Good things come in paper bags

When I finish scrubbing my hands, I take a moment to inspect my hair growth in the mirror.  Tiny fuzzy hairs surface along the once bald patches; like the kind you see on a baby duck.

"Looking good," Donna pipes with a smile as she walks towards the sink beside me.  We've just finished disinfecting the second floor infirmary.  Donna was right.  There have been no new visitors since the teacher passed the other day.

I take a deep breath and turn my right cheek towards the mirror, then my left.  The sunken black circles under my eyes have disappeared.  The porridge we've been eating has added a certain plumpness to my face.

I look younger, healthier; alive.

I use my fingers to draw my hair back up into a pony tail before turning to walk out of the bathroom.  Donna follows a few steps behind. 

The village is coming along nicely.  The generators and mill have been able to create a liveliness around town.  Despite all that's happened there seems to be a certain pep in the air; a sense of relief and pride.  The people here are happy to have a place to call home.

I suppose I would be too if it wasn't for the fact that I believe better things are waiting for all of us out West.  Most of my new friends and neighbors think I'm crazy.  To them I'm the town fool caught in a fantasy; but I don't care.

Eventually Donna catches up as we head outdoors where Jim is waiting for me with the car.  He stands there with a shovel and nods a 'hello' at both of us as we approach.

"What's that for?" Asks Donna pointing to the shovel with a confused look on her face.

"There's something I need to do," I say cryptically as I walk towards the passenger side door and slip into the car.  Jim puts the shovel in the back seat and slides into the drivers' seat.

"Well, don't take too long." Donna says as Jim starts the car, "We've found a projector in one of the houses so we're going to have a movie night against the wall of the hospital."

"We won't," I say.

A moment later we're driving down the road towards the inner toll station where the man on duty is half asleep at his chair.  A few moments after that we waive goodbye to the man now on duty for the outer station.  He stands there with a couple of friends gabbing away.

Everyone, including Jim, is certain that no one else is coming.

I look out the window unable to recognize the landscape.  The last time I drove through here, the haze had just begun to lift -- and so my visibility was skewed.  Now the fields no longer seem like flooded cesspools, but rather mulchant land that will one day birth new crops.

I look into the distance, through the breaks in the once ominous forests as we drive along. Jim hums a familiar song that I can't remember the name to. 

Sooner than I expect, we are at the side of the road where I left Annie. 

When I get out of the car, I look around and am marvelled to see how beautiful it is here.  The sky has yet to return to its familiar shade of blue, but there is promise dotted along the horizon as the sun streams through less toxic air.

"Do you want to stay in the car?" Jim asks.  I know he is trying to be considerate, but the thought of not laying Annie to rest disturbs me -- and, when he can read the agitation in my face he smiles and walks over to the edge of the road to see if he can find her. 

I take a deep breath, and try to prepare for what I might see.  My mind starts to whirl with thoughts of her being torn apart by wild animals -- but then I remember that none of us have seen any animals in quite some time.

I'm relieved to see her still lying there, wrapped in the plastic tarp and in one piece.

Jim finds a nice place by a rock off the side of the road; and so he begins to dig.  It doesn't take long since the earth is still water lodged, and I find it quite miraculous that Annie wasn't swallowed whole.  Part of me wonders if she's been patiently waiting for me this whole time, but I shake off the thought when it's time to put her to rest.

Jim carefully lifts her and places her in her new resting place.  We stand there for a while before covering her with Earth.  I pull a note out of my pocket and place it next to her head.  And, after saying a nice but short eulogy, I grab the shovel and begin to cover her body so that she will always be warm; always be safe, and always be remembered.  I tell Jim when we're done that I'd like to come back and carve something on the stone where she lays, so that people knew she existed -- that she mattered; that she was a good friend and sister.

He smiles and puts his arm around me and tells me that if I want, he will make a headstone for her.  That seems to agree with me, so I tell him that I would very much like that.

A moment later Jim shifts the car into gear and we drive away from the dilapidated forest near where Annie lays.  I make an effort to take in the landscape as we head back to town -- to enjoy it for Annie, and Mildred, and all those who aren't able to be with us today.

And even though I feel like a Paper Bag Princess walking naked and exposed through a ruinous world, I know that existing has no meaning if I'm not able to appreciate all that I do have.  A precious gift that both Annie and Mildred would very much like to be in possession of: life.

And so, because I have been bestowed with the honour of living, I take a deep breath and turn to Jim and smile; making the most of this moment we've been given.  Because life, as we are well aware, is precious and fleeting.  It's a gift that should be treasured; even if it does come in a damp and soiled paper bag with no label and very little direction.