[Day 207] Eugenia part 7

Read part 6 here!

Gruber was 31 when I met him, but his grizzled face made him look much older. Like me, he had escaped extermination at thirteen. I once asked him what his score had been, and he smiled sadly.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“159.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Dead serious. 159. One bloody point off of their standard. You’d think they’d let me retake the test or something.”

I stifled a giggle.

“I told you you’d laugh!”

We became what I called “honorary siblings.” Because my original family hadn’t exactly been close, or intimate the way a family should be, finding Gruber was exceptionally helpful. My emotional and survival needs were contented with the same man.

A lot of things were different in my new life. We managed to keep a semi-permanent home, near where old-world San Diego had been, but food was always a concern. The climate made it possible to have a semi-year-round garden, where we grew tomatoes, sweet corn, carrots, lettuce, and onions. We manually irrigated by walking a mile to the nearest small lake, mostly abandoned by modern society. For about three miles radius, we were completely alone, and that was fine with us. After all, we were fugitives.

But we couldn’t sustain ourselves completely on our small vegetable garden. One a month or so, we raided nearby grocery stores. We couldn’t hit the same ones each time, and occasionally we went further into the cities, so our raids were often exciting. Taking as little as possible was our goal, because drawing too much attention to ourselves wouldn’t do us any good. We mostly focused on getting beans, bread, cheese, dried meat, and the random carton of eggs as a treat.

Nothing was ever wasted. We were very careful to conserve our food reserves, and often one prepared meal could last us for a week. For my romantic, picaresque-framed mind, it was bliss. I was the righteous rouge, on the outs with society because of being different. Sometimes I’d describe my triumphant return to civilization to Gruber, incorporating, of course, several car chases, long-winded political speeches, a country-wide epiphany, and finally, the happy-ever-after.

Every time I came up with a new climax for the story, Gruber just chuckled and shook his head. “That’ll be the day, kid.”

Continued in part 8