The rain pattered lightly behind me through the glass door to the balcony. I heard gentle rumblings of thunder. It's official: Autumn is here.
The lights turned to a buzzing halt. "Oh, that's just the timer", I commented to my brother. The light over my aquarium had just turned off, making invisible the tiny red shrimp.
When the light left, it seemed like sound left too. I moved about silently. I look to my alarm clock to see the time, but it had dimmed. As twilight was winding down, I could see only through squinted eyes. All the lights in the house had died.
I immediately went to my room to light candles. My brother went to his room and shut the door. He had to sleep. I rummaged through my room in search of more candles. The quickening darkness induced slight panic. I moved more frenetically than I wished. Dammit, why was I so paranoid? I consciously took a deep breath to collect myself.
Think, now, think: big candles on top of the bureau. Small candles in the second drawer to the bottom behind the stack of old term papers. A flashlight and a headlamp in the car. 300 dollars in the third drawer on the right. Knife under the bedside table. Camping pack under the desk. Firewood in the backyard in the dry area near the house. Kindling at the front door. Packs of water bottles in hyung's room, umma's room, and garage. Enough dry food to get by a few days. Shrimp to eat in the aquarium.
I lit two of the large candles and placed them on the desk. One was much brighter than the other. The second seemed to only be growing dimmer. I picked up my full-tang survival knife, attached the bottom portion to my thigh and the upper part buttoned to my belt loop. I threw on my insulated fleece and zipped up the lighter in its pocket. I flung my camping backpack over my shoulders and grabbed the bag of mini candles. I walked out of the room into the dark blue hallway. Twilight was transforming into night. Thank God for this fruity-smelling candle.
I went to the backyard, squeezing between old bikes and broken laundry machines. Sucking in my stomach to reach the wood pieces, I grabbed an old Ikea desk. This will do for now. I went inside, this time my dog followed me. I dropped the broken desk at the fireplace, and went to the kitchen for newspapers and the dog's bed. Upon return to the living room, I had the fire started in minutes and with more paper than necessary. Conserve the paper, you never know how long this will last. You'll regret it if this turns into something terrible. I went to the front door and unlocked it. I went to the left to pick up some kindling. I looked out into the front courtyard. If the light posts had life, you'd see the well-manicured lawn and the weeping willows, instead it was dark completely. On the black canvas I imagined looters trying to steal from us, like our television. Then as I was about to settle back inside, I opened my mailbox and saw with the scented candle an iron lever I had found as a child near the landscaper's tool shed. I haven't seen this in years. We'll bring this in--just in case. I brought in the lever after I lined the kindling in arms reach of the door.
The fire beginning so bright had settled into an amber glow with a powerful heat. I left comfortably knowing it would last without attention for another half hour. I left the room and my dog skipped alongside. He was oblivious to the happenings. He seemed to be having fun while I was in survival mode. I began to pour water for myself, but did not stop with one. I filled up every glass in our cabinet. If something indeed terrible was triggered, water could get contaminated and it could be scarce. Better safe than sorry. After filling 14 of our largest glasses, lining them up neatly on the bar, I made my way upstairs.
I walked to my room, carefully navigating around the shrimp tank to my glass door leading to the balcony. I went to see what I could bring of use in this situation, and found two buckets. I went to my room and proceeded down the hall and made a sharp left into the bathroom. I turned on the water, and tasted it. I didn't know what I was looking for, but it was normal. I placed both bright orange buckets into the tub, and cleaned them out quickly. I went on to fill each to the brim and left them sitting in the tub. I paused and looked at the tubs. I wonder if I should leave one here, and one downstairs. Gosh, I hope I don't have to use any of this.
I went to the fire, the middle of the table legs burned through, the pieces falling over on the sides. I adjusted the wood the make a small mound. The fire started again brightly and made my face hot. I began to feel more at peace. Food and water for 3-4 days, enough wood for hours on end, protection check. I turned away from the fire to take a seat. The leather chair was facing the 55-inch flat screen TV. I paused for a moment who cares about a television now? What a bad investment. I pulled the seat towards the fire and had the chair face it. I sat, spread my feet out, and looked above the flames. The bricks surrounding the fire was dim. I could only barely make out the wooden cross that stood so tall in the room. I began to pray. God, would you be with us during this time? I ask so many rhetorical questions to God. I know you have us, and you equip us to work. Let these two factors lead us to good. Sorry for wasting so much time and money on stupid things like flat-screens and computers. What really matters when the electricity goes out? None of those. Please, let this lesson sink. Let me not waste this black-out. I went to pick up my phone. I looked at the messages. 49. All of them stating happy-birthday one way or another. God, if I were to die as a result of this, I would be thankful. Thank you for reminding me of the love I have experienced. I thought of all the messages, phone calls, emails, and social network alerts, the letter.
What a sweet way to spend a birthday. I went to my phone to say Thanks. Then the lights turned on.
