By Schreiber

As the familiar door slowly opened and a band of light poured into the house. A musty smell hit me. I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t been inside since I was very young. It had always been occupied. It was finally vacant, but under the wrong circumstances. Magazines, clothes hangers and loose papers were mixed in with the piles of sheetrock that covered the floor. The parts of the ceiling that remained hung down into the living room. They must have left in a hurry. They didn’t seem to take anything with them. Beneath the bare wooden rafters with the mess on the floor, the old house was unrecognizable. But outside it was just the same. The bright white walls, tin roof and green shutters were all the same as ever. It was still beautiful. The sun still pierced through the oak leaves creating beams of light that scattered across the lawn where parking used to be forbidden. The yard still dazzled in a complex mixture of light and dark under its blanket of shadows that varied in their intensities. Another difference was the large buildings that were coming up all around behind the post office. Unfinished, wrapped in plastic, too big for their lots.  I tried to picture what it looked like when it happened. Rain pouring down, the splatter of millions of drops becomes a single hum. The giant trees sway in the wind, their leaves rustle against each other. A blinding flash of light. A simultaneous deafening bang. The orange glow of rising flames illuminates the back porch. The sound of the wind and rain is overpowered by the sirens. The glow of the flames is overpowered by the flashing red and blue lights. But that was then and this is now and we have to get to work.