The bedroom door swings open, light from the hallway streaming in. The cats, who have been lumped on top of me, scatter, eyes wide and tails at half mast.
“Sorry to wake you,” says hubs from the doorway. He was not tired when I succumbed to sleep an hour before, and is still fully dressed and alert. “They said we might need to evacuate, so I thought I should warn you. Just in case you wanted to be ready.”
I am still fumbling my way out of sleep, and this intrusion seems less like reality than like an extension of the dreams that have already begun to evaporate. Nodding, I push back the covers, the motion peeling away some of my exhaustion. My brain begins to buzz and wake. A chilly breeze crawls along my bare arms, further rousing me.
“Why?” I mumble. My voice is dry from disuse, and I pause to clear it. “What’s going on?”
“Fire. Come on. I’ll show you.”
Barefoot, I pad after him through the house and out the front door. We stand side-by-side on the smooth flagstone path and watch. The sky to the west is a billowing pink plume, the cliffs around us awash with shifting shades of rust and salmon. The fire is giant, and spreading. Above is an infinite black sky strewn with a million stars. All around, neighbors have wandered onto their porches or into the street to watch the drama unfold. It is surreal to be pulled from the peace that comes with sleep, only to witness destruction in the dark with near-strangers.
The fire is close, a few miles at most, but all we can smell are the dew-dampened grass and the rotting leaves of autumn. This is good news; the wind is not blowing the inferno in our direction. We retreat inside to plan, in case it shifts. Plans are good. They make us feel in control.
The cats are our first priority. This does not require agreement; it simply is. After that, the computer with my writing. Our photos, wallets, journals. A few other things we’ve accumulated over the years. That’s it. All else can burn if necessary — not easily, but without such heart-wrenching loss. I am stunned at how few essentials we possess, and absurdly proud.
Later, once all is gathered, I try to sleep. It is barely possible. My limbs hum with adrenaline, my mind races with thoughts. When sleep comes, I flit along just under its surface, waking often. The cats, oblivious to the drama, doze on through the night. Hubs leaves to investigate and does not return for hours.
This morning the flames are contained, and those who live near are wrecked from stress and adrenaline and lack of sleep. Things could change, but for now all seems safe.
There is a curious kind of joy, a buoyancy, that comes with escaping disaster. It weaves through the building where I work, joining and then overtaking the smell of stale smoke curling in through the vents and window cracks. Although I think longingly of the sleep that escaped me last night, some of the mania flows through my veins, too. And somehow the mixture feels just right.
So glad for the happy ending. Ever since my brother rather quickly left New Orleans after Katrina, we’ve had our own evacuation kit prepared. Sucks to have it, but that’s part of life, I guess.
Best wishes for a calm, boring weekend!
Glad you are okay.
How scary! That is one of my worst nightmares, to have to choose what to save. I’m so glad you and your home ended up out of harm’s way! (And as usual, very well written.)
As always, you described your experience beautifully, Caryn, but what frightening news to wake up to. I’m so glad all is well where you are… Is there a history of such fires in your region or is this one unusual?
Yikes! How scary 🙁 Glad your family is okay!!
Aarck! I hope all is contained and everyone – cats included – are safe.
I’m so glad that everything turned out well, and simultaneously gnashing my teeth in envy that you wrote such a beautiful piece. I think I’ll be looking at things a little differently today.
Good tidings that your home was spared.
Holy crap! Fires are not fun. We had a house fire THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS in ’96, which absolutely, well, SUCKED. Beautiful writing, though!
Thanks, Kath. That’s probably because I wrote the first half right after I tried to go to bed, while it was still fresh. I was still too keyed-up to do much else!
Robin, they do seem much calmer. I didn’t see any smoke at all today, although I’m sure things are still smoldering.
What a good idea, Pam! It did prompt us to sit down and have a serious discussion about which possessions are absolute essentials to be saved in a fire or other disaster.
Thanks, Melissa!
Liberal Banana, I’ve had nightmares like that, too! I’m glad that it didn’t come down to that, but I actually feel calmer knowing that we can do it if we need to. That’s probably the best result of the whole incident.
Marilyn, I just found out that there was one in that same area in July, while we were away visiting family (and at the RWA convention)! It was much smaller, though. One of my biggest fears is returning home after being away and finding out that our home has burned down — especially with the cats inside.
Thanks, Katie! Me too. 😀
Joanne, it seems to be much, much better today. As for the cats? Completely oblivious to their narrow escape.
Carrie, I think it was the exhaustion that made me wax poetic. 😉 When I showed it to hubs he said, “Well, it isn’t very funny…”
Thanks, Writtenwyrdd! We were quite relieved.