FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FLAME
BY HAILEY TITONE

I awake to the booming of my mom’s voice, yelling at me to get out of bed. I must have slept through my alarm which I always set for 7:17 each morning. I was gonna be late for school. Like always, the first thing I do is check my phone, which I realize I forgot to plug in the night before. 12:30 am. It’s definitely not time to get ready for school. Confused, I glance around my bedroom. The room that my friends and I have had late night conversations about nothing and everything in. The room with that one spot on the rug that when the sun hits it just right, is my dog’s favorite place to sleep. The room that, after tonight, I will never feel the same about again. Although I am groggy, I hear the word “fire” echo down the hallway and into my bedroom loud and clear. At this point I leap out of bed and try to find my parents so they can explain to me what is going on. I run into their room, which is right next to mine, and out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a terrifying sight. Outside of their window, the usual view of the lush green field that deer love to graze in is replaced by a horizon aglow with flames almost as if hell was being unleashed on Earth. I could feel my heart racing, echoing the sound of the clock on the wall next to their bed. I don’t need to ask questions anymore. I understand the urgency of the situation. I go into my brother’s room which we were in the night before, playing video games. We had played NBA 2k17 and as usual, he beat me and I stormed out. After storming out, I decided to study for an incredibly important spanish test that I had the next day. I had a 90% in the class and I needed to make sure I kept an A. Around 12:00, I felt that I had studied enough so I leaned over, turned off the lamp next to my bed, and went to sleep. Now at 12:36 am, I am making sure my brother is out of bed and grabbing as much as he can carry. I then rush back into my room and slip on my Vans and North Face jacket that I bought myself the last time we went to Tahoe and I begin to pack a bag. Unsure of how much time I have, I grab the essentials first. Pictures, medicine, my laptop, and some clothes. I pick up my dog and go find my parents to see what else I can do. Although they are trying not to show it, the panic is evident on their faces. This is a situation that no matter how much you prepare, you can never truly be ready for. We decide to pack up my dad’s brand new white Chevy pickup truck and my mom’s black Ford Excursion, that’s as old as I am, with as much as we can. We grab the keepsake box that my mom has always stored in a corner of the garage, all of our birth certificates and social security cards, and the safe with money and jewelry. I quickly grab pictures off the walls and as I do so, I remember what my life was like when they were taken. Pictures of our trip to Hawaii two years prior, going to Lake Mendocino when I was a little girl, and softball tournaments that have occupied my last six summers. I am abruptly brought back to the present by the sound of the truck loudly starting and I realize it’s time to go. With my dog in one hand, and my bag in the other, we pack into my mom’s truck. We are surrounded on both sides by our packed possessions and as I look out the window, I see that the inferno has already gotten closer. We pull out onto the street and as we drive away, I try to take a mental picture of what we are leaving behind, unsure about what we would come “home” to.