Shit! The House is on Fire!
The horror of coming home to a swirling blast of smoke
The dresser was on fire when I threw it from the upstairs window. It cleared the clothesline and landed with a dull thump out on the lawn. As dressers go, this one was light. A couple of drawers had been yanked from its filthy, steaming maw — one filled with blackened socks and the other a colorful goo of melted jewelry. I have no memory of the thing having any weight at all.
The day leading up to The Big Disaster was idyllic. My wife and I traveled south to Varenna, a postcard hamlet along the shores of Lake Como. We had an appointment to meet our new primary care doctor. Though we’ve lived here for some time, it felt surreal to walk through the historic center of an Italian vacation town and find the doctor’s office located next to the belltower of an arrestingly beautiful church built in the 1300s.
After sorting things out with the doctor, we were too late for the 3:54 train, and the next one was in an hour. We took a leisurely stroll back to the station. Though early in the season, the town was teeming with tourists. Crowds of them lined the stone steps next to the gelato place. Couples held hands and took vacation selfies. Spring was finally arriving.
