Rations
She squeezed the handlebar tightly as she peddled faster along the side walk She could feel the grooves of the rubber handlebar grips digging into her palm and took satisfaction in knowing that when she could finally take her hands off, she'd find extra lines on her hands in addition to those that permanently existed there. Some say the lines on your palm map out your future, your destiny, your fate, but what about the lines she had formed just within the last twenty minutes, the lines which would fade faster than they had appeared? Those lines caused her hands to be bumpy and uneven now, but once she reached home and stored her bicycle in the safety of her garage, they had smoothed out, just as they were before.
She took out a package from the basket hanging at the front of her bicycle and entered her house. As soon as the front door closed with a quiet click, her mother came bustling towards her, one arm outstretched and one arm on her chest, as if to quell the fluttering of her heart.
"Oh Brittany, you're home!" With her outstretched arm, she held onto Brittany's cheek and her eyes roamed her daughter's body, looking out for any disturbances.
"Mom, stop it, I'm fine. I was only gone for twenty minutes, I've gone down to the community center plenty of times," Brittany reassured her mother. Her mother's hand felt cold on her cheek, but she was unsure if it was because she was warm from cycling, or if it was actually her mother's body temperature. She took her mother's hand from her cheek and enveloped it in her own. She gave her mother a small smile, encouraging her to do the same. In return, Brittany received a slight twitch in the corner of her mother's mouth. It was nothing like how she used to smile, but at least she tried. It seems like that was all they could do these days.
"Well, those other times were under different circumstances, weren't they?" A small silence passed between the pair. The other times were definitely different, there was no denying.
Her mother spotted the package tucked under Brittany's arm and immediately took it from her. She lifted it up to examine it. She turned it to the left, to the right and examined the underside of the brown package. Her eyebrows knotted in confusion and what seemed like a sliver of disappointment.
"That's all they gave me Mom. Apparently that's all you get for two adults and two children," Brittany explained.
"You should have said three adults. You could pass as an adult. You look close enough to 18, you're only two years away."
"They have all our profiles on the database Mom, I can't lie to them."
Brittany's mother nodded in defeat. "Oh well, let's see what we got then." She turned around and headed for the kitchen with Brittany following closely behind.
The kitchen was dim, and nobody reached for the light switch. Usually, the kitchen would be flooded by sunlight streaming from the window above the kitchen sink, but the curtain had been drawn and untouched for a while now. All the curtains were the shut in the Pierce house. As were all the curtains in all the houses in the area. Having open curtains wasn't a safe practice these days.
"Where's Abby?" Brittany asked her mom. Brittany's used to having her sister running around the house, but today the house was eerily quiet.
"She's just having a nap," her mom answered as she approached the kitchen bench. Usually on a day like today, her sister would be spending her afternoon at a friend's house, but visiting each other's houses is a thing of the past. It just isn't safe any more.
The package was placed tentatively onto the kitchen bench top, and Brittany's mother stepped back. They both stared at the package, unsure about what they should do next. They had never received a package like this before, but they were not the only naïve ones. Every family in the area had received more or less of the same package, depending on their needs, for the first time in their lives.
After what seemed like an eternity, Brittany reached out for the package, and carefully unwrapped the contents. Brittany wasn't really sure why she was suddenly being extremely careful in unwrapping the package. When she was younger, tearing the wrapping paper off any gifts was the best part about receiving presents. When she saw any of her friends trying to salvage wrapping paper, Brittany would whine and complain and encourage them to 'just go crazy'. There was something satisfying about hearing the tearing and scrunching of paper. It might also have had something to do with Brittany and her sister shredding paper into little pieces and pretending that it was multicolored snow. That was until her mother would yell at them and tell them to clean up their mess. That was one of the downsides of fake-multicolored-paper-snow. It didn't melt away like real snow. It also didn't taste very nice on her tongue, but that was a whole other issue.
As she directed all her concentration on trying to unwrap the package without ripping the paper, she couldn't tell whether the gasp she heard had come from her mother or escaped from her own mouth. Regardless of the origin of the sound, they both quickly soaked up the contents of the package.
A tub of rice.
A packet of sugar.
A packet of salt.
A bag of flour.
Batteries.
A small first aid box.
Matches.
Pamphlets.
"O.K." That was all that Brittany could really manage to say. She didn't know the proper response to receiving an assistance package from the government during a war. Was she supposed to be grateful that the government was doing their best to aid its citizens, or disappointed that they had received barely anything?
"I guess these are the rations we get for now," Brittany's mom said. "It's alright, we'll get more next time."
Rations. The word sounded weird in Brittany's head, let alone coming from her own mother's mouth. When had it come to this? The war had started months ago. Everyone knew it was coming, giving enough time necessary for preparation, yet when it finally did arrive, no one was ready. How did one prepare for the war?
They were faring well during the initial period. They were told that it would be a short affair, that there was nothing to fear. Have confidence in your troops! We are the most powerful nation in the world! Together we stand as one! Brittany cannot, for the life of her, pin point the exact moment when everything went downhill. It crept up gradually, like a cloud slowly covering up the sun, dimming the light, and nobody notices until that one person points it out. All Brittany remembers was that the nightly news updates started reporting an increasing number of soldier deaths and that the president's face was a regular image on her television screen. But the same message was being sent to them: We will win this war at any cost!
It saddened Brittany to hear such words being thrown around. What was an acceptable cost for a war? What was the cost of a life? What was the cost of a broken family, with a gaping soldier-shaped hole? Could any wars be considered cheap? You'd never see a war go on sale, that was for sure.
It was only a month ago where it was announced that their country was low on supplies, though Brittany is sure that their problems had started ever since the war began and no one had told them; not everybody likes hearing the truth, and nobody likes being the barer of bad news. Most of their efforts had been sent with the soldiers, whether that meant people, supplies or food. Now they had been given rations for the supplies that were on shortage. At the moment, the shortage list was small, but Brittany is sure it will grow, even if in just a couple of days.
"At least your father has been stocking up on food. Such a clever man," her mother says. It's a pitiful consolation, but it's the only thing that Brittany and her mother can hold on to at this moment in time. Her mother opens up the pantry to store their rations next to the column of tinned and preserved food on the shelves. Brittany picks up the pile of pamphlets and sits down at the kitchen bench. Without even needing to look at them, she's certain that they're about ways to survive the war. A single glance at the covers confirms her suspicions; HELPINGS FOR HEROES: 101 different ways to cook your rations; Help! A bomb hit my house and my cat is on fire; Spies: They Are ALWAYS Watching You.
There's a moment of silence as Brittany flicks haphazardly through the pamphlets, and her mom bustles around the kitchen. All she can hear is the ticking of the wall clock, and the clanking of pots and pans, when suddenly the silence is broken by a low rumble. It's faint, but both Brittany and her mother stop what they're doing to listen to the unfamiliar disturbance. There's a series of at least five more deep rumbles, each one getting progressively louder and accentuated by the drowning silence in between. Finally they stop, and Brittany can only hear her heart beat, and her shallow breathing. Her palms are sweating, and gripping tightly to the pamphlet in her hand: WAR - LOL txt it.
All of a sudden, her front door slams open, and there's frantic shouting. "They're here, Joy, they're here! Get the kids and get in the car. Now!" Her father is yelling at them as he runs into his bedroom, and Brittany turns to her mom. She's expecting her mom to look just as terrified as she feels, but she's proven wrong when no hint of emotion is found on her face.
"Brittany," she says in her most calming voice, "I need you to go to the car. Everything will be OK. I promise." Her mom is looking Brittany straight in the eyes, and it takes every ounce of Brittany's strength to break her stare and nod. She unfreezes and heads out to the car. It's the only thing Brittany feels she is programmed to do. She isn't in control of her own body, and only moves on accord of her mother's directions.
She's only waiting for half a second in car alone, when her father runs out, lugging two giant suitcases with him, which he promptly throws into the trunk of the car. He opens the door to the back seats where Brittany is sitting and throws some old rugs onto the floor of the car. He's about the close the car door, but stops and looks at his eldest daughter. He tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear and whispers, "You're doing great babygirl. I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that for me?" He's talking to her like she's five, but Brittany doesn't care. Instead she relishes it. It just so happens that Brittany feels like she's five again. She wants so much to break down and cry, and she can feel the tears threatening at the corner of her eyes, but yet again, she feels that she has no control of her body, and nods in response. Small steps.
Her father kisses the top of her head, and runs back into the house, just passing her mom who is holding onto her sister's hand, whose other hand is rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her mother is whispering things and soothing her sister, but Brittany can't hear anything that is being said. She helps Abby into her seat, and does up her seatbelt, even though she's nine, and would usually groan if her mom did such a thing a few months ago. Her mom gets into the front seat of the car, and their father runs back out of the house carrying some backpacks. He jumps into the driver's seat, slams his door shut, and changes the car from 'parked' to 'reverse'.
Brittany takes a glance at her house as they drive away through the empty street, and can't help but wonder when she'll see their picket fence next. Or if there even is a next time.