by Saci Lloyd
Fri., Aug. 14
Storms have spread across France, Italy, and southern Germany. Come on! The swelling’s starting to go down in my back, but I can’t remember when I last slept. We can’t spare the water even to wet a towel to wrap around my head.
Sat., Aug. 15
No rain. France had 8 centimeters just last night. The Met Office don’t know if the storms are going to make it here. I don’t know how much longer we can hold on. I lay in my room all day, listening to the radio.
There are demonstrations in the United States cos of a big climate bill that got voted down in the Senate last night. It was about cutting emissions by 60%. All the senators who voted against it were from the industrial oil states, and everyone’s saying they’ve been bribed or bought off.
They had to call out the National Guard in Times Square and shoot water cannons at people to get them to break up. There were tens of thousands of protesters, going crazy, fighting, throwing Molotov bombs, charging the barriers. By midnight the military had a curfew over all of central Manhattan, all the way down to 14th Street.
The best thing is happening in California. 4 million people have lined up all the way from Santa Barbara to L.A. and at midnight they’re gonna link hands and jump in the air. It’s called the Big Jump. They want to crack the San Andreas fault for good. They say it’s the only way they can get California away from the filthy States.
A boy from school died. Claire’s just called and told me.
“Happened last night.”
“But how?”
“Dunno. Wasn’t a disease or infection or anything. Just heat collapse.”
Sun., Aug. 16
Still. No. Rain.
Mon., Aug. 17
The U.S. demos have spread to Europe. Protests started today outside churches in nearly every major city in Italy, France, Germany, Belgium, Spain, Portugal, Poland. . . . They’re planning to walk to Brussels to do a massive demo in front of Parliament. There’s an emergency E.U. leaders’ summit there next week. All the presidents and prime ministers have come back from vacation cos of the crisis. Gee, thanks, guys.
Tues., Aug. 18
I woke up in the night. Someone was shaking me. Mum.
“Can you hear it?” she cried.
I ran to the window and flung it open. We stuck our heads out as far as we could and screamed.
RAIN!
Wed., Aug. 19
Torrential rain all day. Everyone is crazy happy. We’ve got every single bucket and bowl out in the garden to catch the water.
People are actually doing it. All across Europe, from villages, towns, cities, walking across fields, down lanes, roads, highways, to Brussels, to demand action on rationing. The whole continent just looks burned out.
Thurs., Aug. 20
More beautiful rain. Hundreds of thousands are on the move now. They’ve created like a new city just outside Brussels. Tents and fires stretching out for miles. The army is there, but they don’t know how to act cos the protesters are doing nothing wrong. It’s so exciting.
The Euro leaders are flying in for the meeting tomorrow. Talk about stupid. They put out a joint statement saying they wouldn’t be held hostage by the “common crowd.”
Fri., Aug. 21
Big mistake, calling them the “common crowd.” It really did something to people’s heads. By the time the march began in the morning, there were about 3 million people. The trouble wasn’t anything big to begin with. It all kicked off in this suburb called La Marolles—a few car windows smashed, shops and bus stops spray painted, a few Molotov bombs. But the police went in hard, opened fire with rubber bullets and tear gas—and that’s when it got out of control.
By 2, the European Parliament was in a huge face-off with protesters trying to storm the building. The outside of the Parliament was bristling with 4,000 troops, armored cars, tanks, and machine guns, but the crowd wasn’t backing down. It was hard to see what was going on cos all the early footage was live feed—coming from one little guy sticking his camera out of a 12th-floor bathroom window. But basically it was one massive battle.
There was one bit where a man leaped onto the steps and tried to take a rifle from a cop. The other cops around jumped on him and smashed their rifle butts into his face, and the crowd roared like a huge monster. The army opened fire, the police charged on horses, but the mob carried on forward, till finally it was pushed back with water cannons.
But they didn’t give in and within an hour, protesters got control of 2 tanks and drove them at army lines. It was so cool. I reckon that’s when they started to believe they could win. Finally they fought their way thru the lines and got inside. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Nothing happened for ages, all you could hear was gunshots and shouting. The mass outside chanted and screamed for the leaders to come out and show themselves.
And then suddenly there they were, a bunch of gray-faced, shaking men and women. The protestors forced them down on their knees and the crowd went silent. Dead silent. A man stepped forward and cocked his gun into the European president’s face and shouted:
“We need action! You’re elected by us to act. Not to do nothing while we die like animals around you.”
The crowd roared again. The man turned to face the line of leaders. “On behalf of the people we demand immediate—” And then there was the sound of a single gunshot and he fell to the ground, blood pumping out of his neck. Suddenly 6 military choppers appeared overhead, firing directly on the crowd. The square dissolved into chaos. The front of the Parliament building swarmed with soldiers—and everywhere you looked there was screaming, running, falling, blood, and beatings.
Sat., Aug. 22
Running battles all day in Brussels. The army are beating the shit out of people. It’s guns, tanks, and water cannons vs. stones, Molotovs, and pure, pure rage.
Huge thunderstorm in London tonight. Lightning gashed the sky over Oxleas Woods.
Sun., Aug. 23
It’s over. Guess who won? They’ve arrested thousands and thousands, got them all lined up in the square like criminals. I am so angry, I can hardly breathe.
Mon., Aug. 24
Exhausted, can’t watch the news anymore.
Tues., Aug. 25
Mia’s just called.
“So, hey. Want the good news? Tour’s green to go.”
“Huh? I didn’t know it was canceled.”
“Yeah, well, the promoters kinda agreed with you before, but now they’re good. Tour. Back on. In or out?”
“You know what? I don’t care.”
“Laura, you gotta care. This Brussels thing makes me sick, too, but this is the only solution—to fight back. Right?”
I sighed. “Right.”
God, that’s dead soon—next week. I’ll have to call the band and work out how to sell it to my parents in like, 5 days. I’m so tired I can hardly think.
Wed., Aug. 26
Talk about totally surreal. Mum got us all around the kitchen table tonight.
“Right, your dad and I have decided we need to get out of the city as a family. The weather forecast says it’s going to be wet and cool for weeks so it’s the perfect opportunity. I know it’s a bit sudden. But these people are very welcoming—and they have their own well.”
“Which people?”
Mum slid a leaflet over the table. “I know it’s kind of unconventional, but I’ve met some of these guys, and it’s what we feel we need . . .” She gave Dad a sharp glance on the we.
“Oh, you got to be joking,” said Kim.
Mum turned to me.
“Laura?”
“Mum, people are dying. I don’t want to go on vacation.”
“Spare me the lecture. We’re all exhausted, but while you both live under our roof . . .”
“I don’t know, Julia,” said Dad. “I mean, if the girls really hate the idea and what with this weather and the garden, the animals . . . maybe we should rethink . . .”
Mum zapped him with an evil stare.
“You’re not backing out of this, Nick. They’ve had this sudden cancellation and I’ve booked it now.” She turned to face me and Kim. “Right, you two—come on. If we’re going to work as a family, we’ve got to get away from this house and redefine our dynamic—otherwise, I, for one, am finished. I’m sick to death of being the stupid woman around here . . .”
“You said it,” muttered Kim.
Mum whirled around to face her. “Oh, you’re so funny.”
Dad spread his hands on the table. “All right, all right, no more fighting. After what we’ve just been through we do need a break, but I don’t know why you couldn’t pick something more normal.”
“There isn’t anywhere normal now. Europe’s burned to a crisp and full of revolutionaries and most places in the U.K. are shut for tourists. These guys have got water and shelter and a—a friend recommended them.”
“Some friend.”
I got this sudden stab of fear. “Wait. When is this?”
“This weekend. I know it’s a bit sudden, but—”
“But I can’t.”
“What d’you mean, can’t?”
“The angels have got a tour . . . it’s all set up—”
“Set up by who?”
“Mia!”
Mum thinned her lips. “Excuse me, but who’s Mia? And when were you going to ask us about this?”
“I only found out it was back on yesterday!”
“Well, I’m sorry, darling—you can go with the band another time.”
I stood up. “So unfair!”
Silence.
“Please? Mum?” I could feel my voice breaking.
She shook her head. “Sorry. No. This time the family comes first.”
“What family?” I shouted. “Take a look at yourselves!”
So instead of touring with the angels I’m going to the New Forest with my messed-up family for a week in a tent. Messaged the band, I can’t face telling them in person.
Thurs., Aug. 27
Soft summer rain all day so Ravi came to my house and I spent the afternoon in deep depression lying on my bed, watching him sand down, varnish, sand down, varnish, sand down, varnish his mum’s crossbow.
“And so now Mum’s trying to make us communicate as a family. Puke. Does your mum do that?”
Sand, sand.
“Ravi!”
“Umm?”
“Do your parents make you sit down and discuss things as a family?”
“Nah.”
I poked him with my toes. “Never?”
He glanced up. “Laura, I’m making my mum a crossbow so she can shoot an arrow thru my dad’s head.”
“You’re not serious, though?”
He narrowed his black eyes. “My dad’s a loser—Indiashmindia, vark, vark, twenty-two years, Jai Rama, cowshit. He wants my sister to get married to some nice Indian boy from home, and he wants me to go into the business. He lives in some back-in-the-days fantasy, but the trouble is he’s messing up my present.” Ravi sighed. “But the worst of all is he treats my mother like dirt, never lifts a finger . . . and she never, never says anything back. You take the piss out of your mum, but I think she’s got balls. She’s a real woman.”
I sank back into the pillows and looked at him with a sudden bad feeling. Maybe I’m not the main attraction, maybe he’s one of those boys who likes girls’ mums . . .
“No, I like you.” He grinned, snaking his hand inside my T-shirt. And then the door flew open. Mum.
“Oh, Laura . . . oops!”
I caught the smile on her face before she closed the door. Oh, God, now she’s going to sit me down and talk about contraception. Why can’t she be all repressed like other mums? I bounced up off the bed.
“Wassamatter? Get back here.”
“No,” I said, crossing my arms. “Ravi Datta, I hope you’re not going to turn out to be a jerk. I ain’t no Thanzila.”
“Thank God,” he said quietly, focusing along the barrel of the crossbow. “C’mon, let’s go outside and check this puppy out.”
It’s a beauty. Ravi totally pinned a rat that was footling about in the pigscraps. Footle no more my friend.
I can’t believe what’s just happened. I finally got up the courage to go to band practice and see them all face to face and I get there and . . . they’re going to do the tour without me!
Claire spread her hands. “Well, the thing is, if you can’t make it, we have to get someone else for the tour. Short notice, though.”
I gasped. “What, you’re gonna find someone else?” Looking around at the others. Adisa staring really hard at his fretboard.
“Adi?”
“It’d only be for the week—we’ll get Rrriot Mary to do it.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Oh, look, Laur, cut the drama,” snapped Claire. “This tour is for the good of the angels. Just let Mary fill your boots for a week.”
I stared at her, didn’t dare say what was really on my mind—what if Mary is forever? Mary laughs at Claire’s jokes.
I went home and just felt sick.
a rush of silence sweeps
thru the heart of the crowd.
a kick of adrenaline
jolts thru my body.
The strokes of music
vibrate my soul
and I feel every beat
like my own heartbeat.
I live for this feeling
Fri., Aug. 28
Adisa came by.
“Hey,” he said.
I jammed my fists in my jeans.
“Can I at least come in?”
“What for?”
“Don’t go all moody on me, girl. Mary’s in for one week only. No one’s ever gonna replace you.”
“Whatever.”
“C’mon. After everything we’ve just been thru, we need this.” He took my hand. “It’s one week and then you’re back. Trust me.”
Adi left me the tour dates. The last one’s at the Purple Turtle in Poole. That’s like twenty miles from where I’m staying in the New Forest. So unfair.
Sat., Aug. 29
I said good-bye to Ravi tonight. We had a dead passionate kiss and I promised to text every day.
Sun., Aug. 30
7:30 A.M. Left home with family.
1 A.M. Just crawled inside my tent. Too tired to write.
3 A.M. Can’t sleep. Surrounded by death screams of hunted woodland creatures.
5 A.M. Woken by the Forest Folk didgeridoo warble.
I’ve left my family behind, gone deep into the woods, and I’m writing this on the bank of a stream, watching the rain fall into the water.
Mum had already found out by dawn that the Forest Folk group leader, Jon Grey Wolf, had a solar-powered shower, and she’s been flirting with him like mad all morning. Meanwhile, Dad was trying to drive extra tent pegs into the mud and bending them all like a classic weakling loser dad. Then Kim slid out of her tent like a viper and got straight into a scrap with Mum. A little kid with white blond hair and weird blue eyes suddenly appeared between them.
“Are you havin’ conflic?”
Kim took a step back. “Urggh. What is it?”
“Sh-sh.” Mum held out a hand. “No, honey, we’re . . . just expressing a difference of opinion.”
“Soun’ like conflic,” said the child, wiping his nose. “Yes’day we did conflic. I gotta star. I’m a woodchip. My name is Lucius. Wuju like to see my drawin’?”
“Er, sure,” replied Mum.
Lucius pointed at Kim. “No, I want show the cross lady. She’s bad, smokeded puff back in the bushis las’ night. ’Gainst camps rules.” He grinned, showing a perfect set of tiny milk teeth.
Kim rolled her eyes. “Okay, woodchip. Show me the drawing.” He pointed at a bit of tree with a grubby finger. “I fink you was doin’ non-vilent cong-frun-tashun with your mummy.”
“Maybe, buddy.” Kim tapped a different branch. “But I could go up to vyolent congfruntation. Easy.”
“Kim
!”
Lucius started to snivel. “You mussen’ talk to me like that. I’m a woodchip.”
Suddenly, across the campsite came a cry: “Lucius, darling, come to Mummy!” A woman in a poncho with American Indian braids waved. Lucius wiped his nose again. “I’ll be back!” he trilled.
Who are these people? Messaged Ravi but nothing back.
Autumn.
September
Tues., Sept. 1
Got a text from R in the night.
> messed up rabb
What does that mean?
I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I wandered thru the woods for a bit. Super bored. When I got back, Dad was already up, drawing weird shapes in the dirt around the campfire.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Oh, morning.” He frowned and scratched out a line. “I’m working on this swill-feeding mechanism. Can’t decide if it should be on a timer or if I should let Larkin’s body clock dictate the pace. What d’you think?”
The sound of a didgeridoo floated over the air. I felt a sudden wave of panic—like I needed something, just one thing, to be normal.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t you ever want a job again?”
“Aha—a weighted pulley lid system! If he’s hungry enough to pull the lid up, he’s hungry enough to eat!”
“Dad!”
Pause.
“Yeah, yeah.” Drawing sulky circles. “Would it be so terrible if I didn’t?”
“But how will we—”
“We’ll find a way.”
“But don’t you ever want to do some of the stuff we used to do? Y’know—fly abroad, eat KFC, just normal shit?”
He looked around the campsite. “No, not really . . . I know this holiday is stupid, but everything’s different now. We can’t go back. Rationing is going to happen in Europe, too, soon. You do know that, don’t you?”