Paradise
Erin Donoho
It’s like night has come early, and it’s only eight forty-five in the morning. I step around
Mom, who’s on the couch watching
Good Day
as usual, and lean to get a better view out the
window.
The sky is almost black. In the few minutes I’ve been in the kitchen the smoke has
thickened like a blanket over us.
Mom mumbles as I walk to the door.
“What’s that?” I say, leaning down so she can see my face.
She blinks at me. “Are you staying?”
I pat her shoulder. I’ve stayed for four years. “Yep. Just checking something.” She
doesn’t reply, probably forgot ever asking me anything, and I step out onto the porch and inhale
ash. It’s like smoking a never-ending cigarette.
Around me the mobile home park is quiet, but in the distance orange flickers out the dark.
A second later I see another spark, and turn to grab the door.
Donoho / Paradise / 2
“Hey!” Dale, standing on the porch of his trailer next door with his arms full of bags,
looks at me. “We gotta get out of here! I’m gonna see who else I can grab.”
“All right, let me get a few things,” I say, ducking back inside. I’d knock on people’s
doors too, but I have to get Mom.
I go into my bedroom, grab my old duffel bag and stuff clothes in it. In Mom’s room I
stack a pile of clothes up and shove them in an old suitcase. Now to find the cats.
“Mom,” I say, coming out with the bags over my shoulders. “Hey Mom. We have to go.”
“Huh?” She looks at me. “Go?”
“Yeah. Go. We have to leave.” I dump the bags on the floor and walk to her. “Come on.”
I reach out my hand.
“Where are we going?”
Damn, not this. Not now. She has no way of knowing, but if only she could. “There’s a
fire outside, Mom, we have to go. Now.”
“A fire? I don’t see any fire.” She stands slowly, peering out the back window. The sky is
black with smoke.
“Come on.” I grab her hands.
“Let go of me,” she says and she’s out of my hands, swatting at me. I let her be for the
moment. “We’re leaving?” Her voice rises in that familiar pitch. But I can’t blame her for
panicking now. I’ll be panicking if we don’t get out of here in the next minute.
“Yes, we’re leaving. I’ve packed clothes. Let’s go.” I touch her arm.
“This is my home!” She fights me, slaps my arm, thankfully with about the strength of an
infant. “Who are you to tell me to leave my home?”
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Erin Donoho
It’s like night has come early, and it’s only eight forty-five in the morning. I step around
Mom, who’s on the couch watching
Good Day
as usual, and lean to get a better view out the
window.
The sky is almost black. In the few minutes I’ve been in the kitchen the smoke has
thickened like a blanket over us.
Mom mumbles as I walk to the door.
“What’s that?” I say, leaning down so she can see my face.
She blinks at me. “Are you staying?”
I pat her shoulder. I’ve stayed for four years. “Yep. Just checking something.” She
doesn’t reply, probably forgot ever asking me anything, and I step out onto the porch and inhale
ash. It’s like smoking a never-ending cigarette.
Around me the mobile home park is quiet, but in the distance orange flickers out the dark.
A second later I see another spark, and turn to grab the door.
Donoho / Paradise / 2
“Hey!” Dale, standing on the porch of his trailer next door with his arms full of bags,
looks at me. “We gotta get out of here! I’m gonna see who else I can grab.”
“All right, let me get a few things,” I say, ducking back inside. I’d knock on people’s
doors too, but I have to get Mom.
I go into my bedroom, grab my old duffel bag and stuff clothes in it. In Mom’s room I
stack a pile of clothes up and shove them in an old suitcase. Now to find the cats.
“Mom,” I say, coming out with the bags over my shoulders. “Hey Mom. We have to go.”
“Huh?” She looks at me. “Go?”
“Yeah. Go. We have to leave.” I dump the bags on the floor and walk to her. “Come on.”
I reach out my hand.
“Where are we going?”
Damn, not this. Not now. She has no way of knowing, but if only she could. “There’s a
fire outside, Mom, we have to go. Now.”
“A fire? I don’t see any fire.” She stands slowly, peering out the back window. The sky is
black with smoke.
“Come on.” I grab her hands.
“Let go of me,” she says and she’s out of my hands, swatting at me. I let her be for the
moment. “We’re leaving?” Her voice rises in that familiar pitch. But I can’t blame her for
panicking now. I’ll be panicking if we don’t get out of here in the next minute.
“Yes, we’re leaving. I’ve packed clothes. Let’s go.” I touch her arm.
“This is my home!” She fights me, slaps my arm, thankfully with about the strength of an
infant. “Who are you to tell me to leave my home?”
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