I sat on the curb feeling the heat on my face. My mother was crying and pacing behind me.

My brother was sitting next to me swearing and tugging at his hair. Our stepdad was
standing out of our mother’s way, swearing and tugging at his hair. Our family communed
on the sidewalk watching as the house burned. It was a two story, semi-detached brick
house. Three bedrooms. My parents had just finished renovating the kitchen. It was
beautiful. This was the nicest house we’d ever lived in. New hardwood floors that my
stepdad had just put in a few months ago. The fire started in the bathroom. Ironically, the
one room we hadn’t done anything to yet. It was a shit bathroom. I hated it. I didn’t care if
that room burned, but seeing the rest of it burn pissed me off. The bathroom was next to my
room. I loved my room. It had been renovated. My mom and I painted it my favourite shade
of blue. With cream trim. And huge windows. I loved my windows. They faced south, so I
got tons of light and the blue didn’t seem gloomy but peaceful. Serene. We decked my room
out with furniture from Ikea. It was the first time I’d ever had new furniture, or gotten to
choose what went in my room. This was my room. And now the fucking fire was burning it
all down.
I was lying in bed when the fire started. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about. I
wasn’t asleep yet. Probably thinking about something stupid like what to wear to school
tomorrow. When I was little I used to think about which of my things I would take with me if
I had to leave suddenly. If there were a fire or something and I had to run out of the house in
a hurry without the chance of coming back. I stopped thinking about that a while ago. Now I
wish I hadn’t. I never really thought there’d be a fire. I was just scared of the idea of not
having any of my stuff. So I lay awake at night planning what I would take and how I would
do it without getting trapped in the hypothetical fire. I had to plan it out because everything
seemed important and I couldn’t imagine leaving any of it behind. I imagined this scene,
sitting outside with my family, only I’d be surrounded with everything from my room, minus
the furniture – my awesome Ikea furniture – and everyone else would be crying. But now we
were all out here together and I had nothing. A real fire had come and I didn’t have time to
grab anything except my cat. The fire happened so fast, smoke started seeping in through
my closet, adjacent to the bathroom. Fuck, my Jackie Chan Mister Nice Guy movie-size
poster is in the closet. Fuck. Burnt now. Long gone. I love that poster. Fuck.  I didn’t even have
time to think about what was in my room when the fire took hold. My dipshit brother was
smoking in the bathroom again. He must’ve left the joint lying around. Thanks a lot asshole,
now all my favourite things are up in smoke. Our house is ruined. I hope that was really
fucking good weed at least. Our lives are  over  now.
I sat on the curb running through my old inventory of favourite things in my head. Action
figures.   Gone. Childhood stuffed animals.  Gone. ALL. OF. MY. BOOKS.  GONE. My original
vinyl record of Tommy. Gone. Melted. The most amazing leather boots ever that I found at a
thrift store and will never find again.  Gone. All of my motherfucking sketchbooks!
Motherfucking GONE! My whole history of drawings, sketches, all my best and worst work…
up in smoke. All my favourite clothes were toast. The list ran on and on. All the CD’s I’d been
collecting throughout high school were smoldering in a pile of melted, gooey aspirations of
being cool. Now I was just a loser sitting on a sidewalk with nothing. I wanted to punch my
brother. Everything that made me cool was gone. Everything that made me feel like I had an
identity. Where did I fit in if I didn’t have any of the things that everyone associated with me
being me? Things that other people wanted to have? It would take years to build it all back
up again. I couldn’t fathom it. I didn’t want to. It took so much work in the first place. I didn’t
want to do it all again. I was panicking. I felt like the core of me was crumbling, I couldn’t
recognize what was in there. I sat and watched the house burn with everyone else.
The next day, holed up in a motel, my friends started calling. People from school wanted to
know what happened. Was I ok. What was I going to do now. I told them I didn’t know. I
guess we’re ok. We have nothing now. But no one got hurt, and my cat’s here too – she
freaked out and peed on the motel carpet but we were going to try and check out without
anyone noticing. Friends started offering to give me some clothes, have us over for dinner,
donate some cat food. I was numb with disbelief. No one seemed to care that I had none of
the things that made me who they thought I was. They wanted to help. Their families
offered comfort and warm, inviting places to stay until we got back on our feet. Family
friends took us out to movies to distract us. Friends of my mother’s offered her refuge and
help sorting out the insurance. All this help came pouring in. That night we had nothing, and
suddenly now we had everything. Everything we needed was brought to us, friends and
family members provided for us and cared for us. At first I wanted to be mad at them too. I
don’t want all your stupid shit, I want all of MY old shit back. But I knew that wasn’t going to
happen. And reluctantly I realised that it didn’t really matter. I was the same person.  More
or less. Maybe minus some baggage, literally and figuratively. At the same time I had a little
bit more than before. Because I didn’t realise that all these people in my life actually gave a
shit. But they did. They really did and they jumped into action in my family’s moment of
need. My mom was still upset, and my stepdad was still cursing the fact that all the work
he’d done renovating was up in smoke. I started to hope he’d give it up and start seeing
what I was seeing. I know it sounds trite, but the stupid house fire made me realise that my
favourite things would come and go, and I would be cool or not so cool regardless. My
‘favourites’ were so transient I honestly couldn’t have told you why I cared that some of
those things were burning that night. But today, I woke up at my friend’s house, and we did
silly dances in our PJ’s to Queen, and her mom called us down to the kitchen where we put
on more music, and she sang, and put us to work cooking the most amazing breakfast I’ve
ever had. I felt more whole this morning singing and dancing and cooking with people who
thought I was cool regardless, than I ever did in my room full of stuff.