Read Online The World as We Know It by Curtis Krusie - Free Book Online Page B

because there was a time when, had our roles been reversed, I would have done the same.
    Some nights when we were curled up in bed, warm under the covers but cold to one another, I could feel her body tense as she choked back sobs. She thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I imagine those dark nights brought back memories of times when we were happy in our old home. Nights when we used to lay wrapped up together—whenwe could sleep until morning without being awakened by nightmares. Perhaps those memories of a time when the two of us had been so blissful in the company of only each other made her feel the most vulnerable. Happy memories brought her pain and a tormenting fear that she was losing me. Sleeping in the dark cabin without me would be different. Maria was afraid of both the dark and of being alone, which was a dreadful pair she would have to face every night while I was gone. She would always wonder when I would be coming home. Would I ever? I suspect we both had our doubts. Eventually, her breathing would slow, her muscles would relax, and I would know she had fallen asleep. Then I could.
    As her agony became more evident, I became more frustrated and anxious to leave. I grew unsympathetic and bitter toward the one person for whom, not long before, I would have given my life. We had debated breaking up the journey into shorter, more manageable trips to places close by, but I always rejected those suggestions with tenacity. I needed a change—a momentous one. Though I couldn’t explain why, I had reached a point where just looking at Maria made me angry, and I hated that feeling.
    One day, she told me how proud she was of me. “You’re a great man, Joe,” she said. “I’m so blessed to have found you, and I’m so proud of you.” It was an undeserved approval I had not heard from her in so long, and rather than taking it as I knew she had meant it, I called her a liar.
    Preparation took weeks as we gathered the supplies I would need for the journey: the map, a tent, minimal clothing for warm and cold weather, toiletries, my Mossberg and Ka-Bar, bow and arrows, a fishing pole, a compass, a water skin, flint and stone, rope, a mug and pot, and a journal would all go with me. Carrying any more than I needed would mean an even slower trip.
    I rode every day to build up my endurance on horseback. I studied edible plants and how to prepare them. The common weeds that had been such a nuisance in my green suburban lawn would serve as nourishment. Dandelions. Certain species of honeysuckle. Some could be eaten raw, some boiled. Although most of the journey would follow the old highways, there were deviations here and there to minimize excess mileage. I missed my car. Traveling any kind of distance was a proposition far more involved than it would have been in the past. It wasn’t a matter of making sure the tank was full and hitting the gas. I didn’t have heat or air conditioning to keep me comfortable or a roof to keep me dry. It would be slow and rough.
    My responsibility on the journey was threefold. First, I was to accumulate knowledge—especially that which would be applicable to our own lifestyle back home—in every place that I traveled to. Second, I was to share what I had learned on the farm with people along the way. Third, I was to establish a postal center, if one had not already been established, at every major settlement I came across. It was likely that I was not the first to embark on such amission. There could have been hundreds out there doing the same. I hoped there were.
    Construction began on a cabin that would serve as our post office. We called our settlement “Eden Valley.” That was how it would be known under the new postal service. We were far from having the capacity to deliver to each home individually, so instead, the cabin would be a central location where residents of the settlement could send or receive mail. That method helped to simplify the inevitable logistical