Hunger and Hope
I woke to the pains of an empty stomach, an ache that felt like it might consume me from the inside out. There was a bit of light coming in from the van window, so I knew it was morning. Max was still asleep, curled up at my feet. His quiet breath was the only sound breaking the lonely silence. Hunger had a way of sharpening reality, stripping away the layers until all that was left was the basic need to survive.
 |
| Way nicer then the "bed" I slept in. |
It had been about a week since I met my new friends on the beach. I ran out of money maybe three days ago. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. The reality that I was on my own really set in.
Max lifted his head, sensing my unease, his eyes mirroring the worry I felt. "We'll figure it out," I whispered to him but in reality, I think I was speaking to myself. Unfortunately, it was a promise I wasn't sure I could keep.
As the hunger clawed at my insides, it was the memory that truly consumed me. I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was eight years old again.
The kitchen was barely lit. We only had one bulb in the kitchen at that time. It hung from the ceiling without any cover. It flickered occasionally and cast shadows across the old worn wallpaper. The air was thick with the stale scent of cigarette smoke, and dirty dishes sitting in the backed-up sink. Outside, rain tapped against the window, I used to love watching the rain drip down a glass.
I sat cross-legged on the fake tile floor. I’d traced the patterns with my dirty fingertip, my stomach rumbling louder than the rain outside. The refrigerator was closed tightly. I once forgot to close it and my father struck me with a belt so bad I had to stay home from school for a week. I’ll never make that mistake again.
 |
| Not actually me but an AI rendering |
"Mom?" I called out tentatively, my voice barely above a whisper.
No response came from the living room. I don’t know why I called out. She was there, passed out on the couch. She was "sleeping" again, lost in her own world that kept her distant even though she was right beside me. The TV flickered with a news broadcast, casting light over her still form.
I hadn’t seen my father in over a week—not that it mattered. His presence was like a storm. He’d come in yelling and stumbling, punching anything close. Then he’d be gone again. But at least he’d buy some food. When the cupboards were as bare as they were now I’d be happy to see him.
The door swung open suddenly. I scrambled to my feet, hope flaring briefly. Then Jake stepped inside, soaked head to toe in nothing but ripped jeans and an old hoodie.
"You're soaked," I whispered. But I didn’t care. Having him home brought joy to my heart. He didn’t seem to care either.
I remember he was shaking, his lips a bit blue from the cold. "Just a little rain," he said lightly, but his eyes held a seriousness that belied his tone.
After I finally let him go from the hug he slipped into the kitchen. He slipped off his old backpack and put it on the counter. He used to carry that thing everywhere. It seemed it was always full of everything but the books and homework he should have had in it. "Come here," he called. I’m not sure why, he should have known I’d be right behind him like a little puppy.
I moved to peek inside his bag as he unzipped it. From inside, he began to pull out what was more valuable than gold. A handful of wild berries glistening, still wet from the rain, mushrooms, even though I hated them, looked delicious, and bunches of dandelion greens still speckled with rain.
My eyes widened. "Where did you get all this?"
He winked, his big blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "The forest behind old Miller's place. You'd be surprised what grows when no one's paying attention."
"But isn't that trespassing?" I asked, a mix of awe and worry.
Jake shrugged. "Miller hasn't been around for years. Besides, the forest doesn't belong to anyone." He paused, his expression softening. "We have to eat, Andy."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Thank you," I said wrapping my arms around him again.
He reached out and ruffled my hair. "Always looking out for you, kiddo."
We set to work cleaning the foraged food. The faucet sputtered out something brown before a stream of clean, cold water finally flowed. We rinsed the berries and dandelions in some cleanish Tupperware sitting by the sink. The mushrooms required a bit more care, and Jake showed me how to gently clean them without soaking them.
As we worked, the kitchen seemed to come alive. The damp chill was replaced by a warm camaraderie, the sounds of our quiet laughter filling the space. We arranged our feast right on the kitchen table that probably hadn’t been wiped down in a month.
Sitting at the table together, we ate. I consumed everything I could as fast as I could. Jake took his time, acting like he wasn’t hungry but I knew he hadn’t eaten for longer than I had. The berries were sweet and delicious. The dandelions were slightly bitter but I ate them gladly, and the mushrooms had a hearty, earthy taste that made me want to spit them out. Out of pure hunger I ate them.
"One day," Jake began speaking between bites, "we'll have a place, just the two of us. Somewhere sunny, with a big garden. We'll grow everything we need—tomatoes, strawberries, maybe even a peach tree."
I smiled at the thought. "And a dog," I added. "A big one that can run around the yard."
He chuckled. "Sure, why not? Anything's possible."
The storm outside began to pass, the steady drumming of rain easing into a gentle patter. I leaned my head against Jake, and he hugged me close. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.
"Promise we'll get there?" I whispered.
He pulled me in even tighter. "I promise," he said confidently. "No matter what, we'll find our way out of here."
He was still wet and cold but it didn’t matter. For a moment, the weight of our lives felt lighter. In that small kitchen, with the remnants of our meal spread before us, I felt safe.
Back in the present, I felt a spark of determination ignite within me. Jake had always found a way, always kept us going when everything else fell apart. If he could do it then, maybe I could now.
I looked down at Max, his big brown eyes staring back at me. "Want to go on an adventure?" I said, trying to sound joyful for his sake. Or maybe mine. His tail thumped in response.
Pulling on my old boots, I stepped out of the van. I remember it felt like the cold air was biting at my cheeks. Fortunately, I parked right outside a forest. A tapestry of greens and browns stretching as far as I could see. It was both daunting and inviting, a wild unknown that held the promise of sustenance.
"Come on, boy," I called, and together we went into the trees, the darkness enveloped us as we stepped beneath the canopy.
When we stepped into the forest it felt like crossing into another world. The air was cold and a bit damp. There was a strong scent of earth with a touch of sweetness from wildflowers. A bit of sunlight would reach the forest floor through openings in the canopy above. The light danced as the leaves swayed in the wind. You could hear the quiet rustle of the forest with the distant call of a songbird, creating the song of the earth.
Max would run ahead, his tail wagging enthusiastically as he explored. The he’d frequently pause and smell the ground as he investigated some intriguing scent, then look back at me as if to say, "Hurry up! There's so much to see!"
I couldn't help but find joy in his excitement. It was infectious, helping me forget about the hunger that was growling inside. A sense of calm began to envelop me. The forest was alive, and while there, I felt a flicker of hope.
As we ventured deeper in the forest, the trees looked like ancient guardians, their bark rough on my hands as I reached out for them. The sunlight illuminated patches of vibrant moss that carpeted the ground beneath my feet. Ferns unfurled all around me, swaying gently in the breeze.
I looked around for any signs of food. At first, I couldn’t make out anything. Everything blended in a sea of green and brown. It seemed impossible to find anything edible. Doubt whispered in my mind, but I pushed it aside. "Focus," I told myself. "Remember what Jake taught you."
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the clean air the trees provided. Memories of Jake flooded in. His patient voice teaching me the names of plants, his hands showing me how to distinguish between what's safe and what's not.
"Leaves of three, let it be," he'd say with a stern look on his face, pointing at poison ivy. "But this here," he would continue, grabbing a cluster of berries, "these are safe. See the difference?"
Opening my eyes, I looked around more closely. Just a few feet away, I saw a shrub dotted with red berries. Kneeling, I examined them closely.
"Wild berries," I breathed, excitement bubbling up. I was never sure of the difference between these, and the raspberries bought at a store but Jake always called these wild berries. I plucked a handful and held them up to the light. Memories of Jake and me staining our fingers red came rushing back. Popping a handful into my mouth, the burst of sweetness was a rejuvenation. It wasn't just food; it was life, happiness, hope.
"Max, look!" I called out. He ran over, sniffing at the handful of berries I held out in front of him. I opened my hand, and he gobbled them up, licking his chops. He jumped up on me. He was as excited as I was.
Feeling renewed by this small victory, we pressed on. The canopy above opened. I found patches of wild strawberries nestled in some thorns, their tiny red jewels peeking out from beneath heart-shaped leaves. Further along, clusters of blackberries clung to thorny brambles, their dark surfaces gleaming like onyx in the sunlight.
As I gathered and ate the berries, I was filled with a joy I hadn't felt in ages. It was as if each discovery was a whispered affirmation from God: "You're on the right path."
Max chased after a squirrel, and his playfulness made me laugh out loud. The sound echoed softly back to me, mingling with the rustling leaves. For a brief moment, I forgot about the hunger, the uncertainty, and my past. There was only the gentle hum of the forest, and the simple pleasure of life.
We came out the other end of the forest where the ground was dotted with bright yellow flowers. I recognized them immediately—dandelions swaying gently in the breeze. Most people saw them as weeds, but Jake taught me better.
"Every part of the dandelion is useful," he'd explained once, plucking one from the ground. "The leaves, the roots, even the flowers. You just have to know what to do with them."
I began collecting the tender young leaves, their slightly bitter taste a perfect complement to the sweet berries. Max sniffed at the flowers, sneezing adorably when the fluff tickled his nose. I laughed again, the sound freer this time.
Spotting a fallen log, I noticed clusters of mushrooms sprouting along its decaying length. I knelt down and examined them carefully. They had smooth white caps and thick stems, with gills running down the underside (as I was later taught, that's what they were called).
"Oyster mushrooms," I said out loud to apparently no one. I recalled Jake's lessons. "These are safe."
I carefully harvested as many as I could find. At this point I had almost filled my book bag. I knew I was in for a feast later.
As we made our way back, the weight of the book bag was heavy. A comforting reminder of what we'd accomplished. The sun was setting at this point, casting its warming rays over me and everything I could see. The forest glowed from its rays, and I felt a connection to nature for the first time in my life. A sense of belonging, a feeling that I hadn't experienced in a long time.
Back at the van, I spread out everything I had found. The sight filled me with pride. "We did it, Max," I said, grinning from ear to ear. He wagged his tail, tongue hanging out of his mouth, eyes bright.
I set up my small camping stove and began prepping the meal. I put the mushrooms in the pan as I listened to them sizzle, releasing a rich, earthy aroma. I remembered when I was a kid I used to hate mushrooms. Now I loved them. I ate the berries raw as the mushrooms cooked.
As Max and I ate, the flavors burst in my mouth with every bite. It was a symphony of sweetness, and a hint of bitterness that balanced perfectly. It was the best meal I'd had in a long time. Which, looking back is a bit sad to call it a meal. But it was delicious. I filled my stomach and ate until I thought I’d pop. Max ate every bite he could too. Licking up every crumb that hit the floor.
Sitting there with Max, a sense of pride filled my soul. The fear and uncertainty that I had since I left home faded away. It was replaced with confidence that the world was in front of me. Any challenge I faced I could handle. It was like Jake prepared me for this trip since we were little.
I gazed out the window at the forest, now getting darker as the sun set. The darkness no longer seemed ominous. Instead, it was a gentle reminder of the cycles of nature—the flow of light and dark, of hardship and triumph that I think all life feels.
"Thank you," I whispered to a God I didn’t know. Or perhaps it was to Jake, or possibly to nature itself. The quiet stillness of the forest was perhaps an answer.
That night, as I settled in for the night with Max curled up beside me, I felt the spark of optimism growing within. The road ahead was still unknown, but for the first time, I wasn’t scared. I had a newfound strength. Almost like I unlocked a new skill from the memories of my childhood.
"Tomorrow is a new day," I mumbled as I stroked Max's fur. His steady breathing was comforting and lulled me to sleep.
Closing my eyes, I knew challenges would come, but I also knew I had everything I needed to conquer them.
And as I drifted off, a final thought brought a soft smile to my face: wherever Jake was, I couldn’t wait to tell him about this triumph, this small victory that connected us despite not knowing where he was.
A question lingered, one I’d avoided ever since I set out on this journey: what if the answers I sought weren't scattered across new horizons but buried in the remnants of where it all began? The old house, with its creaking floors and shadowed corners, held stories I hadn't yet faced. Perhaps returning there was the next step—a chance to confront the echoes of the past that continued to ripple through my present. Max nudged my hand gently, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "Maybe it's time to go home," I whispered, the words tasting both bittersweet and necessary.
Comments
Post a Comment