Old Friends; New Friends

October 15^th , 2010
Thirty-Eight Days After the Fire

I went shopping today. This is a Very Big Deal.  I had to make another trip to the vet for more meds for Nellie (who seems to be recovering nicely) and thought I might as well take the afternoon off. It was Friday, after all, which in my previous life used to be my Favorite Day.

Friday. I used to call it “Forgiveness Friday,” and each Friday morning I would forgive myself for anything I didn’t get around to doing that week, and just forgive myself in general.  I would just Start Over on Fridays. My favorite day.

So instead of sitting for twelve hours at the computer or spending the day desperately trying to return the calls that fill my voice mailbox every day, I took the afternoon off. I turned off the computer and put the phone on Silent. I put on some nice music for Nellie to listen to while she was napping, got in the car, and went down the hill to town.

First stop, the Free Store, which has been set up for Four Mile Canyon folks (I call us the “Fire People.”)  This is a community effort, totally ad-hoc.  There is no organization backing it or helping to run it. Just people from Boulder who actually did something to help us, and didn’t wait for the County or the Red Cross or any other organization. They got an empty store front donated, sent out the word about donations, and were flooded with stuff. People from Boulder gave so much stuff they had to open a SECOND free store.  I tell you, this is Love in Action.

The Free Store is also a place to connect with other Fire People. Even though we’re often total strangers, we hug and cry and talk about our experiences. Then we look at free stuff.

When I walked in, the volunteer at the door looked up at me to find out if I was dropping off donations (a Normal person) or picking up donations (a Fire person.) She said, “Uh, so are you…?”  “Yeah, I am,” I said.  She could tell from the look on my face which category I belonged to.  “Great, come on in,” she said, going back to her phone call.

I went over to the donated Books section, and ran my hand over the spines on the shelves. There were so many titles I recognized – The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver; a copy of Gone with the Wind, almost exactly like the one I used to have.  The Moosewood Cookbook, by Mollie Katzen. It was like looking at the ghosts of Old Friends, the books that used to populate my shelves at home, turned to dust, but reincarnated here, at the Free Store.

I picked up the Poisonwood Bible and put it in my bag. The opening paragraph, in my opinion, is the greatest start to a book since “Call me Ishmael.” The way Kingsolver begins in the treetops and then cinematically zooms down through the forest is masterful. If you own this book, go re-read the beginning and you’ll see what I mean. I think she’s a Genius.

In another part of the store, I found a little bedspread for the single bed in my second bedroom – since I’m renting I’m trying to cover all the furniture so it won’t get full of Nellie hair. And in the Kitchen section I found a few brand new utensils – a ladle, a whisk.  They looked just like the ones I’d bought at Peppercorn last year. It was odd to see them there – more old friends, back from the dead. I put them in my bag as well. And a few more things – a little rug for the bathroom, a box of trash bags, a broom. Small steps at putting a life back together.

The volunteer helped me load the car and then told me she had just moved to Boulder from Arizona. “Wow,” I said, “You just moved here and you’re already helping? That’s amazing.” She said, “This town in amazing. Boulder is just so incredible.”  I smiled for the first time that day, and said, “Yes, it sure is.”

I drove over to the Pearl Street Mall and walked into Chico’s, my favorite women’s clothing store.  I used to buy most of my work clothes there, and I love their stuff. I stood at the door and had to push down the rising tide of panic. So much stuff in there. So many cheerful looking shoppers on a Friday afternoon. I took a deep breath and walked in.

With relief, I recognized one of the saleswomen, who is about my age. “How are you, my dear?” she piped. I told her the Bad News, and said that I had to replace my whole work wardrobe, and had no idea where to even start. She took me by the arm and said, “How about we start with a jacket?” Okay, I said, breathing a bit easier. We picked out a black suit jacket, very long and tailored; a white sleeveless shell, and a tan wool turtleneck. Very simple, and perfect for work. It all fit beautifully, and when I walked out to look in the mirror, some of the other women shoppers in the store said, “Wow, that looks like it was made for you!”  I got a bit teary. I was SHOPPING. Wow.

When I brought my clothes to the register, another customer was talking to the other sales woman, and telling her about how she used to have a house in Sunshine Canyon. “And I just sold it!” she boomed, “RIGHT BEFORE THE FIRE!”  “Oh wow, that’s SO LUCKY!” exclaimed the sales girl. “Where exactly was it…?”

I blanched and dropped the clothes onto the counter, and said, “I’ll be back in a second,” and walked out onto the sidewalk.  I could not stand and listen to the conversation – I was afraid of what I might blurt out.  I don’t begrudge this woman her luck, but it felt like a kick in the stomach. I wanted to shout, “TOO BAD SOME OF US WEREN’T SO LUCKY,” but I didn’t. It was a gorgeous fall day on the Pearl Street Mall, and she was shopping at Chico’s and life was good. Who was I to ruin her day with my post-traumatic stress?

I went back in and paid for the clothes and thanked the saleswoman for her kindness and patience with me. “You just take care of yourself,” she said, “And God bless you.”

This made me cry a little more, and then I stepped back out into the flow of life and tourists on the Pearl Street Mall.

It was Friday afternoon, a football weekend, and the Mall was filled with students, parents, tourists, street performers, locals, Moms and Dads, panhandlers, and business people in suits.  I walked by the Big Rock Garden and as usual, kids were climbing and sliding down the rocks as their parents watched and chatted with other parents.  The guy with the Hat Cart was putting his funny hats on people’s heads – the Buffalo Horns hat, the giant Pink Flamingo hat, the hat that looks like a birthday cake with candles sticking out of it.

I bought a falafel at Falafel King, which I swear to God has been in the same location since I was in College.  And as I took my first bite, I was overwhelmed with how good it was. So simple, but so good.

I was flooded with happiness; a sudden, sharp happiness that hit me like a burst of sunlight on a cloudy day. This is My Town, I thought,  These are My People – the Moms and Dads and students and tourists.  The Hat Guy and the Zip Code Man and the Yoga in a Box Guy.  They have been here as long as I have. They pay their rent and take care of their families, and in their off hours, they dig into their closets and load up their cars and haul their stuff to the Free Store, to help people they have never met.  I was filled with love for this town, and I will never, ever forget what it has done for me in the last month.

I think that when it comes to stuff, there are Old Friends and there are New Friends.  Many of my old friends burned up in the Four Mile Fire —  my favorite Irish sweater and my Power Suit and my gardening pants and my Sunday Sweats. My Complete Works of Shakespeare and my hardback fiction collection. The original, signed copy of my dissertation. The letter that JFK wrote to my grandparents that I had framed on the coffee table. I mourn these old friends; I cry for their loss.

Yet as I stood on the Mall on a sunny Fall Friday, watching the day turn to evening, I felt for a moment like just another tourist, eating a falafel, with my shopping bag from Chico’s, watching the CU Marching Band getting ready to play for the Moms and Dads and students and tourists.  For a little while, it was a Real Friday, a Forgiveness Friday, when I could let go of all the things I didn’t do that week, when I could just be a Normal person, and not a Fire person.

I was holding a small bag of New Friends — things that would help pave the way to a new life, the one that’s just on the other side of All This.

May there be many more friends, old and new, ghostly and real, that guide me on my way.

Thanks for being one of them.

Wishing You and Yours a Good Night,
Andi