30 31 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW Santa Ana certainly showed no mercy to our fences. We were greeted by another remnant of a warzone in our driveway. The Hand of God had reached down from heaven, plucked up our pickets, and effortlessly scattered them across our driveway like matchsticks. One of our lattices was mysteriously missing, and it was never found. The basketball hoop lay lifeless on its side. Our forest-green Chevrolet Suburban had survived unscathed. “What in the world?” I said, because that’s what adults said. My dad observed God’s matchsticks and frowned. The Chinese neighbor’s stately oak tree—big around as I was tall and so massive it practically swallowed the sky—was casually uprooted, its soiled remnants lifted toward the clouds as if pleading for clemency. It had left a considerable divot in their yard and blocked the whole street. I remembered staring at it, mouth agape, longing to climb it and get lost in its branches, but lacking the courage and strength to do so. It was awe-inducing and eerie that such a great organism could be so unceremoniously felled. By dinnertime, the power had not yet returned to our home. With no stove to cook from and no real food to pull from the refrigerator, my parents decided to go to the closest area with power, find a grocery store, pick up dinner from the cafeteria, and bring it home. “It’ll be fun!” my mom said. “We can have a candlelight dinner and play board games. Whenever we lost power when I was your age, that’s what we did.” “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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