Dream At The Edge of The World

I have lived in the city of my dreams for more than thirty years. When I went away over the holidays, I never dreamed that the city would catch fire.

January seemed like a safe time to go on vacation.

In Cuba, I was hungry. We went to Cuba to write, but everything there was falling apart.

We came home to fire.

It felt like the end of the world.

Fire season used to be August and September.

Then July.

June.

May.

I have lived in the city of my dreams for more than thirty years. When I went away over the holidays, I never dreamed that the city would catch fire. How does so much of Los Angeles catch fire at once?

First, the Palisades. If you don’t know Los Angeles, the Pacific Palisades may not be an area you have heard a lot about. You’ve heard Malibu, Brentwood, Bel Air, and, of course, Beverly Hills from Fresh Prince. Hillbillies, if you’re another generation. (I never saw either show, but I saw Beverly Hills Cop.)

Pacific Palisades and Rolling Hills Estates go under the radar, but they are just as fancy. Pacific Palisades overlooks the Pacific. Movie stars. Huge houses crouched by the ocean. But there are also those without immense wealth, those who moved to the Palisades in the early days of Hollywood and passed their homes through the generations. Those ocean houses went up in flames first, and then other large homes followed. Jenny’s, house gone. My friend Petra’s house, ash.

Then the Eaton Fire popped up in Pasadena; it ate through most of Altadena, a historically Black neighborhood leveled to the ground. Then the Sunset Fire hit the Hollywood Hills. It kept going. At one point, the Hurst Fire was two miles from my house. The Archer Fire was in the park where I walk every morning with my dogs. We were told to pack. For days, parts of the city were without power, Wifi; the whole city existed in emergency.

People left their homes and ran. We rushed back early in case we had to evacuate, but we didn’t have anywhere to go. I thought we would figure that out while we were en route. I would not go to a shelter. Maybe a campground?

Back in Los Angeles, I tried to decide what to take if we (myself, Mark, and the dogs) had to leave. Books? I wandered my house, unsure of what mattered. Everything or nothing. Was there any clothing I wanted? My art would be left behind. The art isn’t worth a lot, but it keeps me going. That and the books.

What did we want? What did we need to take? What did we need to stay alive once we were walking in the world away from our house? Especially if we did not know if we would be able to come back?

Many people have walked away from their homes in the last two weeks with their clothes, maybe a laptop. Holding the keys to their car, the phone number of their insurance. Or without insurance. It’s estimated that there are still 150,000 people displaced in Los Angeles, either because their homes are unsafe or because they no longer exist.

I sleep in my bed tonight, grateful to still have a bed.

This is past Day of the Locust and into an apocalypse of our own making. Too many houses built into the canyons. Too many trees without enough water. Too much. Too much. And then it is gone.

Many people are crowded into hotels.

Many people are leaving.

We who are left hold on here, at the edge of the world. What else can we do? Where I live is where the coyotes run. The kind of fringe along the wasteland area where you can hear Waits playing in your head when you get there early as the smoky dawn touches the skyline. Of course, it’s smoky; the whole city’s been on fire, the smoke hangs there behind the coyotes.

Los Angeles is settling back on its heels after this, trying to decide if she’s ready for more beach, sun, thrush of gold before this whole wild ring of fire. Los Angeles of the palm trees and scissored everything. Los Angeles chops away at you. First this, then that. Can I make it through this week? Month? This year?

I grew up in a dark green world, possums, porcupines. Sure, things went wrong. But slowly.

Los Angeles is the earth shaking.

The earth on fire.

I send a prayer for all those who have died.

I send a prayer for all those who have lost their homes.

Though it may take years, I hope we rebuild better. Safer. Los Angeles, we come up here with dreams, for shoveling sunshine, for wild possibility. We wanted the dream at the edge of the world. Now, L.A., city of my dreams, give us a moment to breathe.

We came for ocean. For stairs to the sky. Music.

Stories.

We’re still here. Threaded against what’s left. Threaded into sunshine.