it is not enough, it is not enough
i had only ever seen overturned vehicles corroding beneath dilapidated houses on the news, far removed from perceived reality, until today. it is not a place you want to remember so much as you need to know, and in this way it is tourism. i couldn't take a single photograph, i had a hard enough time getting out of our van, but i still wanted to see all the ones the others had taken (we agreed you couldn't feel it in the photo). we tried to imagine what the first surge was like, we tried to wrap our minds around water that deep, homes that float away, leaving their front steps behind, and beds that exit through windows, but we really couldn't. so we sat in the van, bumping along the pavement, watching the wreckage that is far too fucking old to not be taken care of, by someone, somewhere, like us (like anyone). we all said out loud that it must have been such a helpless feeling watching the water rise, creeping up to your toes, with nothing to save you, but im pretty sure we can't really know.
the first day we ripped shingles off of houses, replaced foundation boards, and let the flowers in the garden breathe once we found them underneath some dead vines and garbage. we took pictures of a land rover parked in the street, marked with burns from the night before, just sitting, waiting, for no one to clean it up, in front of the elementary school, in front of the nothing houses filled with no one.
today we stood in the rain and dug holes in the mud, sawed wood into correct sizes, painted murals, and met a women who misses her family who moved to palm springs after the storm, after the wreckage, because they can't come back, they won't.
this afternoon, back at the house from the first day, the one with the garden and no front door, there was a shooting out front. our volunteers had to go home, pack up and leave, but they're going back tomorrow, because the foundation has to be replaced, and nobody else is going to do it.
right now i feel like we're chipping away at something looming and overwhelming, but it has to be done, and over time, it improves, it really counts, all that these people do, what they live for when they're here. it feels like starting a new playground or gutting a house is so small compared to all of these empty lots and the spray paint indicators still stuck to the homes from the searches after the flood, marking an X for checked and 0 for no one found (or as in half the time, the number of those found inside, sometimes weeks after), but i know that over time it matters.
i'm feeling pretty lonely here, although surrounded by wonderful people, and i just really want to stay, for months at a time, i want to stay.
