Smoke

When I lived in the Alexandria, VA, area, I knew three homeless individuals, a woman, and two men. I would see them occasionally in a shopping center just down the highway from where we lived. The shopping center had a thrift store that I liked to visit. My husband and I enjoyed thrift-store shopping, delighted in the goodies we found. I was in that thrift store one day when I noticed a wallet on the floor. I thought it had fallen off the counter and I picked it up. It was a nice wallet but upon closer inspection, I found that it belonged to someone. The wallet contained $40.00, assorted cards, and a driver's license. I left my name and phone number with the thrift store manager. I told her I was taking the wallet to the police station and the individual could pick it up there. A few hours later I received a call from a man with a heavy accent. "This would never have happened in my country!" he exclaimed. "Everything was in my wallet! This is what makes your country so great!" he continued. He told me he had recently immigrated to our country. He also told me that he would always pray for my goodness.

About two miles from our home, on that highway, there was a wedge-shaped area of woods that had a creek on two sides. There was quite a bit of development around there but no one wanted to purchase that particular property because it had two sides to the creek that flooded fairly regularly. The shopping center where I would talk to those three homeless individuals was across the highway and about a half-mile down from that wedge-shaped area of woods. Occasionally, I would take those three to a shelter for a meal but they never wanted to stay at the shelter.

I did not know that there was an old farmhouse back in the woods in that wedge-shaped area and the three had made a home there. It was not visible from the highway, even in the winter.

One morning, about 3 a.m., I awakened to what seemed like our house was full of smoke. I woke up my husband. He sat up, looked around, and said that there was no smoke in the house. He laid back down and fell asleep. I was puzzled because there sure did seem to be smoke in the house. I went downstairs to the kitchen to see if I had left a pan on the stove and maybe it was burning. I was half asleep. The living room and kitchen both seemed to be full of smoke.

I realized that if there was this much smoke in the house, the smoke alarms would be going off. They were not. I went back upstairs and fell into a troubled sleep.

Two hours later, I was up and getting ready for work. I left the house and proceeded onto that highway, only to find that the lane nearest that wedge-shaped area of woods was blocked by three fire trucks, two ambulances, and several police cars. I carefully passed on by and went to work.

A couple of hours later, I received a telephone call from a friend of mine who worked with the homeless at the shelter where I took those three individuals for an occasional meal. She told me that those three had found an old kerosene heater at the thrift store in that shopping center. They were using it for heat in that old farmhouse. The old, dried-out floorboards had caught fire and the three had perished early that morning in the ensuing blaze.

I was stunned. This tragedy occurred at the same time that I had awakened, believing that our house was full of smoke. It was as if those three had shared their last moments of life with me. Our townhome community was at least two miles away from the farmhouse fire and none of our neighbors reported any smoke that morning.

I still think of those three who seemed to share their final moments of life with me and I keep them in my heart.