Hope

I rummage through my rut sack knowing there is nothing of value to trade for food. Just a performance for the haggard woman behind the bar. The yearlong walk from Kansas City, Kansas to Grand Junction, Colorado exhausted what little we had months ago. “Tomorrow we will eat once we are on the boat. Tonight, I just need to get out of the frigid wind for a moment,” I mentally assure myself. The tavern’s bar offered such brief respite. I should have let Hope come with me. Yet, guilt does not prick my conscience.

“You need to save our spot in line,” I told her after she vocalized her desire to acquire food with me. The family sitting before us stated that they would allow us back into the line if we both left. They looked trustworthy enough to keep their word but I declined their offer. “How do we know they really would let us back in the line?” I whisper into Hope’s ear. “Stay put.” With that I walked away to search for a second of warmth.

“You have nothing,” utters the woman, her gray hair in multiple tight braids cascading past her shoulders. Her tan face like crumbled paper while her eyes declare that she is resigned to her fate. To drown like the rest of humanity when the time arrives. For now, she will live, the rising oceans be damned. Her voice brings me to the present. I smile sheepishly. “That is correct ma’am. I thought I might have something to trade but I was wrong.”

Her eyes study me. I stay still under her inspection. “You knew you had nothing before you came here and yet you entered my establishment anyways. I do not provide charity.”

“I was not seeking charity ma’am. I just wanted to get out of the wind.”

She smiles, “the wind is particularly brutal this night.”

“Yes ma’am,” I begin to turn.

“Wait. You may stay longer if you tell me your story.”

A quizzical expression crosses my face, “why would you want my story?”

“Entertainment. In a world without television. Traveler’s stories are the closest thing I have to soap operas. The choice is yours. Though I suspect you are not ready to step back into the wind,” she gestures to the only bar stool. I sit.

“Where do I start?” I ask.

“Your name. Being the main character of this story, I need a name. So, I do not confuse you with the other characters.”

“ My name is Grace.”

“Grace that is a pretty name. How old are you Grace?”

“I am thirty.”

“Are you here to try and get on the boat?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you have something of value that will allow you on the boat?”

My mind flashes to mother’s heart-shaped locket. It is solid gold and in the center is an extremely tiny ruby shaped like a heart. Inside are two historic twenty-dollar bills both dating to the year 2000. I remain silent.

“Of course, you do. Forgive me for asking. Now Grace do you have family? Or are you getting on the boat by yourself?”

“ I have a little sister who just turned fifteen. Her name is Hope.”

“Grace and Hope. Your parents are religious or something?”

“Or something,” I mutter darkly.

Her eyes narrow as if surprised by my tone but cannot muster proper astonishment as she has seen everything. Has heard everything. “So, your parents are dead?”

“Yes.”

“How about you tell me where you come from. That is usually a good starting point,” offers the woman after my continued silence.

“I am from Kansas City, Kansas. When I was born California was already under water so was New York. By the time I was fifteen Arizona was under water…”

“Listen, I already know about the timeline of the melted ice caps and the oceans swallowing us. I have been running from the rising seas since before you were born. I know that Birmingham, Alabama to the east is all under the Atlantic Ocean. I know that Grand Junction will eventually be underwater. I know that I will die before that occurs. Tell me something I do not know.”

“My parents and I lived in an apartment building. At the very top level. I would look out the window at the city before me. People scurrying everywhere,” I restart. “Like the desperate rats we are,” I inwardly muse.

“My mother was a seamstress. She was really good. She taught me how to sow. My father was a tinker. He could fix anything. He tried to teach me- I know the basics but I am sadly not as talented. Due to mother and father’s skills we had a roof over our heads. Sometimes we had food to eat,” I pause letting the woman absorb my words. “ My mother became pregnant with Hope when I was fourteen. My parents were very excited.”

“Every day the ocean reclaims more land. We are barely surviving. How dare you bring another child into such a world!” my teenage self- screams at the parents.

“As mother’s pregnancy progressed, they began discussing journeying to the newest port. They were now hoping for a future on the ocean instead of being consumed by it. We were to leave after the baby was born,” I resume. “Mother gave birth a couple of weeks before I turned fifteen. I delivered the baby because there was no one else.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing. So much blood. So much blood.”

“Mother did not survive. The baby did. A little girl. Father named her Hope,” I inhale to continue, not expecting a sympathetic comment because dead loved ones are common. “Father became a drunk after mother died. I became the mother and provider. We barely got by. Father did start watching the baby after a while,” I sigh, “I was accountable for my family’s wellbeing. If I didn’t work, we didn’t eat. If I didn’t turn father to his side he would have choked on his own sick and died. If I didn’t care for Hope she would have died. All the while resources are becoming scarce to practically nonexistent. But you already know that aspect.”

The woman grins morbidly.

I cannot help but laugh bitterly, “last year we heard that a boat is being built. A Miraculously big one. As if the builders accumulated and hoarded the remaining scrap metal for years to build such a boat.”

“Cargo ship size,” comments the woman.

“Have you seen it?”

“No. Where it is being built is secure and behind a massive brick wall. Whose decision was it to make the journey for the boat?”

“ It was Hope and father said we should try.”

“ Despite the fact I had been asking him for years to travel to a new port.”

“We packed what little we had into sacks and began the long walk here. Six months ago, father got into a drunken brawl with one of the men we were traveling with. The man killed him. When that happened, I grabbed Hope and we ran. Somehow, we managed to arrive. With a day to spare. Had we missed the boat. I don’t know what I would have done.”

“You would have waited with the rest of the shmucks for the next boat to have been built.”

“I guess you are right.”

“I usually am. Have you thought about what you are going to do once you get on the boat? Will you transfer to work on a cruise ship or a mega yacht serving the wealthy? Or will you transfer to work on a cargo ship they have converted into an agriculture field?”

I frown, “I never thought beyond getting on the boat.”

“There is a price for living on the boat for people like you that the rich never pay. That is your labor.”

“Well, we might not even get on the boat.”

“Very true. One obstacle at a time,” the woman nods.

I rise from my seat, “Thank you ma’am for allowing me to rest here. I must get back to my sister.”

“Here Grace,” she hands me two black bars. “They are cockroach bars. Full of protein.”

“Thank you.”

“Good luck tomorrow.”

I step outside the wind immediately piercing my marrow.

“I found food,” I inform Hope handing her one of the bars. She begins to eat it without question.

At dawn the line begins to move. We shuffle through the heart of the town. By midday we reach the new port.

“That boat is massive!” exclaims Hope.

I nod, before us is a waiting platform . The line is like a winding snake that narrows to a single line down a fenced gangway. The line stops at a tall metal fence with barb wire. Behind it the ticket counters. Hope speculates what life will be like on the boat. I half listen my mind preoccupied with the hope that the locket and the money will be enough. By nightfall we reach the ticket counter.

“What do you have of value that can pay for your tickets?” inquires the hardened woman behind the bullet proof glass. I gently place the heart-shaped locket into the drawer. The woman quickly pulls the drawer back then begins inspecting the jewelry.

“It is solid gold and that is a real ruby. In addition, if you open it up there are two twenty-dollar bills dating from the year 2000,” I inform her.

She opens the locket and the bills fall out. She unfolds the money. “Impressive that these bills are in such fine condition. Though artifacts they have little worth besides nostalgia. The gold locket with the ruby is acceptable. This locket is only enough for one ticket.”

“What?! It is a massive boat!” shrieks Hope.

“Not as massive as originally planned. They ran out of resources. Thus, only one ticket,” the woman explains. I see her gesture to the security guards who watch our reactions. Hope turns to me her eyes already wet. She clings to my arm.

“Grace we can wait for another boat.”

I inhale deeply and close my eyes. I think of when the parents told me mother was pregnant. I bellowed at them to abort the baby. I watched as Hope made her entrance into this world all the while killing our mother. I watched mother bleed from between her legs till there was no blood left within her. Father only began watching baby Hope after a neighbor found her wailing in a dumpster a few blocks away. He made sure I was never alone with Hope after that. Nevertheless, it was I who raised her. Whatever my youth could have been in this sinking world gone because I had to care for a child and a drunk. I pleaded with father throughout the years for us to journey to a new port. He refused. Until Hope mentioned going on a boat we made preparations to leave that day. After father’s stupid death I continued to protect Hope. Whatever food we manage to scrounge I gave to her. I got her here. Now the locket is not enough to get us both on the boat.

“Grace, we can wait for another boat,” repeats Hope.

“What if there isn’t another boat?” I open my eyes and look at the ticket woman. “That ticket will be for me,” I declare, not looking at Hope.

“No Grace!” her grip tightens around my arm, “Grace you can’t leave me!” I hear the security guards close in on Hope. They pry her fingers off of me. “Grace please do not leave me here!” I hear Hope being dragged away. I stare ahead at the boat. I hear a buzz and the gate swings open. Hope’s pleas are carried on the wind but I do not glance backwards. I look forward at my future. At my last hope.