Santa Monica No. 2: Fire

January 7-11, by Tom

It was the middle of winter when we were tucked away in the back apartment with the terrace facing south that kissed the trees over the neighbor’s roof and if we looked to the right a view of the palm trees and over the palm trees the ocean. The ocean glinted blue, and the sun bounced off the sea more than it sparkled, but when afternoon came the neighbors’ walls to the north turned orange and in the gap between our walls and theirs swayed more palm trees and an ocean that didn’t glint anymore but reflected the orange and yellow and pink of the sky. The orange and yellow and pink lingered longer this time of year until the sun settled below the horizon and flecks of warm colors were replaced by dramatic red and discordant purple. Though it started earlier than the rest of the year this was my favorite time to watch the sun set as its story at the end of each day lasted longer and the colors lingered and it became a painting, impossible to see when captured precisely but understood through reproductions and adaptations. It asked to be seen and revered to end each day and I obliged with a ten minute walk and reverence as the orange and yellow and pink kissed the horizon and made the nightly transition to purple and red.

We were still tucked away in the back apartment when the fires came and the orange and yellow and pink didn’t become red and purple but layered smoke like dust with red and black and rust. The smoke blew from the north but the terrace faced south and showed only blue skies and light winds. And I wasn’t there. I was working in Seattle in the hail when I heard about the winds and asked Kat about the gale and received in response a crystal blue sky and slightly leaning palm tree in a picture on my phone. I asked Kat to look north and got a picture from Cam of a grey plume his parents had taken from their home and that night my parents were under evacuation warning and Kat had packed a bag and I booked the next morning’s first flight and the Palisades were almost gone.

We flew through the smoke that morning and as the sun rose in the east the fires burned through the hills in the west and Altadena under the sun. The plane flew inland and I sat on the right looking west and when we banked west around the fire I leapt over the aisle to the seats on the left to look east and when we flew through the smoke I smelled old homes and memories and carnage. I watched my city on fire from the air and found landmarks on the coast and saw Santa Monica covered in smoke and bit my sweatshirt and pictured my parents fleeing and their home in flames. When we landed, the air on the ground seared my lungs but soon I was home in the apartment in the back with the terrace facing south with Kat and a bag packed.

By the time I was home I knew the truth. My parents’ house still stood and the meteorologist’s Tuesday night warnings of 80 mile-per-hour gales ripping embers and fire through Santa Monica hadn’t come to pass. As I checked in on friends, some weren’t as lucky and our memories of days and nights and games and laughter and tears and brisket and beers and New Years past lived with us but outlived the houses that welcomed us. For Jake and for Joe and for Nick we won’t ever forget the places we called home and made us feel home during late nights with wet hair and a cool breeze that told us it was time to leave.

Back in Ocean Park I sat on the rug with my back against the couch and computer on the coffee table, discomforted by a chair and a desk. It was still Wednesday and we were frozen, holding still in anticipation and prepared for action but with no action to take except to join our calls and put our minds to our work and not the flames that raged through the city and put those we’ve loved in danger. It was mid-afternoon when I got notice that grandma was to be evacuated and though I tried to lend a hand I was guided away as too many bodies would make a focused scene chaotic. That evening the Hollywood Hills erupted and the Sunset Fire blazed through Runyon Canyon and grew both east and west and more of the city evacuated their homes including in West Hollywood where Jesse had bunkered with Karen and David and Marvin. We opened our home and for a moment they came towards us but in need of more space than we could offer and with an eye towards safety they drove further south to shelter oceanside in Newport. In case the Palisades Fire turned southwest our door was open to my mom and dad and grandma and in case the Sunset Fire turned northeast our door was open to Mark and McCabe. Neither came to pass and the firefighting crews in the hills encircled and put to rest the Sunset Fire in heroic and impressive time. And still, in the back apartment with the terrace facing south, we sat.

There was nothing to do those days but to sit and to wait and to put our minds towards our work or our chores as flames razed the world around us and took homes and art and architecture and lives’ work. It was Wednesday night and my mind had raced around the city but I hadn’t moved and I sat still typing and Kat was in the other room folding her clothes. It was Thursday and our lives hadn’t changed but others’ had and still I sat typing and talking into a phone and Kat sat at the table awash in the desire to help in a helpless situation. It was Friday night and I decided to write, reminded of my great grandfather’s journals in the 1917 Russian Revolution when he wrote of bombs exploding nearby but his mind was guided by his stomach and his words told the story of a man just looking for his next bite to eat. Today is Saturday and the fires still rage and ash lines the streets and the walkway and the stairs. Today is Saturday and the fires still rage, burning through the Santa Monica mountains both south and north threatening people and homes from Encino to Brentwood. Today is Saturday and the fires still rage but we’re packing bags, not to evacuate but to leave the apartment in the back with the terrace facing south because our Airbnb stay is up and seven weeks in Ocean Park have run their course. Today is Saturday and the fires still rage but tomorrow is Sunday so tomorrow we will move into my parents’ house with the evacuation warning for the next week. Today is Saturday and the fires still rage and there is more to do than just sit so we gather our things and we pack our bags and we prepare to be safe in the days ahead.

Today is Saturday and fire rages through my city, but my family is safe and so are my friends and so is Kat and so am I.