THE FIRE
I was awakened from a deep sleep by Stephanie’s urgent call. “Get up. Get dressed. The neighbor’s house is on fire! Be ready to evacuate.”
I’m going to need coffee before I can think about evacuating, I thought as I pulled on my pajama bottoms. I popped a Zantac, took a swig of water and, after relieving myself, I went to the kitchen to make a large cup of French roast.
I was dazzled by the bright kitchen lights. The ink black sky, heavy and mysterious, was impervious to the strobing white and flashing red lights visible above the half-covered windows. Even with all the idling diesel engines, the entire scene barely penetrated my sleep-befuddled brain.
Why couldn’t the neighbor’s house have burned down during the daytime? I peeked through the curtains and saw the street was completely blocked on both sides, from the corner to the burning house two doors down. And there were still more emergency vehicles in my driveway and my next-door neighbor’s.
I wish I had taken Xanax instead.
* * *
I could tell my wife had more to say, but that is usually the case. She’s a great storyteller. And I love being a part of her world. After I finished grinding the beans, she began to speak.
“As soon as I stepped outside with George and Ringo, I smelled smoke. It was the smell of wood burning. I thought it unusual for someone to have a fire this early, but I didn’t see smoke or a fire, so we continued on our walk.”
While she talked, I continued to prepare my coffee. I weighed fifty-three grams of half and half in a large cup and put it in the microwave for 20 seconds. Ever since our trip to France a few years ago, I have heated the cream. The French understand that all the little things we do for ourselves add up to a lot. Warming the cream is a small thing, but it’s one way that I pamper myself in the morning. I love a very hot cup of creamy bittersweetness first thing in the morning. Without it, there would be no point in leaving the bed. I prefer the dark and quiet until about 10 am. After a cup of liquid happiness, a light breakfast, and a lot of time, I am ready to join the human race again.
“We crossed Willow Grove and walked down to Froebel. As we turned the corner, I heard the first sirens. I remember hoping that they weren’t going to our street. I had made it around the next corner by the time the sirens had gotten into our neighborhood. One by one, they got really close and loud, and then they shut off. I decided to cut the walk short and come down Knox to come home.”
I looked at Steph as I waited for the hot water to seep through the grounds and make the elixir of life. My wife loves to talk, and I love to listen usually. It’s not that I don’t try. I do. I just don’t remember anything she tells me before coffee. After fifteen years, she’s learned not to be upset by this and she’ll always remind me later of things she has said so that I don’t forget. When I dropped her off at the train station yesterday she said, while holding up two fingers, “Two things: wash the sheets and call customer service.” And with that reminder, I was able to remember and complete the tasks.
“When we crossed back over Willow Grove, a police officer stopped us. He said we couldn’t go down our street. I told him I just lived right there. I wanted to get home to you and wake you as quickly as possible. The dogs were jumping and pulling and wanted to see what was happening. I pointed out our house to the officer and he let us pass.”
I added one and half teaspoons of sugar and stirred. My mouth began to water. Steph asked me once why I stirred my coffee for so long. She went so far as to suggest that, in that respect, I reminded her of her father. Slightly offended, I told her that raw sugar takes longer to melt than that fake stuff she uses.
Finally, I took a drink. It was heaven. Bliss. Pure pleasure. I shut my eyes for a moment savoring the experience. Only the first cup tastes this good. That’s for the best otherwise I would drink coffee all day and burn out my gut completely.
When I opened my eyes, Steph was watching me. I surmised that she had come to the end of her story. I looked back at her. I realized I had not spoken a single word since she had awoken me. But it was too early to form thoughts or words intentionally. They came or they didn’t. Nothing came to me, so I just looked at her for another moment, blinked, and took another sip.
“I wanted to get home and wake you in case we needed to evacuate.” As she said this, I scanned her face to see if there was any fear there. My wife has strong emotions but, unlike me, they don’t always show outwardly. I am a sensitive person who rides the waves of my emotions all the while hoping I don’t drown. Stephanie grounds me. She is a model for the balance I continue to strive for.
“How are you today, Felicity?” My mind snapped to attention long enough to say, “Okay,” before returning to my coffee and taking a big gulp. I dreaded the next question.
“What’s on your agenda for today?” My brain grinded into gear and I said, “Same as yesterday,” to which she replied, “Hopefully, they’ll get the fire under control soon and we can go about our day as usual.”
As usual? A normal day was spent without human companionship. Working from home at an unfulfilling job. Watching people outside my window going about their lives.
Hmph, I said to myself or perhaps out loud seeing how Steph was looking at me. Today was not a Xanax day. It was not enough to dull my feelings. Today was a day for chocolate! I wanted to feel happy, and my coffee bliss was wearing off sooner than usual. Pushing those thoughts aside for a moment and feeling more fully awake, I turned my attention to the person I loved most in the world, smiled, and asked how she was doing and what was on her agenda.
Bio:
Angela di Gualco is a life coach, editor, and former writing professor. Her poetry has been published in Mad Swirl and Folio. She writes about change, writing, the writing life, and interviews writers about their writing. Her current projects include a self-care journal/planner and a self-help book on managing change and grief.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 