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.
The anchors start to make their way over to our bedraggled group of survivors and I duck behind Dad, trying not to catch anyone's eye. A lady spots Dad and comes up, asking if he'll do an interview as I shrink back further.
Don't mind me, just another shocked bystander and her dog, don't ask me to do an interview.
They don't, thank god, and Dad follows the lady in front of the camera. I give him a thumb's up when he turns back to look at me.
When the cameras are rolling again, the lady asks Dad his name and to tell they what happened tonight. If he's nervous, he does a good job of not showing it. Dad tells them how I woke him up with the fire alarm blaring, how I could smell smoke and the sound of panicked shouting outside, and how we frantically got our belongings together before exiting our apartment.
We could all smell and hear the fire, which had started in one of the top floor apartments and spread downward. Together with our neighbors, we all ran down the stairwell away from the fire.
They still don't know how the fire happened or started.
I wait until Dad is done, then give him a small fire, "You're gonna be famous now, Dad."
He snorts, "Yeah, sure." He wraps his arm around my shoulders, the blanket crinkling, and gives Buttercup a scratch under her chin. She has buried into the blanket, only her black nose and sad little face showing. I think she's falling asleep, poor puppy.
"We'll be okay, honey," Dad says, "C'mon, let's go see if maybe we can get out of here."
There is a police officer nearby talking to another person and he tells us that we have to be cleared by the medics before we can leave the scene. Dad gives them his information in case they need to call him in for a statement.
Are they thinking the fire was set on purpose? I shiver to think someone would do this on purpose.
It's pretty easy to get cleared from the scene. The paramedic from before remembers us and clears us, giving Buttercup another pat. She's getting a lot of attention right now and I know she's soaking it up. I can feel her tail wagging against my ribs.
As we're starting to walk away, Dad's phone starts ringing. He answers as I put Buttercup down to let her stretch her legs a bit. She's still a fluffy little puppy, but her legs are getting long and gangly now. She seems pretty happy to be put down again.
"I- no, I remember." I turn my attention on Dad, there's a look of surprise on his face. Whoever called him, he wasn't expecting them, "It's John, right?"
I want to know who this John person is, but I'm patient and wait. Buttercup sniffs about, tail going, and goes as far as the leash will let her.
"Yes, I'm okay. So is my daughter. But we pretty much lost everything." He listens to the reply, "I was just going to find a hotel for the night and figure out the rest. I have to get in touch with my insurance agent."
His eyes widen, "I wouldn't want to impose.... are you sure?" He glances at me and I raise my eyebrows. He shrugs his shoulders.
"Okay. I don't know how to thank you." There is a long reply, then, "We'll see you soon then. Thank you, John, this means so much."
The call ends. I look at him, "Dad? What's happening?"
He looks at me, still looking stunned, "Uh, well, we won't have to stay in a hotel."
"Oh?"
"An old college friend of mine saw my interview." He shrugs a little, "He insisted on giving us a place to stay. Wouldn't take no for answer."
I shrug too. It might be weird, but I'm really only thinking about a bed and a shower and a warm blanket.
It's not too long after Dad's call that a sleek black car pulls up as near it can get to the scene and the doors opens. A man gets out of the car, looks around, sees Dad and I, and makes his way towards us.
He's a tall man, around Dad's age, and wearing silk monogrammed pajamas. His hair is dark and graying at the temples. He looks vaguely familiar to me, although I can't spot why. Maybe I'm just going insane from the smoke inhalation.
"George." He says as he approaches us, "I'm sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances. It's good to see you again."
"Hello John." Dad says to him, reaching out to shake his hand firmly, "My daughter, Cassie."
"Hi." I say awkwardly.
What a sight I must look to this John man, in my emergency blanket and bright yellow crocs with Buttercup's leash hopelessly tangled around my legs and my hair a rat's nest. Ah yes, a great first impression.
But he just smiles, "Nice to meet you, Cassie. I have a son about your age, in his senior year at the Clearwater Academy."
I suck in a deep breath, "O-oh, I actually go to the Academy."
"Really? Then you just might know my son." John says, "I'm sure you'll get along well then, if you're in the same class. I also have a younger son, at the middle school."
Oh no. Hopefully, maybe, there's a chance I don't know his son and it won't be weird to stay at his house. There are almost three hundred students in the senior class after all, and I barely know any of them. The only reason I go to Clearwater is because I managed to get a full scholarship there. Not sure how I pulled that off, but I did somehow.
"I'm sure you're both tired. Charlotte should have everything together for you both at home."
As we get into his car, his very nice and very clean car, I pick up Buttercup and settle her on my lap. I can tell she's getting worn out because she curls up in a tight ball, nose tucked under her tail, and almost immediately goes to sleep.
At least we have a place to go and stay. We'll figure everything out tomorrow. Right now I just want to shower and go to sleep.
However, it turns out my night is far from over.