Fire and Flame

I understand now why they describe something as being ‘engulfed’ in flame. There is very little in this life that can completely ‘engulf’. Fire and flame, they completely engulf. Nature, homes, lives, history, memories, all engulfed in flames.

We weren’t close enough to feel the heat. We just stood on the patio and watched the orange blaze carve its way down the hillside, consuming all in its path. Our road, car, roof, all so covered in ash that we could no longer distinguish it in the air. The most terrifying part was the noise. I was never aware of how powerful and threatening a blaze could sound. It is like sporadic and indiscriminate gunfire, ripping holes straight through lives. The startling pops and bangs carried on the wind as the inferno devoured the next obstacle in its path. The fire sucking the air out of the atmosphere to fuel its rampage and sucking the air out of our lungs to fuel our fear. Then, the anxious silence, while we waited to hear it claim its next casualty, choose its next path. Utterly powerless, all we could do was wordlessly watch the execution of our community, a victim of a firing squad that seems unquenchable.

“If that wind keeps blowing, it won’t be long before it’s travelling west towards us Martha, we need to pack up and leave.”

Dad’s stoic voice dragged us all back to the reality of our situation. My family had all just been stood around the garden, mesmerised by the view, like a family at Christmas hypnotised by the flickering in the hearth. The stupefaction and awe that this rolling wave of flames inspired had quickly turned itself into terror and a thick mucus in my throat. Mom turned to Davis and me, clasping each of us by a shoulder.

“Kids, it’s going to be okay. Get the suitcases that you take to Grandma’s and pack what you think you’ll need for the next week or two. Just the essentials”

I don’t remember either of us responding, I think we just glanced at each other, and went to do as we were told. The shock was beginning to set in, and we were acutely aware that our parents were just as incapable of answering our questions as we were of forming our fears into thoughts. Despite always being their children, the two of us weren’t ‘kids’ anymore, and I’m sure mom and dad were twice as panicked as we were by the thought of a life burnt to ashes.

One suitcase. One week, or two. There was just as much possibility that we could be back here in bed in a week, as we could be back here surveying the rubble of our childhood home.

Pack the essentials. What on earth was essential?

I frantically scanned my room. Still non the wiser, I took a second look, a little slower. A desk, cluttered with paper, a closet, vanity table, a bed, bedside table and a lamp. Well, clothes, I would need to be clothed. My closet door was only half closed due to the mass of hangers draped inside. Peeking through the gap was a medley of sweaters, dresses, tops, jeans, camisoles and cardigans. Why did someone need so many clothes? I can’t take them all. But what should I pack? Where would we stay? Would it be warm? Would I have to share a space with Davis, or even other people? This was impossible. I could feel my heartrate elevating, my head was starting to spin. I put my head in my hands and turned towards the bathroom. I will need a toothbrush, that’s non-negotiable. Ok then, lets start in the bathroom. Most of that was essential and easy to pack. I grabbed a washbag from under the sink and started to throw in toiletries. In went a toothbrush, toothpaste, moisturizer, lip balm, face wash, mascara, concealer, tablets, hair oil – obviously useless unless I pack shampoo and conditioner. The bag was full, so I guessed I was probably covered. I walked back into my bedroom.

“Kids, twenty minutes, and then we’re leaving!”

My stomach turned cold and sent a shiver of icy anxiety running up into the back of my throat. Twenty minutes to collect my entire nineteen years of life into a suitcase. My laptop on my desk, I grabbed that and the charger, throwing it into the bottom of my suitcase. I stopped to wonder if I should put it into my college backpack instead. I would never put my laptop in my suitcase on a plane. On a plane? As if fleeing the possible desolation of our entire home was similar to a two-week vacation in Cancun!

I walked over to the vanity and stared at my reflection. My eyes wide with fear and shoulders scrunched with tension.

“Pull yourself together. Just pack the essentials” I instructed my rigid reflection.

My eyes flicked to my jewelry chest on the side of my vanity mirror. Great Grandma’s necklace! I would never forgive myself if I left that. I took the necklace off the hook and put it around my neck. If I wore lots, then I wouldn’t use any space in my suitcase. It must have only taken me a minute or two to bedeck myself into some kind of Buddhist deity before I returned to the writing desk. Sentiment. I had to take grandma’s necklace because of its sentimental value. What else in this room do I value as irreplaceable? I began to riffle through desk draws, gathering whatever pictures I could find, old childhood journals and that tattered and abused copy of Alice and Wonderland that I quickly hid when Charlie came over.

My shoebox! I dove under my bed. Hiding underneath was a shoebox filled with childhood memorabilia. Removing the elastic and peering inside, there was my birth certificate, my first pair of socks, a small case of my baby teeth, and a lock of hair from my first haircut, all nestled amongst a variety of other junk. I threw it into the suitcase and grabbed some thick sweaters from my closet to pad around it. Unconsciously I had moved onto clothing and now there was no stopping me. I grabbed jeans, tops, shorts, the ball gown I had worn to prom that no longer fit around the chest. Frantically I spun around the room, my body trying to keep up with my panicked state of mind. My bed, I would need pajamas, maybe two pairs, would that be sufficient? Maybe I should…

“Two minutes, and then I want you both waiting by the car!” came a yell from halfway up the staircase.

Two minutes and I still had half a suitcase to fill. Oh underwear! I dragged open my lingerie draw so hurriedly that it came completely flying out, smashing the bottom edge into my shins and dropping onto the toes of my left foot. I released a cathartic roar of agony from my lower chest as I hopped about on the spot between the abandoned draw and my open suitcase. Dropping to my knees, I scooped handfuls of pants, socks and bras into my suitcase.

“Kids, car, now!”

My back straightened, my eyes bolted around the room, frantically praying that something important that I had surely missed would begin emitting a throbbing glow to awaken me to its presence. No throbbing glow, just the thumping of my heart in my ears. Without thinking I slammed the case shut and zipped it closed. Grabbing the handle of the case in one hand and in the other quickly snatching up my childhood stuffy ‘dogger’ from the bed, I fled my room.

I didn’t even look back. Why didn’t I look back?

Now, my mother, Davis and I sit on the two double beds of the deluxe suite in the Villa Rosa. Staring, but not really watching the ariel footage of the wildfire’s rampage. Dad is stood at the balcony door, transfixed by the incandescent orange blur radiating from Clifton Street. All that is left of our home sits here in 6 suitcases and three backpacks on the vomit inducing, 80’s inspired, orange and red swirled carpet. An old motel room frozen in time seems an ironic place for a freshly homeless family to try and move forward.

“I forgot my baseball glove” Davis’ voice jarring the silence as he turned to mom, eyes optimistically pleading that she had, by some miracle, packed his baseball glove.

“We’ll buy you a new glove. We all got out safe, that’s all the matters” comes her barely audible response from across the room.

“It was signed by Kirk Gibson”, but his voice was trailing off dejectedly as he realized the futility in his words.

Davis may have forgotten a baseball glove that he never played with, but I couldn’t even bring myself to open my suitcase. I had no desire to be confronted with the sight that the sum total of my life now amounted to a small stack of old photographs, a few sweaters, a beat up copy of Alice in Wonderland, a box of loose teeth, and the world’s smallest pair of socks. That in the instant that I had to weigh and measure the value of my worldly possessions, my first thought was moisturized, soft skin, and hair strengthening shampoo. I valued my entire life experience as less than the contents of a CVS.

Does that make me shallow? Or did the fact that I couldn’t possibly figure out how to put my life into tangible items simply imply that what I believed worthy was above meaningless, material objects?

It seems so pointless to attempt to apply reason and rationality to the serious of involuntary impulses that make up the last few hours. My brain is still a swirling fog that I can’t really comprehend. I’m sure that when we return to stand upon the ashes of our home, I will be able to visualize all the lost treasures that I loved and left to scorch. But right now, the wound is still seeping. The shame of my life fitting into a half-empty suitcase is miniscule in comparison to the grief that mom and dad silently swallow for the place where they made and raised a family, now raised to the ground. Our world as we know it, entirely engulfed in fire and flame.