "So we'll all get vitamin D for Christmas presents," Mom said. "Just do it, okay. Jonny and Mrs. Nesbitt and I have car keys, so wait for one of us to show up, and we'll put your stuff in with theirs. Okay?"

  "Sure," I said, because I decided it was better to humor her.

  "After we finish our second loads, we'll see what it's like," Mom said. "Then we'll see if it's worth it to go back in."

  She pulled into the supermarket parking lot and I got a real sense of the madness going on. There were people racing for carts, people screaming, and two guys punching each other out.

  "Jonny, get a wagon for Mrs. Nesbitt first," Mom said. "Everyone stay calm, and remember you have cash. That's all they're taking, and we have a real advantage there. Work fast. Don't debate. If you can't decide between two things, take both. Pack the carts as high as you can manage. If you have any problems, go to the car. Don't try to find anyone in the store. Okay? Are you ready?"

  We all said we were. Jonny looked like he actually meant it.

  Mom found a parking spot toward the back of the lot, and there were two carts there. We raced out of the car and grabbed them. Mrs. Nesbitt and I each took one and went into the store together.

  The supermarket reminded me of the hallway at school this morning, and maybe because I'd just been through all that, the store didn't scare me as much as it ordinarily would have. So what if people were screaming and crying and fighting. I plowed through people and raced to canned vegetables.

  I realized I'd forgotten the cartons for the bottom of the wagon. There was nothing I could do about that, except put as many cans on the bottom as I could and hope for the best.

  Except for the total terror I was feeling in the pit of my stomach, it was kind of fun, like those game shows where someone wins five minutes at the supermarket except there were dozens of other winners and we were all there at the same time.

  I didn't have much time to look around, but it seemed like most of the people were buying meats and produce, and there weren't that many people fighting over the canned carrots. I even lucked out with the soups: Campbell was a lot more popular than Progresso, which made my life easier.

  When I filled the cart as full as I could possibly manage, I wheeled it to the checkout lines only to discover people were simply throwing cash at the poor terrified cashiers. I took two $50s out, tossed them in the same general direction, and then since nobody seemed to be bagging, I pushed the cart out of the store and made my way back to the car.

  It was actually raining harder, and the storm seemed to be closer. Not as bad as it had been this morning, but bad enough. I was relieved to see Mrs. Nesbitt standing by the car, waiting for me.

  We threw all the cans into the car, and put the jars in a little more carefully.

  Mrs. Nesbitt grinned at me. "All my life I've been well behaved," she said. "It's about time I got to push people around and not apologize."

  "Mrs. Nesbitt, you little devil," I said.

  "Ready for round two?" she asked. I said I was, and we made our way back to the store.

  Except that some guy tried to steal the cart from Mrs. Nesbitt. "I need it!" he yelled. "Give it to me."

  "Get your own!" she yelled right back at him. "This is war, man."

  I was afraid the man thought that was exactly what it was. I didn't know what else to do, so I rammed my wagon into his back and caught him by surprise. That gave Mrs. Nesbitt just enough time to pull away from him. I raced away, also, and didn't look back.

  Compared to battles in the parking lot, the store almost seemed comfy. I went to health and beauty aids and found it fairly empty. I guess the rest of the world hadn't realized they were going to need vitamin D.

  The great thing about ransacking painkillers was I knew I was getting more than $100 worth of stuff. I filled the cart to overflowing, stopped one more time at canned goods, and then over to baked goods, where I put boxes and boxes of cookies on the cart's bottom shelf. I even remembered Fig Newtons, since Matt likes them.

  This time I found Mom unloading her stuff in the car. She'd bought enough tuna fish and salmon and sardines to last us for two lifetimes.

  The back of the van was as much a madhouse as the store, since there weren't bags for anything. Mom was trying to unload as best she could, but things kept falling out, and I spent as much time grabbing stuff from the pavement as Mom did unloading.

  A man came over to us. He had a wagon, but he looked desperate. "Please," he said. "Please help me."

  "You have a wagon," Mom said.

  "I need you to come in with me," he said. "My wife is seven months pregnant, and we have a two-year-old and I need diapers and baby food and I don't know what else. Please come in with me so I can use your cart. I beg you, for my wife and my babies."

  Mom and I both looked at him. He looked like he was in his late twenties and he seemed sincere.

  "Miranda, go back into the store and just use your best judgment," Mom said. "I'm going with this man." We finished ramming stuff into the van, and then the three of us went back in.

  I felt better catching a glimpse of Mrs. Nesbitt as we walked in. She was at gourmet foods. I guess she figured she might as well go in style.

  I also found Jonny finishing up at the water section. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  I went over to juices and selected juices that were in cans or cartons. In a million years, I never thought we'd be drinking canned juice, but bottles were just too hard to deal with. I also got some of that last-forever milk.

  By that point, a lot of the shelves were nearly empty, and people were starting to fight over single boxes of things. There were broken eggs on the floor, and spilled liquids, so just walking around was getting tricky.

  There was still some room in my cart, so I went over to snacks and got a couple of boxes of pretzels. I spotted canned nuts, and threw lots of those in. Baked goods seemed pretty empty, so I filled the wagon with cartons of salt and bags of sugar and, just for the hell of it, a bag of chocolate chips.

  I threw my $50s to the cashier and made my way to the van. The parking lot was getting nastier, and the rain was still falling hard. Jonny was there, but as soon as Mom showed up she told both of us to go back in and ransack the shelves for anything we could find. There really wasn't much left in the store, but I managed to fill the cart with lima beans and brussels sprouts and other end-of-the-world delicacies.

  When we finally all got into the van, Mom wouldn't let any of us talk until she maneuvered her way out of the lot. By that point we were too exhausted to make conversation anyway.

  Mom started driving home. The roads were even worse than they had been. At one point Jonny and I had to get out of the van and clear a big branch off the road. A couple of other people showed up and helped us, but I was scared until we got back into the van and Mom started driving again.

  We were halfway home when Mrs. Nesbitt said, "Stop at that strip mall."

  "You think?" Mom said, but she pulled into the parking lot. It was practically empty.

  "Jonny, you go to the pet supply store," Mrs. Nesbitt said. "I'm going to the gift shop. Laura, you go to the nursery."

  "Good idea," Mom said. "I'll buy vegetable flats. We'll have fresh produce all summer."

  That didn't leave much for me, so I went to the antiques store. I don't know why, but then again, I didn't know why Mrs. Nesbitt was so insistent on going to the gift shop. It wasn't like Hallmark put out Happy End of the World Day cards.

  The great thing about the antiques store was I was the only customer. There still wasn't any electricity, and the lightning flashes were still a little too close for comfort, but it was the only place I'd been to in
hours that didn't seem like a madhouse. The woman behind the counter even said, "Can I help you?"

  I didn't want to give away our secret, that we were stocking up for the end of the world, just in case it gave her any ideas. So I said no, thanks, and kept looking.

  I still had $200 in my envelope so I knew I could buy pretty much anything we needed, if I could only figure out what we might need. Then I saw three oil lamps. I grabbed them and went up front.

  "We have scented oil to go with them if you're interested," the woman said.

  "I'll take all of them," I told her.

  "We should be getting electricity back soon," the woman said. "At least that's what I heard on the radio."

  "My mom is worried," I said. "This'll just make her feel better."

  The store had an old-fashioned cash register, so she was able to ring up my purchases. I handed over two $50s and actually got change.

  I was the first person at the car. I stood there, getting even wetter, until Jonny showed up. "Horton's never going to go hungry," he said.

  There was hardly room for all the stuff he'd bought, but we rearranged everything we could. Then Mrs. Nesbitt came out, carrying bags and bags.

  "I bought every candle in the store," she said. "Gift shops always have candles."

  "Mrs. Nesbitt, you're a genius," I said. "I got oil lamps."

  "We're both geniuses," she said.

  We got in the van and waited for Mom. When she showed up, she had a dozen flats. I had no idea how we were going to fit them in, but it turned out to be easy. Mrs. Nesbitt sat on my lap, and we used up all her space with flats of tomatoes and cucumbers and string beans and strawberries.

  "The more we harvest, the longer the canned foods will last," Mom said. "Okay, is there anything anyone didn't buy that we might need?"

  "Batteries," I said. The transistor radio in the shop had made me think of them.

  "Matches," Mrs. Nesbitt said.

  "That convenience store should have them," Mom said. "And it doesn't sell gas, so it should be pretty quiet."

  She was right. There was only one other car in the lot. Mom bought all their batteries and boxed matches and bars of soap. She even bought a coffee cake and a box of donuts.

  "Just in case the world ends tomorrow," she said. "We might as well enjoy today."

  We dropped Mrs. Nesbitt off at her house and we all carried food and supplies for her. We didn't fuss over which can of soup belonged to who or whether she was entitled to more candles. We just divvied stuff up, so that she had plenty. We kept the cat food and the vegetable flats. I made sure she had one of the oil lamps and oil to go with it.

  It took a long time to get her stuff out, and a longer time to unload the car when we finally got home. Mom got shopping bags and we filled them and put everything in the dining room, except for the donuts. Those we ate as soon as we were finished.

  "I'll sort things out later," she said. "Thanks, kids. I never could have done this without you."

  And then she started crying.

  That was two hours ago. I don't think she's stopped crying yet.

  FOUR

  May 20

  No school today.

  The electricity came back on around 4 this morning. It's still dark and cloudy outside, so it felt good to be able to turn lights back on.

  Horton has been acting like a maniac the past couple of days. He seems to wake up with a start from his naps and he's been running around all night long, hopping from bedroom to bedroom. He raced onto my bed around midnight and yowled at me—which woke me up, naturally. Then he sniffed my face to make sure it was me. We both fell asleep, but he woke me up again around 2, when he began running through the house, meowing like crazy. Exactly what none of us needs right now.

  There was an e-mail from Matt waiting for us. He's fine, everything there is fine, although they're having blackouts, also, and school remains on schedule. He says it's tricky taking finals with limited light, but the professors all say that'll be taken into account when they're marked. He's still planning to get back here on Wednesday.

  Mom let Jonny and me each have half an hour on the Internet. I used part of my time to go to Brandon's fan site. There was a thread where we were all supposed to say where we live and how conditions are. A lot of names were missing, some of them I know from people who live around New York or on the West Coast. There were 14 PMs waiting for me. Twelve people asked how I was and if I'd heard anything about Brandon. The other two just asked if I'd heard anything about Brandon.

  With all that had been going on, I'd forgotten that Brandon's training in LA now. I guess no one has heard from him or seen any reports about him.

  I posted about how things were in northeastern PA, but added I hadn't seen or heard about Brandon. It's not like I run into his parents or Mrs. Daley every day, but I guess I've made it sound like I'm closer to them than I really am. Or maybe everyone's just desperate to hear how Brandon is, to make sure he's still alive.

  I've got to believe he is.

  Mom and Jonny and I spent most of the day putting the food and supplies away. I don't know what Horton's complaining about. Jonny got him enough food to last for years. Mom was almost laughing at herself when she looked at all the food she made us get. With the electricity back on, things seem a lot more normal. And with the day so cloudy, you can't really see the moon hovering.

  Uh-oh. The lights are flickering. I hope we're not about to lose

  May 21

  The president was on TV tonight. He didn't say much that we didn't already know. Tsunamis and floods. Untold numbers of people dead, the moon out of its orbit, etc. Monday is a national day of mourning, and we should all pray a lot.

  He did say, and he didn't look too happy about it, that we needed to prepare ourselves for even worse. Jonny asked Mom what that could mean, but Mom said she didn't know, but she guessed the president did only he didn't want to tell us because he was an evil jerk.

  That was the first normal-sounding thing Mom's said in days, and we all laughed.

  The president said that almost every offshore oil refinery was gone, and that it was believed most of the oil tankers had been lost at sea. I guess that was part of what's going to be worse.

  Mom said later that didn't just mean oil companies would gouge us, but that there might not be enough gas and oil to heat all the houses in the winter. But I don't think that's true. It's only May now, and there's got to be time to get oil over here. They can't let people freeze to death.

  When the president finished, he said that the governors of every state would follow, and we should watch to see what our governor had to say.

  Then the governor came on, and he didn't look too happy about things, either. He said there'd be no school throughout the state Monday or Tuesday, but that school should resume on Wednesday, although some districts might not be able to. He said the state was looking into the possibility of rationing gas, but as of the moment, he asked for an honor system. Only get gas if you have less than a quarter tank. He also said that if any gas stations were found to be overcharging, they'd face serious consequences. Mom laughed at that.

  He didn't know when the blackouts would stop. We weren't alone, he said. Just about every state had reported some power outages.

  Jonny was upset because the governor didn't say anything about the Phillies and the Pirates. The Phillies were in San Francisco on Wednesday and no one had mentioned if they made it out okay.

  Mom said the governor has a lot of things on his mind and a lot of things he has to tell us, but then she paused and said, "You know, he should have told us if the Phillies and the Pirates are okay. I bet the governor of New York told everyone how the Yankees and Mets are."

  I thought about saying no one makes any announcements about how figure skaters are, but it didn't seem worth the effort.

  I'll feel better when Matt is home.

  May 22

  Jonny asked this afternoon if we could go to McDonald's or someplace. The electricity has been
so on and off the past few days that Mom emptied the freezer and we've finished everything that was in it.

  So Mom said we might as well try, and we got in the van and went food hunting.

  The first thing we noticed was that gas had gone up. It's $7 a gallon now, and there were lines at all the gas stations.

  "How much gas do we have in the tank?" I asked.

  "We're okay for a while," Mom said. "But I think we'll switch over to Matt's car next week. This thing gets zero mileage."

  "When do you think gas prices will go down?" I asked. "They can't stay this high forever."

  "They'll go up before they go down," Mom said. "We'll have to be very careful about where we drive to. No more hopping in the car and just going someplace."

  "I can still go to baseball practice, can't I?" Jonny asked.

  "We'll see about carpooling for that," Mom said. "We're all in the same boat here."

  When we got to the road with McDonald's and Burger King, we saw there was hardly any traffic. We drove up to McDonald's, only it was closed. So were Burger King and KFC and Taco Bell. All the fast food places were closed.

  "Maybe they're just closed because it's Sunday," I said.

  "Or because tomorrow's a national day of mourning," Jonny said.

  "They're probably just waiting for the electricity to run full time," Mom said.

  It felt weird, though, seeing them all closed, the same kind of weird when you see the moon and it's just a little too big and too bright.

  I guess I always felt even if the world came to an end, McDonald's would still be open.

  Mom drove around some more, and we found a local pizza place that was open. The parking lot was jammed, and there were about a dozen people standing outside just waiting to get in.

  Mom dropped Jonny and me off and we got in line. Everybody was pretty friendly, and there was a lot of talk about what places were closed and what were open. The mall was closed, but one of the supermarkets was still open, even though it didn't have much stuff left.