Are you thinking of me, like i’m thinking of you?
1988
The sun was still there, hanging in the air like an unforgiving eye, glaring down at the asphalt with a scorching, relentless heat. But Julianna didn't mind. The warmth felt like it had become part of her, soaked into the soft cotton of her little dress, the one with faded pink flowers and sleeves that kept slipping down her thin arms. Her legs swung lightly from the edge of the bench, the tips of her sneakers tapping the ground in a rhythmic, nervous staccato that matched the way her thoughts were skittering around inside her head. She wasn't sure why she couldn't be like the other kids—why she couldn't just run around the playground and talk in noisy circles with the other girls, why she had to sit quietly, forgotten and never included.
It wasn't that she didn't want to be like them. She did. But there was always this knot in her stomach that made it impossible to move past the distance she kept from everyone. Maybe they knew something she didn't, somehow. Maybe that's why they all ignored her.
Julianna pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly, clutching the frayed edges of her skirt. She liked the way the fabric scratched against her skin, like it gave her something real to hold onto. The sounds of the other kids faded away as they were picked up one by one. Their excited chatter, their laughter, their small, bright lives—they just disappeared, like smoke curling into the air.
She waited.
Her small watch, with its chipped pink plastic band, ticked loudly in the quiet of the afternoon. 3:47p.m. The parking lot was almost empty now, save for a few cars. And still, no sign of her Mother.
Julianna sighed. It wasn't unusual for her to be last. It wasn't unusual for her to sit there while the others drove away in their shiny cars, laughing and joking like they didn't have a care in the world. It was just—her routine. She was used to the waiting. After all, her Mother had her life, and Julianna was just a tiny part of it. She knew she wasn't the center of her universe.
The sun shifted, its harsh light giving way to the cool shadows stretching longer and longer across the pavement. The heat began to fade, replaced by the creeping chill of dusk. The air smelled like dust and car exhaust, the scent hanging thick in her nose as she hugged her knees tighter, the tops of her sneakers brushing against her legs. She watched the way the clouds bled into one another, turning from white to gray to a deep, bruised purple. The sky, so wide and infinite, always felt like it was too much for her, too much space, too much noise, too many things happening all at once.
It was quiet now, save for the occasional hum of a passing car. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the fading warmth of the day rest on her skin.
But then, as the minutes stretched into hours, the silence felt louder. The kind of silence that curled like wet paper against her mind, expanding, warping, seeping into every unguarded corner until even her thoughts felt waterlogged. Where was her mother? Why was it always like this?
Her thoughts tangled together, confusing and swirling around like a knot in a ball of yarn. Why wasn't she here? Why wasn't she at least on time? She always had an answer for everything, but it never felt like she really heard Julianna's questions, not the way she needed to be heard.
All the other children had left hours ago, including Jeff who had been driven to his friends house, their cars pulled away in the dimming light. She was still alone. And the darkening sky pressed closer, its cool fingers reaching down, touching the tips of her shoulders, her neck, her arms, creeping under the hem of her dress.
And then, finally, she saw the headlights. They cut through the gathering night like sharp knives, reflecting off the rain-speckled windows. The car rolled to a stop, just a little too close to the curb, its engine sputtering as it came to rest.
Julianna didn't move.
The car door opened with a metallic clunk, and she heard the unmistakable sound of her mother's voice drifting toward her. "You wouldn't believe it, Julianna," her mother said, the words sweet and syrupy, like honey dripping from a comb. "It's been so long since I've had a night like that." Her voice was light, almost playful, as if she'd had the best time of her life.
Julianna didn't say anything.
The passenger door swung open, and her mother slid into the front seat, the car rocking slightly as she settled in. "Sorry, honey," her mother continued, still sounding breathless. "Traffic. And then I just lost track of time. He was so charming."
Julianna knew. She didn't need to ask. She could hear it in her mother's voice—the way it sounded when she was distracted, when her mind wasn't really here. Her thoughts, her heart, were somewhere else, and Julianna, sitting in the dark, was an afterthought.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the engine hummed to life again, the car pulling away from the curb.
As they drove through the almost-empty streets, Julianna let her forehead rest against the cold, vaporised window. Her breath fogged up the glass as she stared out at the world, her small reflection fading in and out as the passing streetlights blinked on and off.
The radio played in the background, soft and faint, some station Julianna didn't recognize. She stared at the way the lights flickered across the pavement, the street lamps casting long, thin shadows across the sidewalks.
It was always like this, wasn't it? This sense of being here but not really being seen. The car was warm, the music was familiar, but Julianna couldn't ignore the feeling that she was alone in it, in everything.
Her mother kept talking, a steady stream of words about the man she'd been with—the date, the restaurant, how funny he was. Her voice was so bright, so alive, and it stung Julianna to hear it. She wanted to say something, but what could she say? The words felt too big. Too complicated. Too heavy for a nine-year-old.
Julianna stared at the windshield, watching the world blur by. There was a strange feeling in her chest. It wasn't sadness, not exactly. It was something else. It was that feeling of knowing that no matter how hard she tried, she would never quite fit, not with her mother, not with the other children at school, not anyone.
It was in moments like these that she wished her father were still here, because perhaps, if he were, her mother wouldn't have been so consumed with filling the empty space he left behind, and maybe, her mother would’ve remembered her. Maybe she would sacrifice slivers of her day, carve out moments that could have belonged to anyone else, but instead, give them away—just for her.
Her mother didn't stop talking. The radio played quietly, and the city passed by outside.
And Julianna sat in the backseat, her mind quietly fading away, lost somewhere between the sinking sun and the rising moon.
The sky churned above them, thick-bellied clouds rolling in like slow, lumbering beasts, their stomachs swollen with the promise of rain. The air had that tight, electric feel to it, the kind that creased their skin like an omen. It was only a matter of time before the storm broke open. But that wasn't what they were focused on.
"What do you mean there's no food?" Shauna's voice sliced through the thick, stagnant air, her arms flailing, frustration curling her words into something sharp and pointed. She looked wild-eyed and sleep-starved, her fingers twitching with restless energy. The hunger had been gnawing at all of them, but for Shauna, it had sharpened her into something even more volatile than usual.
Misty, unfazed, as always, tilted her head, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of her lips, like she was half-enjoying Shauna's impending spiral. "I mean there's no food, Shauna. As in, we ate it all." She dragged out the words like she was explaining something to a particularly dense child. "You know, calories, nutrients, things that keep us alive? Gone."
Shauna looked like she was about to rip Misty's head off.
Jackie, standing beside her, crossed her arms and scoffed. "God, Misty, do you ever just say things normally?"
Misty beamed. "Nope."
Julianna, perched on the edge of a toppled log, exhaled slowly through her nose, half-listening, half-zoning out, letting their voices fade into static. The hunger didn't bother her the way it did the others. It was there, sure, but it felt distant, like a dull ache she had already accepted. She could go without for now.
She had already been emptied by something worse.
Natalie stood a few feet away, arms folded, her gaze flickering between Shauna and Misty with mild exasperation. "Look, arguing isn't gonna magically make food appear." Her voice was even, but there was an edge to it—tight, tired. "We need to figure something out."
"What's there to figure out?" Jackie said, shivering slightly. "We're out of food. That's it. We're screwed."
Julianna glanced at her, noticing the way Jackie kept stealing little glances at Shauna when she thought no one was looking, the way her lips pressed together like she was swallowing something bitter.
Misty sighed dramatically, adjusting her glasses. "Well, unless any of you miraculously learn how to photosynthesize, I suggest we start walking before we get stuck out here in the rain." She gestured upward. "The sky's looking pretty ominous."
They all glanced up.
The clouds had thickened, deep gray and heavy, stretched across the sky like bruises forming beneath translucent epidermis. There was a deep, humid stillness to the air, like the world was holding its breath. The kind of silence that only ever came before the sky split open.
Natalie sighed, rubbing at her temple. "She's right. We should move. Find shelter before it gets worse."
Javi, who had been quiet this whole time, nodded. "Yeah. I don't think we wanna be stuck out in the open when it starts." His voice was softer, thoughtful, the kind of voice that wasn't quite made for arguments.
Julianna looked at him, at the way his hair had started to curl slightly in the humidity, at the exhaustion under his eyes. She thought of the bracelet on her wrist—the one he had given her, his way of saying ‘thank you’ for being the only person left who felt like family. She turned it over between her fingers absentmindedly.
Natalie shifted beside her, close enough that Julianna could feel the warmth of her arm, the heat of her body even in the cool, condensing air. It was comforting, in a way she didn't want to name.
"Alright," Lottie said, stretching her arms, trying to shake off the tension that had wrapped itself around them all. "Let's go before we get actually screwed."
The branches above them twisted together, skeletal and reaching, their spindly fingers knitting into a canopy that swallowed most of the light, casting the group in shifting shades of dim green and gray.
The dirt beneath their feet was damp and uneven, soft in places where the undergrowth had begun to reclaim it. Their footsteps—crunching leaves, snapping twigs—were the only sounds beyond Misty's relentless stream of conversation.
"Did you guys know that, like, eighty percent of the world's chocolate supply comes from just two countries?" Misty said, practically bouncing as she walked, unfazed by the exhaustion dragging at the rest of them. "Which really makes you think about, you know, economic monopolies and food distribution, especially in a post-apocalyptic setting where—"
Jackie groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it looked like it physically pained her. "Misty, if you say one more word about food right now, I swear to God—"
"Oh, but it's relevant!" Misty protested, grinning. "We were just talking about food, or, well—our complete and utter lack of it, which, by the way, totally isn't my fault, because I did warn you guys about rationing but did anyone listen to—"
"I hate you," Shauna muttered.
Lottie sighed, adjusting her backpack straps. "Let's not do this."
Misty ignored all of them and kept talking.
Julianna let their voices blur into background noise, her focus drifting. She wasn't really here—not entirely. The world around her felt distant, blurred at the edges, like a painting left out in the rain, the colors bleeding together, losing their definition.
She walked with her head down, fingers ghosting over the necklace Natalie had given her, rubbing circles over the worn, flimsy metal. It was strange, feeling something that wasn't hers yet having no desire to take it off.
Eventually, she, Javi, and Natalie naturally fell behind the rest of the group, their steps slowing as the trees thickened, swallowing the others ahead of them.
After a while, Natalie sighed, reaching into the front pocket of her backpack and pulling something out.
"Found these in Jeff's bag," she said, holding them up.
Julianna blinked at the sight of them.
Chocolate Pop-Tarts.
The foil packaging was slightly crumpled, but the expiration date was still months away. It was a ridiculous thing to be looking at, absurdly normal against the backdrop of their bloodstained, starving reality.
Javi's eyes widened slightly. "No way."
Natalie smirked, shaking the package. "Yeah. And before you ask—there were only two left, so unless we wanna start a very messy fight over who gets them, I say we keep this between us."
Julianna huffed a quiet, amused breath, the closest thing to a laugh she'd made in a while.
Javi, clearly not one for hesitating when it came to food, grabbed one the second Natalie handed it to him. He ripped it open, shoving a bite into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in weeks—which, to be fair, he practically hadn't.
Natalie rolled her eyes fondly but turned to Julianna, holding out the second one.
Julianna looked at the Pop-Tart. Then at Natalie. Then back at the Pop-Tart.
Something about it felt too much. Too generous.
She hesitated, then took it, but instead of eating it, she split it cleanly in half, breaking it with the precision of someone who needed things to be even, fair, balanced.
Typically, she would perform actions like this so she could fade further into the soft murk of her own disregard, a slow dance with the emptiness she had come to know too well. But this? This was something different. It wasn’t the murmur of abandoning herself; it was the strange pulse of offering her hands to catch someone else’s fall, a motion that wove her together in corners she never thought needed mending.
She handed the other half back to Natalie without looking at her, just holding it out.
Natalie frowned. "Jules—"
"Just take it."
Natalie didn't argue this time.
She did, however, look at her in that way that made Julianna feel like she was being studied, like Natalie was trying to read something between the lines of her actions, something unspoken, something not meant to be seen.
Julianna ignored it.
She bit into the Pop-Tart, the taste of stale, slightly melted chocolate and artificial pastry hitting her tongue.
It was the best thing she'd eaten in weeks.