Camp Fire, My Friend Joseph

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!

Halloween Erotica

Dear Sillies,
Thank you for your concern. Wildfires and power outages seem to have become the new norm in CA. I just returned from Southern California last night, in fact. I'm very relieved to have made it safely - not because of fires (I was and remain out of harm's way), but because my car got hot and bothered. The engine over-heated. I found myself stranded in a place appropriately named Lost Hills. Fortunately, there's one mechanic in Lost Hills. This mechanic, my savior, replaced the cooling pump. I returned home 10 hours later. There's more to the story, and to my trip -- which was fantastic minus the drive back. But it's time to wish you a safe and Happy Halloween! [Sorry about Martha, but she does add a unique brand of creepy.]

Enjoy.
Love you.

The Camp Fire, Nearly One Year Later

Dear Sillies,
   May this find you in good spirits, and looking forward to a fun, yummy Halloween.
   For now, a little detour to share segments of my short story on my experiences jumping in as a volunteer in the Camp Fire's aftermath. A true story. [I've submitted this piece, Good Lies, for publication. Fingers crossed.]
   We're approaching one year since the devastation of 11/8/18. Phenomenal recovery continues. So too does intense sadness and loss, hardship and pain, sickness and death--seemingly unending residue of that monstrous force.

   This scene takes us to the Walmart parking lot, wherein hundreds of volunteers and Camp Fire victims/survivors convened. I'd heard about activity there. With no plan or faith that I could help, I pushed myself to do so. 
   Below, with me, you'll meet Joseph.

                                                internet stock photo
Good Lies --part I.

   "Are you doing okay?" Dumb question.
   The man stood. His face reddened, as he took two even steps towards me then stopped. "Am I doing okay? Am I okay? What the hell do you think lady? What are you like some do-gooder who’s about to tell me I have to leave, right?"
   "Well, I don’t want you out here when it starts to rain."
   "You’re f*cking kidding me! I’m not budging." I see that. "Do you have any idea? Any idea what I’ve been through? I stayed. I stayed for 18 f*ckin hours. I stayed to protect my home in Concow. Not just for me, for my neighbors, for my friends. I stayed and kept hosing it down, the lawns, the roofs, the trucks, everything. Only me and my buddy Dan stayed. What do I get for that? It’s all f*ckin burned! The whole town." He turned his head to his side and spit out a wad of saliva. "My only home. My mama’s home. Now you’re telling me to leave. These people are feeding us and being nice to us. It’s like family here. But I can’t even get FEMA help because I lost my ID in the Fire. And you’re telling me to leave. F*ck that!"
   "You can’t get FEMA help?"
   "No, no ID. You have to have an ID."
   That didn’t seem right. "Can I make a phone call for you?"
   His demeanor lightened. "Yeah."
   "Okay," I extended my hand. "I’m Robyn."
   "I’m Joseph. Hey, I’m sorry. I’m just," he huffed, "It’s been one hell of a year." His eyes welled.
   "I’m sure it has."
   I plopped down on the ground, pulled out my resource list, and called FEMA. Someone answered. She was helpful too. I wrote step-by-step instructions for Joseph, and I gave him my number.
   He said he’d be fine taking it from there.
                           He wouldn't be. Stay tuned.