Ash Out

“Why, God?”  I mutter.  I breathe heavily, trying to keep from sobbing. My face mask pushed hot air back at me, making me feel lightheaded.  I whipped the thing off my face, despite the smokey air surrounding me.  I close my car door, and walk up onto the sidewalk. 

It used to stand right there. It was right there, with that big green tree and all of the green plants that my mom tried so hard to make beautiful. Where we had movie nights on mom’s bed and deep conversations on the back porch.  Where we had coffee in that beautiful little kitchen that glowed with the morning light.  

An image shoved itself into my mind, and I couldn’t stop myself from seeing how the flames licked the kitchen.  How they climbed over my bed, and into my brother’s room.  How they bit into all of my mom’s books… all of her house plants. 

My eyes slowly moved over the aftermath.  The great tree wasn’t completely gone, in fact it looked somewhat alright despite being a little wilted from not being watered for three weeks.  Yet only five feet from it stood the heaping mess of twisted iron, melted glass, and piles of disgusting, white ash. I turned around, glancing at our neighbor’s house across the street.  It was completely untouched, looking as pristine as it usually does. The fire was so hot it melted the glass on my mom’s table, and yet it wasn’t bothered to burn the next house or even the tree five feet from it.

“The fire was alive.”  People had said.  “It chooses which house survives.” Even the firefighters said it wasn’t a normal fire, that they had never seen anything like it. The fire was so wild it even created a phenomenon that experts called a “Firenado”.  Which is exactly what you would expect it to be… A fire tornado. 

Over a thousand houses burned, and ours was one of them.  

I walked into what used to be the driveway, watching where I stepped.  My mom would kill me if she knew I got close, but how could I not?  I step as close as I can, avoiding any melted glass or strange sharp object.  Nothing looks recognizable.  Not even a frying pan.  

Tears come to my eyes as another thought comes into my mind, the one I’ve been pushing back these past horrible two weeks.  

“Toby?” I cry quietly.  Then a little louder I call “Toby?!”  The tears start to come down my cheeks like a waterfall.  “Toby?!” I cry even louder, looking around slowly.  I take to the street and call again and again for my little orange friend.  I walk past our neighbors home, his once cute 1967 mustang melted into something unrecognizable.  I ignore the apocalyptic scene, my mind growing into a frantic haze of emotions. “TOBY!” I scream. 

“Are you alright, Hun?”  A woman calls, and I look up and notice a family going through the remains of their own home.  

“Have you seen a cat around here?” I ask, my voice shaking.  She looks at me, her eyebrows creasing and mouth tightening.  She shakes her head, “We’ve only been here for a few hours, but we haven’t seen anything.” She walks up to me.  “What’s its name?”  

“Toby.” I gasp, wiping the tears from my face, trying to keep from sobbing. “He is an orange tabby.” 

She nods, pulling out her cell phone.  “And what’s your name?”  She asks sweetly. 

“I’m Ashlynn, I lived over in that house, just a couple houses over.” I say pointing to the mess that was my home. 

She nods looking over to where I pointed, then looks back at me.  “We will be going through our place in the next few days, could you give me your number so that I can call you if I see him?”  

I nod and give her my number, fumbling over the numbers as I try to escape my brain fog.  “I’m sorry about your home.” I say as she enters the last numbers. 

She looks over her shoulder at the ashes.  “We’ve been here for over twenty-five years.” Then she looks back at me.  “It doesn’t seem like there is much that survived, but we still plan on rebuilding.”  She gives me a sad smile.  “I hope you find your cat.” 

I nod, and she turns away.  

I don’t know what to do after that.  I wanted to keep calling, keep searching.  But I found myself heading back to my car, my brain buzzing with sadness and confusion.  Once I came to it I leaned against it, staring out at the dozens of burnt piles that led to the red and grey horizon. 

  “Why, God?” I asked again.  

A gentle breeze lifted a pile of soot into the air. I watched it fly over my head, leading me to a patch of blue sky.  My eyes widened.  It had been a long two weeks of not seeing the blue sky.  Two weeks of being in an apocalyptic hell, where everyone wore face masks to keep the smoke from damaging their lungs.  A hell where you couldn’t go to Starbucks or McDonalds or any place really, because the entire city was evacuated. A hell where the whole valley has this terrible hue of red and orange color to it, as if someone slapped on an “Armageddon” filter on Shasta County.

I breathed in deep, not caring about the smoke filling my lungs.  A spark of anger started to fill me, but in that instant another image forced itself into my mind.  

I remember the handmade “Thank You Firefighters” posters that covered every stop sign, every fence. 

Another thought came to mind, about the restaurants that handed out free food to refugees.  And what about the churches that gave money to the fire victims. The hundreds of people who saved and housed pets without homes. Schools and churches that housed and fed refugees.  Even all the firefighters that came from literally everywhere, even Australia. And the most important of all- family and friends that were there for me, my brother, and my mom.

I look back over at my neighbors as they ash out their home.  Her words “We plan on rebuilding.” Rang in my ear. 

I close my eyes tight, then look back up at the blue patch in the sky, noticing that it was starting to get bigger.  

“It’s okay, God.” I say quietly.  “I know it’s going to be okay.”