Be My Forever

i | everything goes up in flames. Literally.

There comes a point in life where you stop and reevaluate your life choices. You think about all the things you've said, things you've done, people you've talked to, and everything in your entire existence.

And what, you may ask, has brought along my sudden existential crisis?

It's the fact that I'm standing in nothing but my pjs, a backpack full of my worldly belongings on my back, my ten week old puppy sitting dejectedly at my feet, watching as my apartment building goes up in flames.

Yeah. Not exactly how I expected to be spending my night.

Dad stands next to me, just staring as the thick smoke curls into the night sky. Gray ash is falling like snow around us and the smell of fire and smoke is practically choking my lungs.

"We have insurance. We'll be fine. We'll get money. We'll be fine." My voice has taken on an edge of hysteria.

Of course Dad has insurance, but will it cover the cost of this? I don't know. The entire building is engulfed by the raging flames. There goes basically everything.

There had just barely been enough time for us to grab the important stuff, the fire having started somewhere in the top floor of the building. Dad has his fire and waterproof case in his hands, which has all of our important and legal documents. In my backpack I have pictures, a scrapbook, my laptop, an old stuffed animal, and some other things. Somehow I managed to also grab my violin case, a death grip on it as we fled the building.

That's it. That's all we have to call our own now.

Great.

The firefighters are working hard to prevent the spread of the fire to nearby windows and I can tell they're finally getting the flames dosed.

There are lights flashing all around our little bedraggled group. Police lights, the fire truck lights, ambulance lights, the whole works.

"Dad?" I say, "Tell it's gonna be all right. Tell me we're gonna be fine."

He turns to me and seems to notice my growing panic because he quickly hides his own, "Yes, sweetheart, we're going to be all right."

I'm not sure if it's a lie or not, but I'll take it.

Buttercup lets out a very pitiful whine, looking up at me with her sad, brown doggy eyes. I sigh and stoop down to pick her up. She isn't too heavy yet, so I can easily carry her. She brings me a small comfort.

What are we going to do? Just... wait? Stay in a hotel? That might be a temporary solution, but we can only stay in a hotel for so long. What happens after that?

A paramedic notices us standing and comes over to check over us. She's nice and gentle with me, wrapping me in a crinkly emergency blanket and giving me a mask to breathe into. It's hard to take a deep breath, but when I do it's sweet, clean oxygen.

Clean air could be a drug.

She pats Buttercup on the head, checks over Dad, then goes to another survivor.

I'm starting to notice that not only are fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars around us, but news vans are gathering. I watch with a sort of detached fascination as anchors get out of the vans along with camera men.

Then I suddenly remember I am, in fact, wearing a ratty summer camp t-shirt and pajama pants printed with sleeping pandas. On top of all that, I'm wearing the silver emergency blanket, so I look like a sad, silver burrito.

I can not, will not, be seen on tv like this. I refuse. I would literally die of ultimate embarrassment, more than I already have in my seventeen years.