Anna Pottage and a White Van

Previously in Part 6: Nightmares

Part 7

Dear Diary,

You are never going to believe the day I had!

Why would you? I don’t.

I grew up in this suburb, did you know that? It wasn’t the same house Mom’s been in the last few years, but it was close by. Mom sold the bigger house when Dad died. She didn’t think she’d be able to keep up with the yard work.

I’m kind of sorry about that—Aaron would have loved the tree house in the pear tree and the little shed Dad turned into a playhouse for me.

But we didn’t know about Aaron at the time. Dad was gone before then; he never met his grandson.

I didn’t go to the same school where Aaron went—that one’s new since I was a kid.

Anyway, I don’t know how I got off the subject, except that I wanted to say I know the town pretty well, even though I haven’t lived here full time for the last few years.

I figured I’d head north today. There’s a car dealership as you head out of town in that direction. I thought there might be something in stock that I would like to sort of “trade up” for.

I should have taken you with me—I know I’m not going to remember everything I want to tell you. Lesson learned: travel with my buddy.

I left early, because I was anticipating plenty of road issues.

Things are messy out there, Diary.

What I wasn’t anticipating was the change in the weather. It was so hot yesterday. It was a shock to step outside this morning and realize I needed a jacket.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise—it’s nearly October, after all, and we sometimes have snow here before this time of year. But I made such a fuss about it the other day…you know.

The further I got from the center of town, going north, the easier time I had maneuvering the roads. I was nearly to the dealership when I saw the traffic light go from green to yellow, and I stopped for the red light. When it turned green again, I continued on my way and had gone a few blocks before it struck me—

The traffic light was working!

I have been driving for a long time. Not a decade yet, no, but still—a long time. Some things are so automatic you don’t even think about them after a while. Things like red light: Stop. Green light: Go.

I was awestruck.

Yes, I do remember walking out of the city days ago and marveling that the traffic lights near the subway were still going through their regular cycle. But it’s been so long since I saw anything working—anything that I wasn’t diligently maintaining myself, that is—that I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

I turned around and went back.

It was true. The lights were working.

I made another turn and headed back toward the dealership. I saw the sign for 7-eleven off to my right, and decided to stop.

There were lights on. There were cars in the parking lot. There were lights on at the gas pumps.

Diary, I was so terrified, and I wasn’t even sure what I was afraid of. I sat in my idling car and tried to see through the windows.

Were there people in there? If there were—could they be trusted?

I almost didn’t go in. Then I decided I’d put odds more in my favor by carrying my trusty baseball bat. I grabbed it out of the passenger side foot well, shut off the engine and got out. I triggered the lock and pocketed my keys.

Then I pushed and shoved myself toward the door with the extreme and wonderful power of my mind.

For someone as little as I am, my feet were sure heavy!

I admit it—I had my hopes up. Scared as I am, it really would have been something to see another living human.

The place was empty. But the freezer and refrigerator units were running, and I helped myself to a bottle of iced coffee and an apple. I put gas in my car. I grabbed a couple of newspapers, dated the day of the End of the World.

(I’m curious to know if there was any sort of indication this was going to happen.)

I went on with my little trip to the car dealer.

From the road, I could see that the place had taken some sort of hit—there was quite a bit of damage. But I figured it couldn’t hurt anything to investigate further, just in case.

I got as close as I could. I locked my car—

—have you ever met anyone as paranoid as me?—

—and walked onto the lot.

It’s kind of heartbreaking to see brand new cars and trucks in the condition I found them. Roof bashed in here; hood and engine crushed there; window glass everywhere. One side of the building was pretty much destroyed, but the other side, which included a display room, looked like it might have been spared, so I walked around the side of the building to see if I could find a way in.

Mom’s car was parked against the side of the building!

I couldn’t breathe. I still can’t breathe.

I ran to the car and looked inside. On the front passenger seat there was a notebook with a picture of a partridge in a pear tree on the cover. Just under the bird were the printed words “Anna Pottage.

I started to cry. The notebook is a joke between Aaron and me. He used to sing “—Anna Pottage in Parcheesi” when he was about four years old. I don’t know how he got “Parcheesi” out of “pear tree”, but I thought it was adorable. And he swore up and down the bird’s name was Anna Pottage, regardless of her species.

Somewhere in the distance, a dove cooed. I can’t remember the last time I heard a bird sing.

It was probably my imagination.

I opened the door. I picked up the notebook and opened it.

Through my tears, I read:

“Dear Mom,

“Grandma traded for a big truck for free. It’s green.

“We got food and water and stuff.

“I couldn’t find Patches. I’m sad.

“I miss you, Mommy.

“Grandma says you’ll know where to go. She says you are very smart.

“I hope you find us.

“Grandma says to tell you she loves you. I love you, too.

“Hurry, Mom.

“We have to go. We can’t wait.

“Your rotten kid,

“Aaron.”

My rotten kid. He says that because Mom says I spoil him rotten, and I tell her it’s because he’s a rotten kid. It’s all said in love, big time, but I guess if anyone else read that, they might not think so.

I don’t care. All I care about is this: They Are Alive! They Got Away!

And I do know where to look for them.

I feel kind of bad about Patches, though. He was the neighborhood stray. You know, one of those cats that don't really have a home, but everyone in the neighborhood feeds. He was friendly, which is weird. But he wouldn't go inside, not for anyone.

Aaron loved that cat.

Well.

Dear Diary, I could end this entry here, but it wasn’t the end of my day.

I got inside the showroom. There was a lot of chaos inside, but not all was lost.

So, the less big news is this: I found a vehicle.

You'll never believe it. You’re going to laugh. (I sure did!)

It's big. It’s big enough to pack with a generator, several coolers full of dry ice and frozen foods, dry goods and canned food, clothing, coats and blankets and even the mattress from my bed.

Yeah.

'Tis to laugh, my dear little comadre.

I just got back with a windowless white van.

Go figure.

Time to get packing.

Part 8 Coming Soon! Ready

This story is the 7th in a series featuring Shelby and her little friend, Diary. All the stories are part of the Summer Fiction Series Challenge. You can read the rest of my series here:

Part 1

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Part 5:

Part 6:

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