Memory Burn

Now she speaks of the day with ease. Brushing it off as something that must have happened to everyone. She makes it seem as thought it’s not a big deal, so that she can try to lessen the fact that it was a big deal. Worse things have happened to others. So she tries to laugh… to forget.

But moving on isn’t about forgetting.

So, there she was, just a’walking down the street…  She strolled home around midnight, with one of her new housemates and a guest that was staying on the couch for a few days. They’d just seen a movie, and picked up some beer to chill with and hang out once they got back. She’d just moved in a week and a half ago. She hadn’t expected to live there long, and hadn’t even unpacked everything. In fact, she had to move again by the end of the month since a different housemate had turned out to be allergic to her cats. But that night it didn’t matter.

Then they turned a corner, onto their street.

The flashing lights concerned them immediately. Does that look like it’s near our place? It looks like it’s near our house. But we’re a few blocks away so maybe not. Ask that lady.

Yes, it’s that wooden house in behind the other Victorian looking blue one.

Their pace quickened along with her heart rate.

And then there they were. The firetrucks. The stench. The holes in the roof and the walls. The fireman shoveling ashes/foam out of her bedroom window. The fire was long put out.

The cats. I have two. Did you see any cats? One of them ran out the door when we kicked it in. What did it look like? What about the other one? No. Can I go in? No. What happened? We don’t really know. Neighbours heard a loud explosion.

Phone calls. Crying. The Red Cross comes to try to help. She’s sitting on the curb and hears the lady speaking but can’t physically speak or process what she is saying. Later she realizes this meant she might’ve been in shock. They helped her a lot in the coming weeks.

What time is it? I need to cancel my plans this weekend. How do I call my mom? My cell phone won’t call internationally. Does yours? Wait, it’s 3am there. Who are you? Oh, you live next door. I’m sorry we met this way too.

You can go in now.

the next day

It smells. There’s water on the floor, and a hole axed into the interior wall. Ashes and some material she doesn’t recognize have fallen on her shoe rack by the door. It’s dark.

The firemen stopped their clean up work in her bedroom as she walked in.

“Resident”. That was her name to them.

She covered her mouth. Gasped, and tried to breathe.

Outside again, talking in confusion with neighbours and friends. It’s late.

She screams her cat’s name and points near the front door. He’s wandering the yard. She catches him and screams again or cries. She’s not sure which. But he’s physically fine.

An hour or so later she had a friend check a pile of melted and smoke damaged clothes in her bedroom closet. Maybe her other cat is in there? Her body? No.

We should go.

She leaves food for the other cat just in case. Wait, I forgot something. Back in. A brown blur scurries across the waterlogged floor. Slips. Runs up the stairs.

The other one.

She scream/cries again. They’re both fine. Everything else doesn’t matter.

They go to leave, and she tries to put her cat into the carrier a neighbour let her borrow, but it clings to her arm and won’t let go, so she holds it on her lap as they drive away.

Later she found out the local news had come to interview bystanders. Strangers. Watching her bedroom and patio burn while no one was home. Interviewed about their thoughts. They interviewed her the next day. She cried on the  local news. She’s kinda homeless now. Couchsurfing for a week. Friends, coworkers, and acquaintances support in ways she can’t imagine. Gift cards. Free clothes. A roof over her head.

People are so nice.

She maybe had PTSD for a while. Had to leave campus when they installed a wood-burning oven in the cafeteria. The smell was too much. She kept randomly remembering stuff she lost. Photos. Clothes. Her brother’s backpack. Her Canada flag. Her journals. Things people had made for her. Her grandfather’s shawl. Her mother’s artwork that she’d rescued from a yard sale. The stuff important enough to unpack in the first week. It was just stuff, but it meant something.

But it doesn’t mean as much as life itself… and life goes on.

---

I’ve had a lot of important days in my life, and could have chosen any number of them to write about in today’s prompt. I didn’t go to either of my two college graduation ceremonies though, and I haven’t ‘won a big game’. I got married, but am now happily divorced so that’s well behind me. I moved to a new country, but don’t remember that day, so much as the days that followed. I remember significant moments with my boyfriend. When we first met, our first kiss, meeting his friends and his parents, going camping for the first time, moving to our new apartment together…. but moments aren’t days.

I really wanted to make myself write about something else, anything else, to not relive this. Individual days are tough to bring to singular importance,  and I prefer to look at periods in our life rather than one day… That said, I chose this day because it is a rare one that feels individually significant, and I remember it clearer than almost any other day… and I chose it because it’s time to let it go.

---

♥ Daphne