Continued from part 7 of the Devastation Series.

The downstairs sprang to life as I entered the room. I looked at the bookshelves and paced around the basement studying the art hanging. I had nervous energy. I also had a lot of unfinished thoughts scrambled in my mind and I needed the time to process them. I checked the clock on the wall and it read 3 PM as my stomach started to growl. With the trip to my father’s, earlier in the day, my mind had been occupied and I forgot to grab something to eat. Since I missed a meal yesterday, my body was trying to catch up.

I walked up the stairs and found the same scene as yesterday. The end of the table was still a desk and music was playing in the kitchen. I bypassed the kitchen and walked to the bedroom. I selected a plain-white t-shirt from the dispensary and pulled it out of the slot. I pulled my collared polo off and tossed it into the used clothes bin. The white t-shirt was crisply folded and possessed a hint of lavender scent. The calming scent splashed on my face and comforted me against my noted bits of anxiety. I’ve always been amazed at how changing clothes could reshape my focus and mood. As I turned in the bedroom I caught another glimpse of myself in the standup mirror; I still did not recognize that person.

I walked into the kitchen straight at the fridge. I Grabbed a tomato from the table holding the produce from my dad’s. I peeled off the company sticker and stuck it to my shirt as I studied the dark red with firm skin tomato. It had been a while since we had fresh produce in the house. The majority of groceries came in bulk and many of them in canisters for the preparation machines. I grabbed a knife and searched until I found a cutting board. I washed the tomato and placed it on the cutting board while I made a selection from the fridge. I chose a Cobb salad, minus the tomato, and grabbed a bowl for it to fall in to. Moments after the salad was prepared I was signaled to collect the salad from the prep nozzle. I sliced the tomato into thick uneven slices and plopped on the top of my bowl. Maggie sneered at me; she didn’t know that I noticed.

I carried my bowl to the opposite end of the table as Maggie. Even more, things were scattered around than yesterday. She must have been working there for several hours now. I took a fork and stirred the salad to embed the fresh thick slices. “How’s work going?” I questioned. I grew tired of the silence and tension. She looked up and was hesitant with an answer. “Still knee-deep,” dismissing me. I took a bite of the salad and savored the flavor. The juicy tomato made more of a difference than I imagined it would. A prepared salad was never bland but did lack freshness. My tongue explored every bite. Maggie did try to continue a conversation and asked, “The salad good?” I stared at my nearly empty bowl. It was either smaller than I imagined or I was hungrier. I paused and evaluated my next move. “Yeah – the fresh tomato really changed it up – a lot more than I expected anyway…” I trailed off. 
“Did you stop by the store,” she inquired, “I think that sounds good. They were out last time…”
“Dad gave it to us.” I reluctantly said, afraid to light a bomb.
“Jake…” She stopped herself. 
“Maggie…” I chirped back. I did not want to argue but was tired of walking on eggshells. I had walked my thoughts back and forth and honestly could not see how I was in the wrong. I rarely yelled. I tried to keep an open mind and empathize with her views – even when I disagreed. Especially then. “You should be careful – it’s very easy to get E.Coli.” She said being passive-aggressive, not attempting to hide it. My heart raced, and I bit my tongue so I would not say anything that I regretted. I was simmering. “Tell me how you really feel Maggie. I went to my dad’s. You went to your sister’s. You have been angry – for God know what reason – since I got an email from him.” I managed to get out without changing much of a tone, but I emphasize a few words in my struggle.
“Jake… what do you expect me to say? Your crazy dad comes into your life when it’s convenient and I get to see you fall apart.” She replied in a neutral tone.
“You are right. It does impact me. It does. But have you considered walking along with me vs. bashing or propping up walls?” My voice raised an octave as I posed the question. I understood her points of view – and that she said she cares – but I felt alone most of the time with my struggles. I finished the final bite of salad and slid the bowl to the side. “Maybe I will die from some disease now.” I fired her implication back to her. I was boiling over and struggled to keep calm. 
“This isn’t working for me anymore Jake.” She spat out not even looking up.
“What does that mean Maggie?” I exhaled.
“I don’t know Jake. I don’t know… I need you to try harder,” she shared in an assertive tone.
“Me… ME? TRY? Harder…” My elevated voice stammered. I was in disbelief. It felt like she punched me in the gut then asked me for a bandaid. I immediately got up from the table and floated over to the dishwasher. I looked like a ghost in a classic horror film, in more ways than one. I was overcompensating and I knew it – but did not feel I would have a grasp on myself otherwise. I dropped the quick-door open for the dishwasher and fed my dishes in. It looked like what I imagined a DVD did going into a player. I sauntered to the bedroom and grabbed my vaping device. I pulled it from the charger, pressed it against the refill slot, and selected the strongest infused juice. It was not a habit that I was attached to – but would be an attempt at normalizing my ramped up body. “Jake…” she called to me. I reappeared into the hallway and our eyes locked. I visually bit my lips and returned to the basement. I had nothing else to say to her at that moment.

I felt like I had a lot of things to figure out. All of the emotions from the last couple of days were cresting and burning in several senses. I stomped around the downstairs and turned on an angry rock mix. The mix contained several songs that both fed my anger and allowed me to work through things at the same time. I grabbed my desk chair and slid into it. I took a long drag and puffed a large vapor cloud into the air. The nicotine and CBD mixture started to instantly soothe me. I rubbed my eyes and yawned from the side effects. I followed up by laying my chin in the palm of my hand, which balanced my head from my elbow. I slipped my phone into the Linx and scooted it into view adjusting the monitor angle. The dragon’s blood at the desk was calming.

I started to weigh my relationships and compare my so-called-life with others. I could not rationally and objectively think about Maggie so I meandered in other thoughts. Some… bigger thoughts. The blaze may have been in front of me this time, but the smoldering had been going on for far too long… I wondered what it was that I had done or was doing with my life? I seemed to have been lost in translation, to me. I decided to replay the last several weeks, even before 116 entered my life. I got into my desk drawer and pulled out one of my breakthru meds to calm my nerves; I had to do something. I got up from my slouch and went back to my bed from last night. I switched the room mood to a more relaxing playlist and adjusted the lights. I needed to reset. I needed to think.

As the medicine started to loosen up my muscles, I took a large draw of vapor. My body sensation matched my mental space – heavy. I do not know when it began but I realized that I had started losing interest in meaningful things. The flood of sensations started to bleed in. The news felt like a barrage of arrows. Between the negativity and tech advertisements I was overloaded. I longed for a relationship with my father; I said it out loud to myself. The day with him was nice – we were able to rekindle a select group of memories. In reflection, I regretted selling the great life speech and even more so now that I know he saw past my front. When was the last time a pandemic broke out? Is that because of our measures or have we been living this way because no one remembers how to go back? What was it intrigued me about Samuel? It could not be the cold-case factor now, since I had all but confirmed that they existed beyond the apartment. A tomato made a highlight in my day. Or was that just a symbol? Damn questions plagued my mind. I returned to slouching into the couch. I yawned and gave in to my body’s direction. My droopy eyes fell closed.

I woke up after a short nap. I did not have answers but felt like I had more clarity. I had more energy to power on. I got up and sat back down at the Linx. I caught a glimpse of the sticker on my shirt and pulled it off. I opened a browser and researched the Co-op my father used. There was a lot of information about this community. It was about 100 acres of combined land with multipurpose uses. The membership could be paid for outright, or shares could be purchased for a different duration. The website also indicated that they had open units; the community was also a village. I entertained the thought for a few moments, then succumbed to my current reality. I was happy, I thought. I needed to make amends with Maggie. I needed to find my reset and had to restart… somewhere.

I went back upstairs and sat down at the table and laid all of my thoughts and emotions out for discussion. Maggie and I argued at first but we were able to reframe and recenter the conversation to be symbiotic. We were similar in some manner. We were comfortable and neither of us wanted to disturb that. I convinced myself that the sensitivity that I felt to the conversation impacted my ability to reason. And while I was questioned my motives – merely coexisting was not a desire of mine. We closed the conversation and the tension diminished. The awkwardness was still present – but we were talking about it at least. Afterward, we made up and reconnected in the bedroom. I rinsed off in the shower and grabbed another cup up coffee before heading back downstairs.

I attached my phone to the computer and looked at the open co-op page. I thought of the fresh taste of produce and signed up for a sample box which took about a week to get. I was intrigued to learn more about this process, but wanted more of that fresh taste, for now. I set the delivery address to my dad’s and sent him a quick email explaining that he convinced me and to let me know when it arrived. I looked over to the notebook pushed off to the side and made a curious connection with Produced and Samuel. I went back to my browser and searched for “starting a co-op.” I also searched “self-sustainment.” I spent the next couple of hours researching the fundamentals of establishing the system. After I felt that I grasped the basics, which seemed like a lot of work, I went back to the journals and started to read. I ended up going through all of the journals that night as the hours sped by.

Line by line Samuel designed another world. He painted a picture of the world as he saw it and detailed the changes. The journals that I had with me detailed the onset. It told the story of a person figuring out what life after this pandemic would be like. It described his desire for a different place – with a different outcome. He saw the things put in place as barriers to humanity and I think that he wanted to get that back. I felt a connection with him. There was something about how I felt and the way he expressed his thoughts. I also started to see similarities in what he expressed and the life that my father was leading. My fascination continued to grow and I was not sure what that meant yet. An email banner came across the screen. It was work reaching out.

I opened the email and started to read it. My team needed an answer to the apartments surveyed. I had not completed the report; I had lost track with my excitement. Between my dad’s, exploring Samuel’s world, arguing with Maggie, and finding myself, I missed sending the report after the survey. I wondered if I still had time to finish working through the materials at the apartment which I had planned to do the following week. I would need to hurry up though, the group is preparing to rent out the units and I was holding up their process. They would have inventoried the apartment and recycled the content. I had watched that happen numerous times. So, I hit reply-all and assured the group – that all of the units were ready – which they were – besides 116. I wanted to make another pass through that room – to understand what these big plans were. I felt as if I was being freed for some reason and I did not understand it. I wanted to.

Maggie and I had dinner together that night. I was to prepare the entree and sides while she prepared the appetizer and desserts. We both liked to cook and I was in a creationist sort of mood. I got all of the materials out and placed butter inside of a warming skillet. “What are you doing, Jake?” Maggie inquired, as she pressed a sequence and captured what the fridge prepared. “I am cooking,” I said confidently. 

“We have a processor for that,” she countered, “do you even know what you’re doing?” I raised an eyebrow and continued to prepare. I opened the fridge and pulled two chicken breasts from the preparation container. I grabbed a rub that I had purchased a while back and coated the chicken. “I think I will be just fine.” The butter started to melt and I placed the chicken into the pan. The smell of butter sizzling in the pan made a savory smell in the kitchen. The garlic herb seasons whiffed past my nose as the steam rushed from the pan. The butter danced along the sides of the pan making a loud hissing sound. I pulled the tongs from the drawer and rinsed the dust off of them. I grabbed one of the breasts and flipped it to the uncooked side searing the other side. I did the same for the second breast. I waited a moment, put the lid over the skillet, and lowered the temp. I grabbed another skilled and prepared it the same way. I placed butter into the pan and turned the burner on. 

“What has gotten into you?” Maggie asked, with some impatience. I was not sure how to answer her. A lot of thoughts streamed through my mind. “I just wanted to do something, myself.” I placed a couple of potatoes into the microwave, then pulled them back out to poke several holes into them with a fork. With my inexperience, I had almost forgotten. “Alexa, microwave two large potatoes,” I instructed, and it started. I grabbed a frozen bag of green-beans not yet in the dispenser and opened the bag, I shook some into the sizzling skillet and then put the rest back into their container. I turned the green-bean skillet down to medium heat and sprinkled some garlic over the skillet. I was proud of myself. I felt like a conductor at a symphony with aromas as the musical notes.

I did not have a lot of experience cooking, baking, frying anything. I spent some time earlier in the day researching how to make the meal. I was not a master chef and did get some of the timing off, but the meal turned out much better than I expected. And other than impatience, Maggie was pleasantly surprised. The artwork did not hang like most artwork. It was nourishment. The tender slices of chicken and buttery baked potatoes paired well with the garlic-seasoned green beans. I knew that the meal was a symbol. I knew that I would raise eyebrows veering off the beaten path. I figured out how to do something that I had not done. I created something, and it was good. The meal was exactly what I needed. It was also the last meal that I remembered my mom making. Dad would be proud.

Read more of the Devastation Series.