31 “I like fire,” Laurence said cheerily, his eyes ablaze. “Please don’t let Laurence handle the matches,” I pleaded. As we drove, my family got a bigger idea of the carnage that Santa Ana had wrought on our town. My face was pressed to the glass, eyes sweeping over many destroyed trees. Fire trucks surrounded downed power lines, and bucket trucks frantically worked on power lines. The air seemed hazy and dusty. It was chaos, inflicted by the touch of an invisible meteorological entity. I recalled that great presence above our roof and shivered. It was incredible to see how quickly the ordinary could be swept away. About an hour later, my family returned home with breaded baked chicken, green beans, and wild rice in Styrofoam containers. My mom neatly distributed each dish to our places at the table while Dad pulled out the lighter and lit some candles. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, our dinner felt intimate and unique. For the first time in a while, my family truly enjoyed a meal and the simple blessing of green beans and chicken. It was ironic that it took the world to stop for it to happen. After dinner, Laurence and I cleared the table of dishes and laid out Monopoly: Canada Edition in their place. I picked the airplane, Laurence picked the racecar, Dad picked the rollerblade, and Mom picked the burger. As the youngest, I went first. “Six!” I exclaimed excitedly and
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