Page 9 of Burn Point

“But where will you go?” she asked, concern etched on her face.

I shook my head. “I’m not sure just yet. I heard the nurse say they had a temporary shelter set up somewhere. I’ll be fine.”

Her brow furrowed, then she stepped close, wrapping an arm around me in a hug. “I’ll text you in a couple of days and find you.”

I nodded, swallowing against the lump in my throat at the thought of being alone. Even though we weren’t really friends, the trauma of the night had forged a bond of sorts. That she had family and friends nearby while I remained alone was a reminder—I needed to get my shit together and take care of myself.

Hadn’t my mother questioned this very circumstance earlier? I refused to prove her right.

I patted Jules’s back and nuzzled Nelson. “I’ll be fine. I’ll try to find you soon.”

Four a.m. was such an odd hour of the morning. My body knew it should be sleeping, but my mind was racing, and my awareness was high.

With my heart in my stomach and nerves frayed, I’d walked back into the emergency room lobby after watching Jules and Nelson leave. Since I had nowhere to go, I’d planned on camping out in the lobby of the ER. No sooner had I gotten situated on a hard double-sized waiting chair, the security guard approached and told me I couldn’t sleep there. Instead, he’d led me to a waiting area, then loaded me on a transport bus to a local church that had opened a temporary shelter.

By the time I arrived, the shelter was full, and since I was one of the last arrivals, I’d had exactly one choice of cot, next to a scruffy man that smelled of pickles and onions.

Thus, I found myself perched on my cot, with my back to the wall, laptop bag next to me. I shifted, trying to relieve the pressure on my leg, draping it over my laptop bag to ease some of the throbbing.

Four a.m. passed to five, then six. Every time I tried to lay down and close my eyes, the storm raged in my mind. Giving up, I finally stared at the ceiling. Waiting. Wondering what would happen next.

At seven, a couple of volunteers arrived with a warm breakfast. I stood in line, waiting to receive my portion, heart heavy and mind void.

I wandered away from the crowded hall, outside to sit at a wooden picnic table in the church courtyard. The sun was just rising, the air crisp and cool. The day promised bright blue skies. In the trees beyond the courtyard, songbirds greeted the day with bright melodies. In the distance, the whir of chainsaws cut the calm of the morning.

The church that housed the temporary shelter sat on a hill a block off the courthouse square. The historic three-story marble building boasted Gothic-style spires, stained glass, and a massive bell tower. As each hour passed, the bells played hymns. Supposedly a sign of hope, but in my post-storm haze, the sound was haunting and melancholy.

I opened the wrapper of my meal to find a chicken biscuit, which looked and smelled amazing, but somehow, also turned my stomach. I pinched off a corner of the biscuit and peered out at the scene below.

Where once had stood huge, hundred-year-old trees, there now was nothing. Workers secured tarps over holes in roofs. Four-wheelers and utility vehicles ran among the streets. The remaining trees had been snapped off midway up the trunk, their spindly stalks standing naked, while their vibrant green leaves lay in piles on the ground.

Though I hadn’t been in town long, it had begun to feel like a place to call home. At first, I thought maybe I was imagining the magic of the area, but just the short time I’d been here had cemented my love for this sweet, small town. From the quaint homes and historic buildings, to the modernized metal art sculptures in the park, even the painted sculptures that peppered the corners of the downtown streets, all of it was inspiring and heartwarming.

And now the entire landscape of this city I loved had changed in a matter of minutes. Beyond the desolation and destruction of the town, everything I had worked so hard for, everything I’d based my success on…was gone.

Sorrow for all that had been lost threatened to overwhelm me.

Though my stomach wanted to revolt, I forced myself to swallow a bite of biscuit. The view of the destruction wavered as I fought the threat of hot tears.

I had no home.

No car.

No clothes.

No steady job.

No way to contact my clients until I could get access to email.

I’d walked away from the security of a home with Gerry. Walked away from a stable career and established my independence, thinking my life was changing for the better. Only to be slapped back down.

The reality of rock bottom descended around me. I dropped the biscuit, unable to eat more. What in the hell was I going to do? Was my mother right? Was I a fool for being so independent? Had I really isolated myself so much that I didn’t have a single person to call in my time of need?

For a long, long while I sat at that table. The courtyard filled with people, and then it emptied, until I was alone once again. The world outside continued without me while my mind shied away from deep thoughts and the truth of my situation.

Trucks filled with chainsaws passed by, going one way, and then back again full of limbs and debris. Four-wheelers with boxes of food, water, and supplies made round after round. All of them passed through my periphery, yet never drew my full attention. I was aware but removed.

Exhaustion hit and I laid my laptop bag on the table and folded my arms over it, then dropped my head on my makeshift pillow and closed my eyes. I needed some sleep, then I’d figure out my next step.

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