By the time I was getting ready to sleep,
ready to place my iPhone aside,
it was 3 a.m.
He said,
“BB, we need to go.”
I said,
“What? Why? What?”
“BB, we need to go.
Evacuation order.”
By the time we were driving north,
we had bundled our cackle of girls and guests,
two water dogs,
two cats,
into two cars.
Passports.
Marriage certificate.
Birth certificates.
Insurance cards,
macbooks,
books for our little one,
in his attaché case,
always packed,
already in the boot.
By the time we reached the queues,
roads clogged with cars all heading towards government shelter,
at the exhibition centre,
he called from the smaller car.
“Change of plan.
Drive to the charging station.
Charge the car.
I’ll fill up too.
I’ll meet you there.”
By the time the batteries were charging,
he had booked two hotel rooms,
one booking for tonight,
another booking separate for tomorrow night.
He checked with Chat,
asking for summaries of
government websites,
news reports,
weather forecasts,
trying to predict
the wind,
the fire,
the rain.
By the time we checked into the hotel,
we’d spent the night at Le Lac in cars.
At Leroy Merlin, we purchased FFP2 masks.
At Auchan, I stocked up on ready meals.
At IKEA I bought ice creams, soft
for the girls and boy,
loaded two discounted shelves into the overnight storage area,
unloaded two cars,
him parking both,
me setting up,
a cackle of teens in one room.
By the time the girls had settled,
no aircon.
Nothing possible.
Reception
helpless,
hopeless,
overwhelmed.
Overstocked on excuses,
undersupplied on solutions.
By the time reception finished explaining,
he’d already returned from Leroy Merlin,
with cooling for the teens and dogs.
By the time
I fell asleep,
I had asked him the hundredth time,
“Is there a chance,
we can go home tonight?
We’ll be home tomorrow?”
