My roommate stepped out. I didn't know where she went or when she'd be back, sometimes she doesn't come back until the next morning. And it was dark, and the house was so warm. I checked the weather five or six times, there doesn't seem to be much chance of rain, but for some reason there's a flash flood warning for tomorrow. Maybe that's wishful thinking on the part of a kindly soul.
If I wanted, I could pretend I was being active by jumping into one of the flame wars someone dear to me likes to start. She doesn't care for this city, and she doesn't remember her sense of timing or decorum, she just remembers the hurt that reverbrates from a decade and a half ago and responds with her usual, Pavlovian responses, lashing out at anyone that calls her on it. It probably wasn't a good idea at that moment, just reading what she had said already only made me want to run around in screaming frenzied circles more, or throw up, or something.
Cycling through all the photos that people are posting on Facebook isn't as satisfying as one would expect. The joke photos were funny, even now, but the things some of the people wrote threw me into an impotent mass of energy. I thought about putting in a movie and laying prone on the sofa until my adrenaline slowed - I REALLY shouldn't have read what she wrote - or maybe I would play a computer game, one in which you brutally slay imaginary things, until I felt better. Instead, I worked out for a little bit, I needed the action, and then I took a shower.
After I got out, my hair dripping and me wrapped up in my night clothes, I put on a jacket, got into my car, and drove.
The cd player, a wise old gadget, played Peter Gabriel, and All American Rejects, and Shiny Toy Guns' rendition of "Major Tom," while I drove West, West, West, into the night, with other cars, other people on the road dispersing my illusion that I lived in a vacuum and can't help anyone, can't reach anyone, can't do anything. I drove towards the Church because that was a comfortable, Westbound direction to be headed in, and then I skipped that and veered towards Circle, which was even more Westy. I would drive until I saw the lights, even if it took me into Filmore, past stone, past the interstate, past the evacuation area if need be. But when Circle hit Union, the road rose up and I saw them, so instead I turned North, to follow the lights on my left until they took me somewhere where I could park.
Pulling in to the parking lot at the East library, (Heh, East Library, I guess that just goes to show how far East I live) I counted three other cars doing the same exact thing I was doing, and all the lights in the building were still on even though it was after 10 pm. Maybe this had become an evacuee station. I parked with a small slough of other cars, and I got out to see rows of people who had the same late-night need that I did, and I saw the lights.
Families, with pj clad children holding hands between the parents, made their way back to their cars, and groups of teenagers were walking up the hill toward me. "Look, you can see it better from here," one of them commented.
I mingled among the people with their cameras on tripods, standing, taking photos, looking West. I didn't regret leaving my camera behind, I'd had enough of photos, I came to see it for myself. The ridge dotted with dull, angry orange flares, and the sky glowing and glowing, and never stopping, and the barrage of hushed voices chattering.
"...Million dollar homes, burned to the ground..."
"...Up towards Woodland park...."
"...God, they should do something. Why don't they DO something?!"
"The animals. Their instincts'll serve them, they'll be okay. They were probably looooong gone as soon as they smelled the fire."
"Ten thousand years ago," said a man with a wide brimmed hat and a tripod, "there were no humans. Something like this happened, there was no one to help, it just burned and burned."
"...bulldozers, going through the dead trees trying to block it, that's what they're doing now."
"This is so surreal. I can't believe this."
Along the ridge, one of the lights flares, brightens, they can see it even at this distance, and they oooooo as if they were watching a fireworks show, several of the cameras click, but they aren't entertained, they're horrified. Oh! The volunteers! I hope they're okay, whatever just happened.
"How old is your kid?" said one stranger to another.
"He's 13," said the man with the wide brimmed hat. "He's not here for this, he's in California for six weeks with his dad. I'll have to deprogram him when he gets back."
"Mine's nine," says the other man. "My ex-wife...."
"This is it. This is our economy boost, thanks for the stimulus package," and everyone chuckles.
Everything is so broken, but it's still normal.
A woman in her fifties stands at the edge of the sidewalk, staring, silent. She shakes her head at the lights. After a minute, she turns, jumps a little when she sees me behind her, and walks back towards the parking lot.
There's a little boy in only his pajama bottoms capering around the base of the hill, doing cartwheels. I walk towards him because the coolness of the green grass feels like a dream, and I wander around the paths for a while, thinking of woods and forests, thinking about ash and smoke, and glowing lights, thinking about all the places that don't exist as of this afternoon. When I come back to the row of people at the top of the hill, they're still talking.
"Look at the time, it's WAAAAY past my bedtime."
"It never ends, you can see it there, and there, and there, it goes on forever."
"Our mountains were so beautiful, so beautiful."
"It's insane," says a little boy, he looks like he's about five years old.
"It's more than insane, baby," says his mother.
I start to walk back to my car. A woman with a pretty snake tattooed around her leg helps balance her friend on top of a truck to get a better view, there's a camera propped on top of a small pink box between the friend's arms.
Another woman pulls in with her family, her car is old, there's a trash bag taped over the rear passenger window. "If anyone steals this car," she announces, "they're desperate."
The CD player offered up to me sounds of Evanescence, one of their very early songs before they got so flipping angry; and some Mr. Mister; and "Goreki" by Lamb: Could we stay right here 'til the end of time, 'til the earth stops turning? The drive home was much faster than the drive away. Roommate's car wasn't in the driveway. When I opened the door, the dog bounced around excitedly to see me again. Every minute away from me was agony, apparently. I picked him up so that he wouldn't continue to suffer emotional withdrawl while I opened every door and window I could find to let the night in. He wagged his tail so hard that his whole body shook. I sat down at the dining room table and listened to the cars driving along the road.
If she stays out later than 1am, I'll turn off the porch light and lock the door.
When you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you. - Friedrich Nietzche.
The abyss isn't half as impressed with you as you are with it.
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