555

Dedicated to the people who have lost something recently. May the beauty of love guide you among the darkness. Also to my grandma. I miss you everyday.

Orange and yellow seep into my irises until it's all I can see. The colors consume me. Everything around me stops. No more shouts. No more people. I’m alone in my body as I stare at the bright flames that lick at my house. My home disintegrates like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Except I can’t lap up the ice cream before it paints my hands and makes them all sticky. I have no control. A first for me since I always have control. All I can do is watch the firemen try to contain the fire even though we all know it’s too late. I feel like I’m burning along with the house too, drowning as the flames strip me to the bone.

“Amanda,” my sister says as she carefully lays a hand on my shoulder. Her touch startles me, and my shoulders hunch until she takes her hand off. “You shouldn’t be watching this.”

I turn back to the blaze and observe the second story slowly start to collapse. It’s like the time I was two years old and my brother kicked over my lego tower that I spent what seemed like forever constructing. I realized then that beautiful things can collapse in an instant. Maybe that’s why I feel so numb right now. Maybe I’ve been preparing for this moment my entire life. So as the flame kicks my house over like it's made of legos, I watch. I watch until all that’s left is rubble and a hint of ember. I watch until tomorrow becomes today.

I wake up panting as sweat seeps from my body. It’s been a week since the fire and I continue to have nightmares: How cliche is that? I’m so cynical now that I’m cursing at myself for having nightmares, acting like I’m too good for them.

The clock on the bedside table reads 5:55. Seeing the consecutive numbers reminds me of what my grandmother used to always say. She told us that if we saw consecutive numbers on a clock, it meant that an angel was watching over us. I snicker. Obviously that isn’t true.

Padding over to the mini fridge in my hotel room, I grab my half full Starbucks from yesterday. I consider pouring vodka in it from one of the mini bottles in the fridge. No one ever said its five o’clock somewhere only meant 5 pm and not am. Ugh. I somehow skip the vodka.

I’m visiting the house today.

Well, the remains of it.

I want to go when no one is there, and I don’t want anyone to see me. The social worker from the hospital told me not to go back; I need to separate myself from the corpse that is my house. I know I should listen to her, but something is nipping at me, convincing me that I need to see it again.

I throw on a pair of my sister’s jeans and the sweatshirt I was wearing when the fire happened. As I leave the room, I don’t care that I'm donning greasy hair and wicked undereye bags. It’s only a ten minute walk to my house from the hotel and since it's summer, the balmy morning air actually feels pleasant. The sun rises and paints the sky the kind of pink color that you would put in a baby girl’s nursery. This makes me smile for the first time all week.

As I approach the house, I suck in a deep breath and blink away the tears that pool instantly. The walls of the kitchen are still standing but every other room is now just a remain on the ground, like it never existed at all. My stomach sinks, attempting to suck me down to the ground like the fire did to my house, but I don’t let the gnawing feeling entrap me.

A man is searching through the rubble. I didn’t notice him at first, but now I do. He is absolutely breathtaking. Ash coats his cheeks and hands as he sorts through the rubble, desperation blanketing his movements. My eyes roam back to his face. His jaw. The barely there crinkles that are starting to show at the corner of his eyes. His aura tells me that he has been through it, just like I have.

“Excuse me,” I shout so he can hear me. He looks up and squints at me, so I step closer. “This is - was my house.” Color quickly paints his cheeks and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” The way my name rolls off his tongue layers my skin with goosebumps. I wonder how he knows my name. “I heard that they were cleaning up the rubble today, and I wanted to try to find something that survived for you. The clean up crew goes through the things, but they’re usually in a rush and they miss stuff.” Before he can say another word, I run over and hug the beautiful stranger. He startles for a moment before quickly wrapping his arms around me. I look up into his slightly-crinkled eyes. They’re filled with a tender warmth that makes me feel safer.

“Thank you…”

“Dylan.”

“Thank you, Dylan.”

I glance down at the flood of rubble pooled around our feet and start digging away. He stands there for a few moments just watching me before resuming the activity. We go through the rubble silently for a while as we enjoy each other’s company. Even though we just met a few seconds ago, being in his presence feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“So you're a firefighter?” I question, peering up from my task.

“Yes I am. 15 years.”

“Wow and you haven’t -” I stop my train of thought realizing the stupidity of what I’m about to say, but he reads my mind.

“Died yet?” He laughs. Even though he’s technically laughing at me, I don’t want him to stop. Not when his laugh is like a drug that can distract me from everything going on. “Nope. I’m still alive and breathing. Though, there have been some close calls.” I suck in a breath. I can’t imagine the bravery he must have and how much he must care for people.

“I’m also a paramedic,” he adds shyly. Could this man be any more perfect? If we were married, I’d never have to feel worried. I banish the thought from my head. Why am I imagining marriage with a man I just met? A man that's helping sort through my burnt down house? I silently pray that something stupid didn’t survive like my underwear. That would be an embarrassing remnant.

“What about you? What do you do?” His question pulls me out of my foolish thoughts.

“I’m a claims adjuster.” My job isn’t nearly as amazing as his. I look into his eyes and realize he’s confused. “Oh! I work for an insurance company. Basically it means that I’m the first person people go to when they have to prove something’s a liability or claim damage to their property. So like…”

“If someone’s house burns down,” he finishes.

“They would contact me.” I guess I was too busy grieving that I didn’t even think about the irony. I know all the next steps. In fact, I would be the one to evaluate the damage if I was currently working. “I guess I never really thought I would be the one with the damage.”

“It’s easy to detach yourself when you’ve been doing something for a while,” he replies earnestly.

“Yeah, it is.” We continue sorting through the rubble. My hope dims as I search without any luck.

“Do you hear that?” Dylan questions.

“Hear what?” Only as the question slips from my mouth, I hear it. The quiet pur of an… owl? I turn my head to where Dylan is looking. Sure enough, a beautiful night owl is perched amongst the rubble by the portion of the kitchen wall that still stands tall. His white coat is illuminated by the rising sun. His fur is a stark contrast to the blackened walls. I don’t want to scare it away, but Dylan is already making his way over to it. He almost trips and I stifle a giggle. He smiles back at me and his white teeth remind me of the owl’s fur.

“Wow,” I awe, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an owl in real life before, besides maybe at the zoo.”

“You know, when you see a white owl, it's supposed to give you a message,” he responds while I raise an eyebrow. “Or at least that’s what Harry Potter tells us.” Now, I’m full- on giggling as I remember Hedwig the Owl from Harry Potter. He was always delivering important messages to Harry. After five minutes of staring at the owl, we decide to get back to work. We pour through pile after pile and I make my way over to where my bathroom once was.

My once semi-hopeful outlook dims until tears pool in my eyes once again. How can everything be gone? Erased from time. I fall to my knees, causing soot to puff around me. Dylan notices me and rushes over, kneeling right in front of me so we’re eye level.

“Hey,” he whispers, “I’m right here.” His thumb captures a runaway tear and he brushes it away.

“Oops, I just got more ash on your face,” he chuckles.

“I’m pretty sure the damage was already done.” We just kneel there for a while; his big hands encapsulate mine.

“Look,” he says, nodding toward something behind me. The white owl has made its way over to us and is using its beak to go through a pile of rubble. Even the ash that colors its fur can’t take away from its beauty. “I think it found something.” We both stand up and make our way over.

“Oh my god,” I sob as my hands fly over my mouth. In the beak of the owl is a gold necklace. It’s delicate chain is tarnished with soot, but the gold pendant is still intact. I put my hand under its beak and the owl drops it. “This was my grandma’s necklace. She gave it to me the day before she died.” I finger the gold pendant. On one side is her name, and the other side is ingrained with the numbers 555. My mind immediately flies back to this morning when I saw 5:55 on the clock. “The owl did bring me a message. My grandma’s watching over me,” I choke.

As I sob, Dylan starts to take off his sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Look.” Under his sweatshirt is a tight fitted shirt. On the left side is the local firedepartment’s symbol. He lifts up the right sleeve and points to his muscular tricep. The numbers 555 are tattooed artfully on his skin. “Everyone at the fire department has an identification number that we get to pick out when we join. It’s printed on our clothes so in case something happens, we can be identified. My buddies and I thought it would be cool if we got them tattooed.”

I don’t know what comes over me, but I splay my fingers over his arm and put my necklace right next to his shoulder. The matching 555 burns into me like an omen of hope, a beacon of light in the literal darkness of ash around us.

“Why 555? What does it mean to you?” I ponder.

“Right after college I decided to become a paramedic. I loved it, but I also really wanted to be a firefighter. I was nervous though. Anyways, we picked up this lady one day. She had fallen down her stairs and twisted her ankle. She was older and kept dodging the questions I was asking so she could ask questions about me. I ended up spilling my guts about my firefighter wishes and she told me I should go for it. She seemed so confident in my abilities and helped me to believe in myself for the first time in my life.

“She told me that life is dangerous, but there’s always people watching out for us. Even those who are long gone. She also told me something silly about how everytime you look at a clock and there are consecutive numbers, an angel’s watching over you. I always liked the number five. There’s something about having consecutive numbers that makes you feel safe. Like there’s some type of stability even if the darkness. The lady’s name was…”

“Meredith,” I finish. I turn the necklace around and look at the letters etched on the other side. Meredith. “That was my grandma. She used to always tell me that angel story too. I guess I never believed people we’re looking out for me until now. I can’t believe you’ve met her.” His smile is so wide that I find myself mirroring it.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve already met some of your family. It’ll make meeting the rest a lot easier, ” he chides. The words make an inexplicable feeling of hope bloom in my chest and fill my heart.

“Why aren’t you a little confident,” I gasp even though I don’t really mean it.

“Turn around,” he says. I do it, and he takes the necklace out of my hands. After I lift my hair up, he places the necklace around my neck. Now we both have the number tied to us. The number 555 is a promise that after the darkness of the world burdens us, we always have others to stand by our side. Nothing in the world is stable except for everlasting love and the spirit of the people we cherish the most.

Nothing can take that away.

Not even a fire.