In the summer stretch between May and September of 2013, a
blaze...
In the summer stretch between May and September of 2013, a
blaze of arsons took place in Somerville. Eighteen or more housefires were
reported; no one was caught. The house we’re working on, building a small deck
off a side door, was one of the victims. You wouldn’t know to see it now.
Lovely, inside and out. Outside, eggplant paint, expensive windows. Inside,
beautiful tile, colorful pillows, the only wallpaper I’ve ever admired. But
photographs from two summers ago show a charred western side of the three story
house, firefighters gathered at their ladders looking at the damage. Broken
windows, ash, smokestain, wreck. When I sleep in new bedrooms, I consider
routes of escape. Not in case of fire, but in case a plane were heading
straight towards the bedroom, in through the window of whatever room I’m in.
How would I get out? For a few days as we worked, the side door was boarded shut to prevent anyone from wandering out and tumbling into the void left by
the dismantling of the old deck. One less door. No exit. Not this route. I
wondered if they thought about it before sleep, the couple who lives in this
burn victim. I wondered if they mapped in their minds how they would get out. I
wonder what to make of how much my own mind these days has been occupied by escape.
