When the World Ends

Cake

There were days, however, when she would make me forget what the world had come to. Those days are the ones that stand out the brightest in my mind.

   The most vivid memory I have with her is of one miserable, rainy Sunday morning. I had lost track of time, not caring what day it was, but she always insisted on carrying a mini planner with her, which had a calendar in it.

   She'd always been what her friends had called a "Birthday Guru". She'd had a bad memory, but she'd never forgotten a birthday that someone told her. And so, that Sunday, she'd woken me up and presented me with a gift.

   For the past nine days, she'd insisted we stay in the same house. I'd often asked her why, but she'd only told me that I would see, just not yet. It turned out that the house a few streets down had a working oven of some kind, and she'd gone out to scavenge cake mix and baking supplies. In the end, she'd managed to present me a small, lumpy cake with pink frosting on it. And, spelled out in a mixture of candies, was, simply, my name.

   That small, lumpy cake tasted like heaven--it was the best thing I'd ever had in a long time. The fact that she had risked us staying here just for that one cake had caused me to tear up. Her face beamed with pride. I want to believe that, at least that day, she was truly happy.

   And then, she brought out a small pocket knife with the letter K carved into its handle. She'd presented it to me with a, Happy birthday, Keane!

   I had cried. She'd put the knife in my lap and rested her head on my shoulder, and we'd sat there for awhile, just like that. I had realized then that this girl had become my whole world.

   Later, she'd stuck a match in the cake as a candle, one of our precious matches, and I'd blown it out and made my wish.

   I wish that the two of us could remain together like this, forever.

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That day, we played board games that she'd found in the closets of homes that still stood. Battleship, Monopoly, Apples to Apples, and any other games that she'd managed to find--we played every single one. My birthday went on for two days, as we played the games throughout the night. It was almost an obsession; by playing board games, card games, we could pretend that nothing had happened. Had the world really ended? It didn't seem that way.

   It was early morning when we'd both fallen asleep. We were curled up on the floor of the house, covered in ash and dirt and blankets, and I dreamed happily for the first time since the world had ended.

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She'd always loved cake. I remember when she would bring cake balls, cupcakes, and other baked goods to her friends at school. She loved to make it, but she couldn't possibly eat all of it. So she'd bring it to school to share.

   She had a sweet tooth even after the world ended. I'd realized that fairly quickly. If we found any kind of sugary junk food, her face would light up and she'd stuff it into our bags.

   Don't we need healthier foods to survive?

   I had asked her that in the early days, and she'd responded that we would take whatever we found. But every time I saw her face light up, it warmed my heart. So I would look for candy bars and boxes of cookies just for her--just so I could see her face light up once more.

   Over time, though, junk food became more and more difficult to find. But every once in a while, one of us would come across something, and she'd always split it with me, trying to give me the larger half. What she didn't know, though, was that I always made sure she ended up with it in the end.

   Soda was saved for special occasions. Water was prioritized. On that Sunday, we had been allowed our small stash of soda. I hadn't even though to save some for her birthday--I only now even know when it is, and it's only because of Mannie having told me that I do know now.

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I lived for the days in which I got to see her smile. The days in which the hurt in her eyes lessened, and in them, a small amount of hope would shine. Her eyes would seem to say, Maybe we will get through this after all.

   The hope would quickly be replaced by sadness, however. She missed the boy terribly, everyday. She once told me that she didn't understand why she was so attached to him, she just was. He was her favorite person.

   She used that to describe him and others.

She didn't have 'best friends', she had 'favorite people'. She told me that best friends involve both sides thinking the other as their best friend; her relationships with people were always one-sided. She had one best friend, a boy named Jack or Jake or something like that. She had three favorite people.

   But didn't you have two? I had asked her. Or are you counting your best friend?

   No, she had explained, I'm not counting him. There's Misa, there's Manuel, and now, Keane, there's you. My three favorite people.

   That had taken me aback, and I hadn't known what to say. But I know now what I should have said.

   I can't be your favorite person, Robin.

   I can't, because I'm in love with you.

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Now, when I look out at the gray ocean, I am thinking of her.

   And when I do, I swear that the wind carries the faint scent of the strawberry cake we ate that day.