After the Fire

shared by Betty Kellen,

With the possible exception of color, now resembling char, the pile of sticks and logs appeared to be a pile of Tinker Toys haphazardly left behind by a child who lost interest.  Clearly the bulldozer who worked the scene had done its job quite thoroughly leaving behind nothing of value except that which could not be seen.

There were no visible reminders that anyone had ever inhabited the property, no personal effects or remains of life that had not been burned beyond recognition. 

The building next door shows signs of life  but as many in number were the signs of death and destruction.  There were  cars with ridiculously long drips frozen to their doors, the color  a dark grayish black like a tearstained face of a women who wears a ridiculous amount of mascara.  The roof littered with varying  sizes of semi-burned remnants of its elderly neighbor.  That building looked worse for the wear but lights were on and there was the business of living again taking place. 

The bystanders were gone and most had gone about their daily hustle and bustle as if nothing had happened. 

Being new to the area, I personally could feel emotion from the building in between.  My work building, two over from the fire, neighbors the one in between.  She almost looked sad this morning.  Despite the fact that the sun could now shine brighter on her, warming her massive brick structure, you could tell there was death felt inside too.  If a building could talk and feel, 100+ years of living with someone next door and the sudden, senseless pulling of the plug that only a fire can create, that emotion was palpable.

Coming down the stairs into my work building and back into my little life, with no sign of fire or smell of smoke, I began the task of going about my business. 

After making the coffee, I looked down and saw the trail of black my shoes had left on the carpet, a reminder of something that won’t soon be forgotten by me and certainly not by those that lived there or those that watched her go, a quick, painful kind of death. 

The ally and parking lot are littered still with charred “sticks” of the building and, apparently I didn’t wipe it away as well as I could have, maybe that’s what none of us should do.  Wiping it away too soon will make us forget, make us less cautious, make us take risks we shouldn’t take.  Maybe that little extra evidence of char on my shoes will make me appreciate even more the holiday time I just spent with my family, the days filled with too much food and too much stress, but also filled with love and a joy that can’t be replicated once the fire comes… once a destructive, out of control, element comes. 

Everyone stay warm, with the fire of the love of your family, and no other.  Appreciate the little things and the important people.  All the rest can just as easily be a pile of burned toys in your own backyard.

Carla Sweeney