deja vu
14 years later, the memory is still vivid. i can still hear the wail of sirens, screaming firemen, chainsaws and the neighbors' gasps of horror. the acrid smoke, the odor of the fire extinguishers, and the foul odor of sweat mixing with the air still burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water.i was 11 years old and on my way home from a typical day in 6th grade. i had just started taking the bus, a fact of which i was very proud because to me it signified liberation and independence. my parents only agreed to let me take the bus if i agreed to let videsha, my down-the-street-neighbor and friend, who was 2 years older, walk me to the corner before we went our separate ways. it was a cool, crisp november day and the smell of the pine cones filled my nose. i was kicking the leaves down the street as we walked. when we reached the corner where we'd split, i finally registered the commotion in the direction of my house.
my initial reaction was of horror and sympathy for my neighbors, whose house i was sure was on fire. i turned to my friend to tell her what was going on in my head when i glimpsed my cousin walking towards me. i thought to myself how strange it was that jibu chachen would be at our house in the middle of the day when he had work. maybe it was stupidity, maybe it was denial, but my mind couldn't make the connection between the burning house and my cousin's presence in front of my house at 3 pm on a monday afternoon. when my mind finally made me to consider the thought i so deliberately and frantically tried to reject, my first thought was of my mother. i ran screaming towards my house only to be tackled my jibu chachen who reassured me that my mother was fine and was in the ambulance being treated for smoke inhalation. i ran to her and wouldn't let her go for fear that she was an apparition that would fade if i released her.
my mother, as many malayalee women of her generation, is a registered nurse. she used to work nights then so that my father would be around to chaperone, chauffer and care for us during the days while she slept. that monday, november 12, began as a typical day for her. she came home from work at 8 am, ate some breakfast, read the paper and went to bed. my dad used to come home in the middle of the day for lunch and so when she awoke to a blaring smoke alarm, the smell of smoke and pounding on the door, she immediately thought he left something on the stove and that he had locked himself out of the house. she made her disoriented way down the stairs only to be shocked by officer kino busting down the door and dragging her out of the house.
it was veteran's day, which meant a day off from school for most of the kids in my neighborhood, since they attended hoity toity private schools. two such brothers were bored and decided to play with bottlecrackers next to their house. one of those firecrackers they set lit fire to the array of pine cones and leaves around my house that the landscapers had yet to rake. instead of trying to put it out or notify their parents and/or the police, the kids panicked and ran away.
november is a windy, chilly time in the northeast. the crisp air is extremely unforgiving to dry skin and chapped lips. in this case, the bitter wind and the blazing fire joined forces to attack my house. what started off as a innocent, though poorly executed, game with firecrackers became a conflagration that soon devoured the only home i ever knew.
officer kino was making his rounds when he spied the smoke coming from a few blocks away. he called for firemen and police backup and then raced to my house to see what he could do in the meantime. he took my mother outside the house and stayed with her as she watched her investments, memories and security burn up before her.
by the time i reached my house, the firemen were on top of the house with chainsaws trying to break through the roof to get access to the fire attacking my house. the journalists and reporters who had arrived on the scene decided that the image of their brave but futile attempts to counter the fire was a great foil to a picture of my bawling mother and morose father. my parents did not want to call the schools to notify jeff and me. they thought they could save us from some of the horror. little did they know that the following day, every paper's front page would be covered with pictures of the house, the damage and my terrified parents.
considering the damage to the house, that took a year to tear down and reconstruct, we were incredibly fortunate. God kept my mother safe that day and enabled us to rebuild our dreams and hopes along with the house. We had numerous generous and kind friends and neighbors who gave us clothing and pots and pans. We stayed with an aunt for 2 months while looking for a house to rent and my dad shuffled us back and forth to school 30 minutes away. we moved into a terrible, tiny house in the other school district, but i had to keep that my secret for the year, lest i endure a school transfer on top of all the other changes that had set me reeling. my classmates looked at me like i was a freak, but i couldn't blame them for being aghast at the weird kid who constantly burst into tears and had to leave class. i still remember two days after the fire when i went up to mrs. lehmkuhl's desk to explain that i had lost my copy of where the red fern grows in the fire and i was terribly sorry. i was about to explain that i'd pay the fine for losing the book we were reading in class but i couldn't get the words out before she interrupted me kindly to tell me that's the last thing with which i had to concern myself. moments of kindness and compassion like that made me cry more than anything (and they still do as i'm tearing up at the memory) because i felt so raw and exposed. the compassion and generosity i received should have been a balm but somehow it just reminded me of how vulernable i was.
i didn't know how to relate to the kids i had grown up with after that, although i had always been socially awkward and painfully shy. i coudln't defend myself against cruelty and kindness made me feel incredibly lost. some horrible kids tried to make fun of the fact that i lost my innocence and security in that fire, but thankfully, the teachers were quick to squelch such hatefulness. they never made fun of me for the fire after mrs. izzo lit into them, yelling at them at how they were horrible human beings for making fun of something that was so tragic, that if it happened to them, i would have been compassionate and kind and offered whatever i could, instead of cruel and mean as they were. i suppose i can't blame them because eleven year olds are not especially equipped to deal with tragedy. we were a sheltered community, where even parents' divorcing was a foreign concept at the time. Before The Fire, I was good friends with tracy kino, officer kino's daughter. however, somehow After The Fire, i couldn't look at her without remembering how close i came to losing my mother. i think she understood because she never pushed me to explan myself.
to this day, everything in my life is separated into two time periods: Before the Fire and After the Fire. despite any other tragedies my family has suffered, we always distinguish events by their relation to the fire. morbid, perhaps, but it's our way of trying to make sense of everything.
after we moved back in, we made sure that there were smoke alarms in every room in the house. it soon became a great annoyance because the ultra-sensitive alarms would be triggered by the striking of a match to light a candle or the grilling of food on the deck. however, as aggravating as the alarms were, i never begrudged their presence because i knew exactly what could happen if the alarms did not go off in the midst of a fire.
whenever i see news of fires on tv, i'm always saddened but reminded of how fortunate my family was. i always thank God that He spared my family and send up a prayer for the poor individuals who had to suffer the loss of lives, belongings and possibly everything they ever valued in life.
last thursday's fire was a reminder of how precious and transient life is. although this was my first time awaking to a fire and blaring sirens, my wild imagination always made me sure i knew what the fire in my house in new jersey must have been like. maybe in a way, i've always been waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. i can't help but be a fatalist by nature. i was spared too easily the first time and i guess part of me has always been expecting a bigger tragedy. that part of me accepted the sirens immediately because i knew that my time had come. fortunately, God spared me again, but i wonder how many more times i will escape unharmed. it's a selfish thought in a time of tragedy, but i'd be lying if i denied having that thought.
it is devastating to think that if only the fire alarms functioned properly, two lives could have been saved. it could have been a minor fire instead of a fatal conflagration. i'm so glad that God spared the rest of the residents of my building, but i'm also conflicted about the tragedy. it was so easily preventable and unnecessary, but as a result, building management around the area are taking steps to ensure that their fire alarm systems are functioning. my apartment community is installing sprinklers that will hopefully prevent a similar tragedy from ever occurring. people are being more watchful and careful about turning off stoves, irons and other electrical devices. we're all more careful with candles and open flames.
these are all good things that i'm happy to see. however, everytime i return to my building, i'm saddened by how quickly the building is erasing signs of the fire. intellectually, i understand that charred wallpaper, soot on walls, water damage and blown out windows are bad for business. i appreciate that they are trying to eradicate reminders of the fire so that the residents can be lulled into a sense of security once again. however, i can't help but resent it all the same. two people lost their lives and a few coats of paint and new wallpaper will not diminish the emotional impact on me. i catch myself laughing or watching tv or doing something so mundane and i feel like a traitor and a hypocrite.
i, of all people in that building, should not forget so easily. i feel like i should a candelight vigil or protest. maybe i should wear black for a month to show my mourning for people i never met but for the lives that were extinguished in a combination of careless smoking and reckless building management. i know these are all silly ideas and that it wouldn't mean anything to anyone other than myself. i just can't reconcile my anxiety and sadness with the natural human instinct to persevere and push onwards.
maybe in the coming days or weeks i will be able to find a good compromise. maybe soon i won't freeze up when i hear sirens or see someone strike a match. hopefully i will be able to laugh and be carefree without feeling guilty or regretful.
maybe.
posted by happy roy @ 8:56 AM
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