Crash and Burn...
Last night, at around 7pm, a whole block of downtown Linden caught fire. The building that went up was part of the historic district, dating back to somewhere in the 1800s. Around 10:30 I found myself downtown, watching the firefighters work. It seemed like most of Linden was out there watching, and it felt kind of morbid to be standing on the street corner, watching my hometown burn. But I couldn't turn away.
I had to call someone, and Maya was my last call, so I called her. Though she's in Oregon, I knew that she would understand me calling her randomly to describe the scene to her. After we hung up, I walked about town a little--as much as I could, because of the dozens of emergency vehicles and police lines. But I didn't leave; I couldn't. I wanted someone there with me, so I started going through my cell phone again. First I tried calling Jackie, because if I were away from home I would want to know what was going on. She didn't answer. Next I tried Elizabeth, because of my Pitt friends she has seen Linden; but it was late for her and I was not surprised when she didn't answer. Then I thought about Joshua, since he is also from a small town and I think would understand. I was surprised when he didn't answer. So I watched the smoke billow into the sky for a few more minutes, glad I had thought to pull on a hoodie, for the night was chilly. And I thought about Kara Cohen, because for some reason the idea of a small town enamors her, and I knew she'd appreciate an unlooked-for late night phone call. She answered, and I described the scene: the people watching, crossing the Caution tape heedlessly; the thick smoke that blotted out the stars above downtown; the fleets of fire engines; an occasional glimpse of flame; the fire hoses and the flashing lights and the occasional sirens. It occurred to me that I could not have chosen a better person to call, because Kara will listen patiently to anything, and pelt you with great questions, and allow you to ramble on for as long as you need to. I felt much, much calmer after I had described the fire to her. I had been standing near Subway, and I turned away from the busy scene and headed toward the cemetery, still talking to Kara. As I walked away from the scene, she steered the conversation away, and I welcomed the distraction. I eventually ended up behind Sharp Funeral home, lying on my back on the banks of the millpond. There was a fire truck not fifty feet away to my left; the firefighters were pumping water out of the pond. It was a clear and starry night, save for the left-hand part of the sky from where I was lying was blotted out with smoke. Kara and I continued to talk; I described my position to her and the layout of Linden in general.
We had a great conversation, our first solid conversation since summer began. It was so surreal, to be right next to the fire trucks that were working to salvage my hometown while I reminisced about Pitt with my future roommate. While I was at Pitt, my friends and I often found ourselves lying on the ground, in the grass or on the cement patios of the Cathedral. So lying there on my back watching the stars, with Kara Cohen on the phone, was the next best thing to being at Pitt instead of thinking about the destruction of a whole block of my home.
This morning I tried calling Jackie, and this time she answered. I told her about the fire; then we talked about everything else, because it's been so long since we talked. It will feel more like home here once she gets back to Linden; I miss her more dearly than I realized until I heard her voice on the phone.
I finished The Lord of the Rings today. Every time I read it, I start book six impatiently, ready to move on to other readings. But Frodo's journey from Cirith Ungol to Mount Doom always passes surprisingly swiftly for me, and when I realize how close to the end I am, I want desperately for there to be more pages. It amazes me that after all these years and readings, Tolkien's work still brings tears to my eyes--and always the same passages.
Anyway--I think I'm going to head into town and see what's going on there, and maybe stop by my grandparents' to see what they have to say about the fire. They may have heard something.
I had to call someone, and Maya was my last call, so I called her. Though she's in Oregon, I knew that she would understand me calling her randomly to describe the scene to her. After we hung up, I walked about town a little--as much as I could, because of the dozens of emergency vehicles and police lines. But I didn't leave; I couldn't. I wanted someone there with me, so I started going through my cell phone again. First I tried calling Jackie, because if I were away from home I would want to know what was going on. She didn't answer. Next I tried Elizabeth, because of my Pitt friends she has seen Linden; but it was late for her and I was not surprised when she didn't answer. Then I thought about Joshua, since he is also from a small town and I think would understand. I was surprised when he didn't answer. So I watched the smoke billow into the sky for a few more minutes, glad I had thought to pull on a hoodie, for the night was chilly. And I thought about Kara Cohen, because for some reason the idea of a small town enamors her, and I knew she'd appreciate an unlooked-for late night phone call. She answered, and I described the scene: the people watching, crossing the Caution tape heedlessly; the thick smoke that blotted out the stars above downtown; the fleets of fire engines; an occasional glimpse of flame; the fire hoses and the flashing lights and the occasional sirens. It occurred to me that I could not have chosen a better person to call, because Kara will listen patiently to anything, and pelt you with great questions, and allow you to ramble on for as long as you need to. I felt much, much calmer after I had described the fire to her. I had been standing near Subway, and I turned away from the busy scene and headed toward the cemetery, still talking to Kara. As I walked away from the scene, she steered the conversation away, and I welcomed the distraction. I eventually ended up behind Sharp Funeral home, lying on my back on the banks of the millpond. There was a fire truck not fifty feet away to my left; the firefighters were pumping water out of the pond. It was a clear and starry night, save for the left-hand part of the sky from where I was lying was blotted out with smoke. Kara and I continued to talk; I described my position to her and the layout of Linden in general.
We had a great conversation, our first solid conversation since summer began. It was so surreal, to be right next to the fire trucks that were working to salvage my hometown while I reminisced about Pitt with my future roommate. While I was at Pitt, my friends and I often found ourselves lying on the ground, in the grass or on the cement patios of the Cathedral. So lying there on my back watching the stars, with Kara Cohen on the phone, was the next best thing to being at Pitt instead of thinking about the destruction of a whole block of my home.
This morning I tried calling Jackie, and this time she answered. I told her about the fire; then we talked about everything else, because it's been so long since we talked. It will feel more like home here once she gets back to Linden; I miss her more dearly than I realized until I heard her voice on the phone.
I finished The Lord of the Rings today. Every time I read it, I start book six impatiently, ready to move on to other readings. But Frodo's journey from Cirith Ungol to Mount Doom always passes surprisingly swiftly for me, and when I realize how close to the end I am, I want desperately for there to be more pages. It amazes me that after all these years and readings, Tolkien's work still brings tears to my eyes--and always the same passages.
Anyway--I think I'm going to head into town and see what's going on there, and maybe stop by my grandparents' to see what they have to say about the fire. They may have heard something.