We Survivors [Published Version]

8: Taken From Us | Nadia

After twenty minutes—enough time to pick up some fire starter and bugspray from a sporting goods store and ibuprofen from the pharmacy—I was ready to be done with the mall. Zara swiped some lipstick from a makeup store, then we wandered around, but I couldn't find anything else that I wanted. Just like old times.

It was like old times, except we had to use our flashlights to see anything in the darkened stores and there was nowhere to stop for a pretzel. Finally, Zara gave up on letting me lead the way and pulled me into a shoe store.

After a few minutes spent pulling lids off boxes and rifling through tissue paper, she handed me a pair of thigh-high boots. "No thanks," I said. "I like these clothes."

Zara looked me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time, and laughed. "Quite the outfit for the end of the world," she said. "I think someone watched a few too many Mad Max movies."

I shrugged and shoved my hands into the pockets of my brown bomber jacket. I'd found it in a leather goods store a few months before. I'd left $300 on the counter for it, though it would never reach the long-dead owner, though my dollar bills were worthless by that point. My attitude towards "shopping" was very different from Zara's.

I watched as she threw boxes aside, stacking others neatly in her "to try on" pile. As she squealed over a designer pair with red soles I said quietly, "I don't like making a mess like this."

Zara looked at me, clutching a four-inch stiletto. She gently laid it back in the tissue-lined box.

"Oh Nod," she said, giving me a nickname and resting a hand on my shoulder. I'd never had a nickname before and found I didn't mind it. She sat on the mirrored bench across from mine and swiped on a new coat of lipstick.

"Look, I know what you're thinking."

My head shook "no", just a little.

"Part of you wants to believe that someday the owner of this shop, and all the employees, will come back. You want to believe that if we leave things the same it will all go back to normal."

I stared at her. We'd only just met; how could she know how I felt?

Her eyes were steely now. "But they're gone, Nadia. No one is coming back."

She blotted her freshly-red lips on a tissue, then folded it neatly and slid it into her bag.

"We've had a lot of things taken from us." She squeezed my hand once. "We can't do normal things people our age did—like concerts or prom or football games. Can't even raise hell with our parents."

Zara straightened, standing in front of me. "So," she said. "If we have a chance to do something fun that we couldn't have done before the end of the world—like an unlimited shopping spree—we should take it."

I considered this for a moment, then quoted, "'Though this be madness, yet there is method in it'."

"You're such a nut." She hugged me tightly, laughing.

"Does it have to be shoes?"

"You mean you'd rather have those,"—she pointed at my dingy combat boots—"than these gorgeous Jimmy Choos?" She offered me a pair of jeweled pumps from her pile.

I shrugged. "I guess I like practicality." And for things to stay the same. "I do like your necklace, though."

Zara's smile fell and her hand reached, first to cover the silver yin-yang pendant, then to hold it out to me. "Someone... special gave it to me."

Her voice was flat, and I felt sorry I'd brought it up, pressing into an old wound. "Sorry—I should've known. Most of our stuff now..." I trailed off, then forced a laugh. "That's why your 'shopping sprees' are fun, right? No emotional attachment."

"It doesn't have to be a shopping spree, but you should do something fun," Zara said, her eyes sparkling again. "We could rob a bank! Or a jewelry store. Get some fresh bling? Or I could give you a tattoo!"

"Have you done one before?" I asked, biting my lip.

"Nope!" She grinned.

"Definitely not that then..."

"What do you want to do? The world—what's left of it—is your pearl."

"I'm pretty sure it's 'the world is your oyster'."

Zara wrinkled her nose. "Oysters are nasty, slimy things. I'd rather have a pearl. What do you want your pearl to be?"

"There is one thing." A small, safe step toward Zara's way of thinking.

She rubbed her hands together. "What?"

"I'd let you dye my hair. I've never done it before."

I'd asked my parents once if I could dye my hair blue. They'd said no, and I'd never mustered the courage to bring it up again. Funny, all the stupid little things I used to fear.

"Really? Ah, you like my pink streaks, do you?" She tossed her curls and winked.

"Yes, but not pink." I said. "And only the tips. That way we can cut them off if I don't like it." Although I wasn't sure I wanted Zara cutting my hair either.

"You being blonde will make it easy. Let's find some dye." Zara slipped on the sparkly Jimmy Choos I'd rejected. "But I'm wearing these, and I don't care what you say about it!"

She hefted her shopping bag and slung her usual shoes of choice, deep red Doc Martens, over her back by their knotted laces. Together we walked off in search of a hair salon.