Dear Ones,I've a lot of catching up to do with you and me. This past Wednesday, I returned from a visit to Los Angeles (my hometown). I saw evidence of fires, yet it appeared as though they were under control when I drove through.
I'm touched by your care. Chris and Sage reached out, along with others. I've been safe. I don't think the Southern California fires hit highly populated areas, and Chico is not at great risk of fires. A Noah's Ark-like event is more likely. But I'm a good swimmer, and it rarely rains. So please don't worry about me.
Friday marks one year since the Camp Fire incinerated Paradise. There's a somber, caring, and tentative feeling in the air. We're a very close community. Various commemoration events have been planned.
On a related note, here's part 2 of my Camp Fire story that started here.
Please be well, safe, and know that you are loved.
----------------Good Lies, part 2
Two months had passed when he reconnected. His call surprised me.
"I’m at the Fairgrounds now," Joseph told me. "They keep stealing my stuff. I can’t even take a piss without my things getting stolen. I lost more in all the moves than I did in the Fire. I can’t sleep, it’s like—" his voice cracked. "The post traumatic stress, it’s real. We have a curfew, we're cooped up like prisoners. I can’t, I think, I hate to say it, but I think my uncle’s been stealing my checks. I was gonna leave here. I dunno what to—I don’t, I don’t know Robyn. I dunno if I can make it."
I heard his tears.
"Listen, honey. Listen, okay?"
"Okay."
"You’re not alone. I’m here. You’re going to be okay, I promise." That’s another lie. I couldn’t actually promise. "How can I help?"
"Could you take me to the drop-in center? I need to get it all started again."
"Sure. I’ll meet you at the Fairgrounds tomorrow, but I can’t get there until two o’clock. Okay?"
"Two?"
"Yes. That’s as soon as I can. I have some appointments before then. Will you be there then?”
“I’ll be here. I just . . .” his insides spilled out of him like the yolk of a freshly cracked egg, “Please, Robyn. Please,” he begged. “Be a good person! Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t, Joseph. I am.” I hope. Sh*t. “I promise.” Yikes.
I couldn’t get there fast enough. The Chabad (Jewish Student Center) had given me a warm jacket and the last of the cash they had for Camp Fire victims. “I’m sorry that we don’t have more.” She handed me an envelope with $300. “We’ve just given away our fifth car. We plan to give a lot more.”
At the Fairgrounds’ main entrance, I'm told “Joseph Metz isn’t here now. They took him by ambulance a couple hours ago. They said it he might’ve had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God. Do you know where he is?”
“I don’t know. That’s all I know.”
-------------------PS This is all true. It'll end soon, in the next post. If I left you in suspense, imagine my fright at that moment. Yikes!
