18 Reviving Resilience
First, everything’s quiet. But then – a crash of ceramics on the wood-paneled floor. Then a yell, someone telling someone else to grab something, maybe a jacket or the phone. A door opens, panicked footsteps echo in the corridor. Someone trips on their own shoelaces or misses a step or something, but gains their balance quickly and continues their way down the stairs.
Then the scream comes: “Fire! Everybody out!”
The doors open, almost in a synchronized movement, as if all the residents of the house have been waiting behind their front doors for the order to come.
Until this moment, an elderly man on the third floor has stayed in his armchair, not bothering to stand up in vain. But now the smoke is starting to seep into his apartment too and he feels like he must get up and join the others.
As he grabs the armrests with his white hands weakened with age, the doorbell rings.
“Tom! You need to get outside! Are you in there?”
He walks to the door and opens it. It’s his friend, Elsa, from the apartment one floor down. Tom feels warmth in his chest, appreciating Elsa taking the time to walk up the stairs to warn him despite her anxiety and bad knees.
“I’m on my way”, Tom says, keeping his voice calm, and glances at Elsa. What does she have with her? “What should I take with me?”
“Nothing!” Elsa’s first answer is colored with panic and some sort of determination. But then she thinks for a second, and decides differently. “Take your jacket. It’s cold outside. And your keys, of course.”
“What about my…”
“There isn’t time for anything else, Tom”, Elsa interrupts with a high voice that sound like a cry, unable to stop the panic from taking over. “Come!”
Tom follows in the steps of his friend. He walks from his apartment, carrying his coat and keys. He glances into the apartment, only for a second, letting his eyes rest on the old wooden writing desk of his for a short moment. He would like to sigh, but he doesn’t seem have time for that – Elsa begs him to stop wondering and start walking.
So, he walks down the steps, three floors down to the front door of the building, and joins everyone else in the yard.
It doesn’t take long before the fire is raging in three floors out of six. It had started on the fourth floor, the floor above Tom’s, and continued in two directions, up and down, quickly and aggressively.
It’s as if the fire knows it will be extinguished soon enough by the fire department, and decides to destroy as much as it possibly can before its time is out.
That’s a thought Tom would’ve liked to write down. But it isn’t possible. All his journals are inside, probably being eaten by the fire at that precise moment.
I hope the fire likes my words, Tom thinks to himself and wants to chuckle at his own joke. But it isn’t funny, not really. He’s aware that it’s only a mechanism of the brain to protect Tom from the truly awful truth he already knows – that all his work is being destroyed, right now, inside that building. Everything he has created, every word he has written. Gone. And there is nothing he can do.
In the distance, the fire trucks sound their alarm. They are close, coming at a surprising speed. But it’s already too late.
However, as the cold November wind makes everyone shiver, Tom thinks this: maybe all the thoughts will come back to him. Maybe he can write them all again, just like they were before. But at the same time, an elderly man with dementia… Tom sighs, this time out loud. What are the odds of him remembering everything again?
“Tom, it’s going to be alright”, Elsa says to him, in an effort to sooth both her friend and herself. Tom pats Elsa’s hand that has a tight grip of his arm. He appreciates her effort.
“Life has a tendency to find its way”, Tom hears himself say.
He is unsure if he has belief in his own words. But that isn’t anything one thinks of in a moment like this. At moments like these, one holds on to hope, to resilience, at any price. And Tom does that too, for now. Just to keep Elsa calm.