Of the moment

A story about a timely matter.

14, February 2025

Mitch Kampf —

You Forget How Wet A Fire Is

You forget how wet a fire is. The water flows so naturally. New rivers run down the canyon roads as if they always existed. Your neighbors hose down windows and doors. They spray you by accident. Not that you care. 

You watch as they move on to spray the Jacaranda tree in the courtyard. It’s green. So green. Not quite ready to bloom. Your feet squish. Water pools on the astroturf and you wonder — was turf a conscious decision? Would grass burn faster? You wonder... 

But not for long. Ash is falling. There’s no time for that. The influencer next door drops her plastic jug. She screams. Water spills. But not much. She scoops it up and runs out the back in seconds. It’s impressive. You tell yourself to try that Pilates class she’s been hawking when we come back. If we come back.

You chuckle at your own grim joke. It turns into a cough. A wet cough. COVID, this is not. Phlegm coats your throat. Your body protecting itself against the dust. Your palms are sweaty. You imagine it’s July. You’re holding someone’s hand in a crowded bar on a summer night far away from here. It’s easy to conjure phantoms in the smoke. You hold onto that feeling, maybe too long, until you cough again. A wet cough. 

You forget how wet a fire is.

There’s a honk. Your friends are here. You pick up your bag. It’s awful light. Too light? You picture the go-bag lists floating around Instagram. You try to imagine the contents of your bag. It’s too hard. You unzip the top and take a peek. It’s a disorganized mess. You rifle quickly, remembering the list: wallet, passport, keys, medications, a change of clothes, water, sentimental items...

Sentimental items. The final thing on all the lists. It bothers you. You took a stuffed golden retriever and a tattered copy of your favorite movie script. Inside Llewyn Davis. You wonder. Were those the right things? You have some cards in the closet. Letters from grandparents. Should you have taken those? Is there time to go back?

Another honk. 

Right or wrong, these are the things. You go. Nearly slipping on wet paving stones. 

Your friends are parked in a Toyota Sienna. You throw your bag in the back. Climb in the front. A quick U-turn and you’re all gone. Full tank of gas. Headed out. Just out. Distance is the destination.

Mitch Kampf is a screenwriter in Los Angeles.

artwork by Ciara Duffy