(no subject)
There was a lot of noise, someone talking over a megaphone, as I turned the corner from the parking lot I cut through onto my street. And then there was a fire truck out in front of the fire station. Not anything out of the ordinary, except that almost as soon as it came into view, the sirens blared and it was off. Ok, something's going on somewhere. As I get a better view down the street, I see the squad car parked directly in the middle of the street a little ways past the fire station, and the ambulence parked in the fire station driveway. Farther down the street, near the empty lot next to my apartment complex, is another fire truck. This one has lights on. There is another squad car in the middle of the street nearer my apartment complex, with police officers standing around talking with firefighters off to one side. I tentatively cross the street, and the hose reaching from the fire truck nearest my apartment to the fire hydrant across the street becomes visible. As I pass the fire truck in the street into my apartment complex, I am greeted with the sight of two more fire trucks in the parking lot of my complex. The aforementioned hose can be see stretching halfway down the parking lot. In an attempt to stay out of the way, I cut by the mail boxes and onto the path that runs behind the buildings from the back of the complex to the manager's house. This was the wrong way to go to stay out of the way, it would seem. There are half a dozen firefighters up on the second story balcony; the hose reaches under the buildings and comes up into one of the second story apartments halfway down the complex. Water spurts from a joint where it appears they had to connect two hoses to get the necessary reach. There is another handful of firefighters on the ground yelling back and forth at the men up above. Three asian women stand talking in hushed whispers on a corner of the lawn. Up on the balcony, one of the fire fighters, a handsome young man with short, light brown hair, is preparing to throw a shovel down off the balcony, and hesitates when he sees me approaching. Above his head, the overhanging roof structure is black, turned to coal yet still somehow staying in shape. Small chunks of burnt wood and charred, twisted metal litter the grass by the path and the balcony above. The men paused long enough to watch me pass before resuming their work, presumably cleaning out the apartment. Only as I walked up to my door did I look back and realize that the site of the fire is very close to where Ryan and Mallory live. I didn't see them anywhere, which I suppose should be a good sign. Perhaps they were out for the day, or perhaps the fire wasn't as near their apartment as it looked. Right now, all I can do is hope that no one was injured, and that the repairs won't take too long. And for everyone not involved, life will go on as usual. Like me, sitting and typing about the whole event as if it were just another footnote to add to the pages of my journal.