Uncovered Hope

Shayla peeled back the charred cover of the book she had been reading--yesterday. It had been no more than twelve hours ago that she had last touched these pages. Now they were black, brittle, and scented with smoke. No resemblance of the magical world she had been living in through its crafted prose remained. It had all gone up in flames.

Tears welled in her eyes. Everything around her was cracked and broken--the table and chairs she sat in for dinner, the fold-out couch she lounged in to read, even her computer. Every key had melted into a puddle. Nothing was recoverable and nothing was spared.

Only what was in her car had made it through. She had not been allowed to go home to get anything after work. All the roads to her neighborhood were closed. Evacuations by the police and firefighters had begun midday and so she had left with the clothes on her back, her lunch box of food, the emergency bag that lived in her trunk, and the camera she kept in the backseat. Everything else was gone.

Shayla clung to the camera now. It was the only she had left besides her phone that had meaning. But she was not the only one to suffer a loss. Both of her neighbors had lost their homes. One had lost a car, the other their garage full of artwork--which had been their livelihood.

So much gone, she mused. Thank God, no lives had been lost.

It truly was a miracle that not even one pet was caught in the blaze, but that could not be said for the wildlife. That tally would be added to the list of destroyed belonging and damage claims to be made in the coming weeks and months. But the process of rebuilding would take even longer--maybe even years. She might have to move back home until she could get herself reestablished. But she could not think about that now.

Another tear slipped down her cheek as she photographed the seared pages of the book. Pain, sorrow, and defeat--that was what the image conveyed. She took a shot of the smoke-streaked floor the book lay on. There was no trace of the rug she had purchased last month, her favorite pillow, or the glowworm nightlight she kept plugged in on the far wall. Now there was no wall.

Shayla stood to survey the rolling hills of the California valley. Gray clouds and smoldering ash painted everything with a coat of gloom. From here, it look as if nothing had escaped the ravenous flames. She snapped a picture of the aftermath and then her demolished house.

Where do I even start? she wondered.

There was too much that needed to be done, too much debris that had once been full of memory. It overwhelmed her to even consider starting all over. The mantra of "one piece at a time" seemed both relevant and disheartening. So, she brushed away the tears and took another photo. Documentation, she thought, there had to be some documentation.

After trudging through what had been her living room and kitchen, Shayla stepped over the remains of her back door. The lawn chair she hung out on in the late afternoons had melted into a blob of goo. Beside it was her wrought iron side table. She kicked it over with scream then crouched on the ground with folded arms.

Why had this happened? Why?

She brushed aside tears as a small patch of green caught her attention. It peaked out from where the table had been tipped over.

Shayla leaned toward it. Grass. It was just a patch of grass. She folded her arms and looked away.

Then she glanced back.

It was grass--and it was still alive.

She hunkered down next to the small tuft and touched the singed ends. Like a lit candle in a dark room, the plant was a sign that something had survived.

She pulled her camera around front and snapped a few pictures. Hope amidst the desolation, she thought as she stood. We could all use some of that today.

She scanned the tar-colored ground. It seemed hopeless that something else had survived, but if one thing could make it through surely something else could. Maybe instead of just documenting the damage she could create a collage of hope. If she could find other instances of tenacious defiance against the odds, perhaps she could show not just the destruction in her photographs, but the resilience of the place and people that lived here. Instead of the depressing facts that led outsiders to pity, she could show the determination they would all need to move on and continue against the opposition.

She stepped across the blackened ground, her eyes beginning to clear as she searched for growth and hope--images that could encourage instead of discourage. They had be out there.

Her neighbor approached her from across his demolished fence with a solemn face. He wiped sweat from his brow then held out a water bottle.

Shayla took the precious gift with a nod. No words came. Even though she wanted to find and offer hope, it was hard. So much had been lost and she could see it in his worn face. The flames had aged him even though he had been miles away when they struck.

Tears threatened to fall as Shayla took a sip of water. She thanked him with a weak smile. Julio seemed to understand, for with a nod he trudged away in silence.

After recapping the bottle, Shayla pulled out her camera. The picture of the grass was vivid with everything blackened but that one spot of green. It was like her life right now. Her and her neighbor had been hit by a wave of darkness, but they were still alive. They could grow past this and stand tall like the grass. It would just take time and a bit of hopeful persistence.

She took another sip of water. Hope, she thought as she swung her camera around front. She would look for signs of hope to photograph and she would start with the images of those that had made it through and still stood upright.