When There’s Smoke
When There’s Smoke
By the time I finish making the final crawl back to the little brick building known as Valleyview Apartments, my knees are
like Jell-O and my feet throb from running in my favorite heels.
All the dread—the frantic rationalizing, the desperate hope for a different outcome as I ran those final blocks—comes crashing
to a head. A giant anaconda of a hose is crawling from the hydrant on the street to the building’s basement window.
Smoke billows out the windows as sharp, burnt rubber bites at my nostrils and creates a haze in the air, like it all could
be a dream.
I think of the first residents that moved into the building just over a hundred years ago. Their optimism bright, standing
proudly on what would have been the outskirts of a suburban town back then. How beautiful it must have been—how those careful
details stand apart from all the glass-and-metal boxes that have grown around it.
All of them are dead now, along with any worries they had.
Firefighters are going in and out of the building carrying equipment and yelling instructions at each other.
The crowd of residents that were at the meeting huddle together on the sidewalk, leaning on each other. Irene—who must’ve
snuck away for one of her ice cream visits—is outside, being propped up by Carmen on one side and Sami on the other. With
buggy eyes and a wagging tail, Ernest tugs the leash Sami’s gripping to try to make it to me. He’s unaware of the monster
I am.
The Chaudhrys’ son was home but made it safely out with what looks like his dad’s guitar.
One of the anonymous college grads stands next to him and stares at his phone.
Fighting Couple also look like they were inside when it happened—Marcus in ratty sweats with his hair mussed; Janine with wet, stringy hair and a robe, like she was caught in the shower.
There’s a comforting tap on my shoulder. “Mona joon, are you okay?”
Ava and Abu have emerged from the diner to join the thickening crowd. I swallow over the lump in my throat and nod. Soon they
will realize there’s a barrier between me and the rest of the building residents. Soon they’ll find out the truth about me,
like everyone else.
They make their way toward Irene, and for a flash, Sami’s gaze—his eyes like open wounds—land on me, before quickly diverting.
A few random onlookers peek out of their windows across the street. Some have started coming out of their buildings to cross
their arms and chat with each other and disguise the thrill of it all.
A firefighter exits the building with a little orange cat, and Jane runs to the edge of the caution tape to greet him. I watch
the relief painted on her face and wish I could hug her. At least Carmen makes his way to help her.
What do you save in a fire? I asked myself that question six weeks ago, when a fire alarm sent us scattering across the lawn.
It had taken me too long to remember the answer then.
My dad’s box.
The urge to run inside—to save it, to open it—is unbearable, but I’m stuck here alone again. All those days it sat abandoned
in my closet. My throat dries with every gasp of burnt air. Every ash in the wind could be my dad’s last gift to me, floating
by.
The tears come without meaning to. I should’ve known there’s never enough time.
Thankfully, fire suppression eventually no longer seems necessary.
Firefighters start opening windows to ventilate the remaining smoke from the building.
Earlier the firefighters opened Norm’s deck door and took out the gas jerry cans I’d seen in his closet way back during that first electrical inspection.
I overheard Norm clarify that they were just full of water for the shutdowns Irene would sometimes have, as he didn’t want to have to leave for drinking water.
The group of onlookers surrounding the building has gotten rudely large. My neighbors all lean on each other like they’re
propping each other up. It’s been three hours of anxiously awaiting our fate. It’s odd how panic can dull if you give it long
enough.
It’s pretty clear the fire started in the basement, which is a small relief. There’s only the laundry room and the unfinished
rec room. I swallow at the thought of all the work Jane and Carmen put into cleaning that place up.
I’m standing with Marcus and Janine. Since they were home during the city hall meeting, they’re the only ones who don’t yet
know of my betrayal, though I’m sure the news will eventually spread.
The daylight has started to fade. A chill has spread through the air, and some of the residents are huddled beneath blankets
the fire team provided. Earlier Abu and Sami handed out mugs of tea while Ava supplied muffins. Abu’s voice was flat and distant
when he offered me my cup—Sami must have told him when they went into the restaurant.
Sami’s keeping the diner open for people to wait it out.
Some of the residents from the newer condos even came around offering deck chairs and water to the neighbors. Sami offered
them tea, too, and I overheard him joking about giving them the “locals only” pricing from now on. A weird kind of undeserved
pride overcomes me to see such an olive branch amid all this destruction.
Now, everyone’s formed circles to sit and chat just behind the barriers. Fighting Couple is just ahead of me, bickering as always.
“They’ve got to be getting us in soon!” Marcus huffs. He’s got an angry scab on his forehead from anxiously picking his zit
this fine evening.
“They have to wait until it’s been cleared as safe,” Janine hisses back.
Marcus narrows his eyes on her, mouth set in a sneer. Ladies, if your man ever looks at you like that, run.
So far, I’ve gathered via snippets of conversation that Fighting Couple came home from camping at Kananaskis around an hour
before we left for the meeting. They started their laundry, made a snack (I’m taking a wild guess it was hot dogs), and then
the fire alarm started blaring right after Janine stepped in the shower.
Finally, the most in-charge firefighter makes his way out and calls, “All right, residents of Valleyview Apartments. I have some updates to
share.” Our weary group huddles closer. “The source of the incident was traced back to a faulty dryer that had a cracked internal
vent. It looks like smaller items, likely socks and underwear, may have been sucked into the interior of the unit over several
months—”
“Wait!” Jane calls. “Did you say underwear?”
Holy shit! Realization dawns on me, too, as the firefighter nods with a practiced sort of patience.
Jane and I lock eyes in an instant, like a momentary escape into our friendship as I mouth, “Panty thief!”
Her head bobs in agreement and it feels like something. But then she seems to catch herself and her expression drops to become blank. She turns from me to nuzzle her cat.
“Unfortunately, once the fire ignited it was able to progress quite quickly through the surrounding area,” the fireman continues, arms crossed like a human Smokey Bear.
“It made its way through the basement area and up the stairwell.” His eyes cast down as he inhales through his teeth.
Like he’s bracing for the final blow. We all hold our breath.
Across the lawn, Irene seems to be full-on shaking.
I’m glad Abu is standing with her. “Which unfortunately means the integrity of the entire structure will need to be fully assessed before anyone can reenter.”
The murmured questions pull through the crowd in little waves once again.
“Can you put this in plain terms for a regular guy like me?” Carmen calls out. The low evening sun casts a harsh glow on his
face, deepening the stress lines etched into his temples. I think about all the items stored inside his apartment. His livelihood—his
means to support his daughter—tucked inside a building he can no longer access.
Jane huffs. “So, we’re fucked.”
And Sami puts a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “Yeah, it means you all can’t go back in for a while longer now.”
The fire marshal continues. “While we complete the investigation and clear the structural integrity, this building must be
deemed uninhabitable.”
A groan sweeps through our crowd in unison, like we’re all one single disappointed beast.
“But my tenants, where are they supposed to sleep?” Irene demands from her little chair with her tiny little dog curled in
her lap. “They can’t all stay with my niece through marriage.”
“Yeah, I have, like . . . nowhere to go,” Jane calls. Worry lines seep into her brows.
Another firefighter comes toward the crowd. A short-haired brunette woman. “There are a few options we can provide—and our
teams can help facilitate hotel bookings. It’s important to know if you have a renters insurance policy.”
“What about insurance for my work I’ll be missing out on,” Carmen calls.
“And I have nothing to wear to work. I’ll be fired if I wear this every day.” Jane looks down at her bright floral jumpsuit.
“My work computer is in there,” Norm mumbles.
“I have an extra room,” Sami calls, but his jaw ticks and he carefully faces away from me. “I’m sure I could fit two of you
if someone is willing to couch surf. Right, Dad?”
Abu nods. “Of course. We have to stick together, friends.”
I make my way to the group, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I call out, “Hey, guys.”
The sea of concerned faces once again turn to anger as they lock eyes with me.
“I’m so sorry this is happening. Norm, if you want, I can help pick up a new laptop from our office.” The group is silent,
avoiding direct eye contact. Like I’m a ghost. “Jane, I have some extra clothes at my office—”
“That’s okay,” she interrupts. “We’re good.”
“Yeah, no worries. I’ll figure it out,” Norm mumbles. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and angles away from me.
Wetness pools in my eyes. “Guys, I know things are weird and everything, but I really do care about you.” The whine in my
voice crumbles through my words. “I want to help.”
Carmen’s voice cuts through the crowd. “Mona, I think we’ve had enough of your help to last us a little while.”
He practically radiates frost, every inch of him steeped in disdain.
A shiver crawls up my neck as their pain sinks into me, quiet and undeniable.
Shame is an old friend to me by now. Still, the cold burn of it feels fresh as I start to back away.
I turn my back on the smoking building, on my friends, on the place where I finally felt at home. Leave it all behind.
Once I’m far enough down the block that I’m out of sight, I pull out my phone. I only have one place left to go.