take-out before all of this. How’s the beer?”
“Warm, but still better than the wine we had at the church,” I said. “So I guess you’re not going to be staying here. You could stay with me. Until you find a place, I mean.” A smile crept over my face as I remembered Haley’s note and her teasing.
“What’s so funny?” Powell asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking about something Haley said.”
“What?”
I shook my head.
“Girl stuff?” he asked, letting me off the hook.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to go pack up some clothes. Help yourself to anything you want, well, anything that’s still good.”
I looked in each of the cabinets, pulling out any non-perishables and setting them on the counter. “Do you have any bags? So we can take the food with us.” I called.
“Under the sink.”
I retrieved the balled-up bags and stuffed several of them full of everything worth taking and then carried them outside and set them at the base of the step. As I turned to walk back in, the doorframe creaked, and the door seemed to jut out. There was a loud crack before the living room window burst into shards over the unkempt lawn.
I tried to shout through the gap in the door, but my voice was cut off as drywall dust plumed out through the doorway into my eyes and throat. I staggered, tripped, and fell backward onto the grass.
As I sat wiping at my eyes and coughing, there came a thunderous symphony of sound—cracking, creaking, crunching, and popping, punctuated by the high-pitched pang of breaking glass and followed by the pattering and tinkling of debris.
I waved the dust from in front of my face. When it settled, I saw through the blur of stinging tears that the house had collapsed in on itself, in on Powell .
“Powell,” I called, but there was no response.
I got to my feet and ran around to the back of the house to find another way in. The back corner of the house, where Powell had been, was crushed. The end of the telegraph pole hung only a few feet from the ground amid jagged wooden teeth and folded, broken drywall, with every gum-like gap filled with pink fiberglass insulation and shards of glass.
“Powell?” I cried through every gap.
I heard crunching and cracking from inside what was left of the kitchen, and I ran to peer in through a gap left by the now triangular window frame.
I gasped as a bright white face appeared at the opening.
“I’m okay,” Powell said and rubbed the drywall dust out of his hair, before squeezing his arm and head through the jagged gap. I grabbed his arm and pulled as he wriggled to get through. We both fell to the ground as his leg came free, and I let out a sigh of relief.
“I thought you were ...” I began.
“I heard the first crack and ran to the kitchen, but you weren’t there,” he said. “The ceiling collapsed and I got wedged up against the fridge. I didn’t know where you were.”
“You ran to the kitchen to save me?” I asked, with a smile spreading across my face.
Powell smiled a shy smile and stood up. “I was trying to save the rest of the beer,” he said and shook, patted, and brushed the rest of the dust from his hair, face, and clothes. “It’s a good thing I did. Look at that,” Powell said, staring at what remained of his bedroom.
“You okay?” he asked, the seriousness back in his tone.
“I’m fine. I was outside when it collapsed.”
He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. “I guess we should get going. There’s nothing left here,” he said.
As he turned, I stepped in his path and put my arms around him. He hesitated for a second, and then returned the gesture, hugging me tightly. We stayed like this for what felt like forever. When I let him go, he smiled his kind smile and continued as though nothing had happened—to his home or between us.
As we traversed the vehicle-and-debris-strewn roads on our way back to the truck, Powell stopped and called me over. We stood staring down at a collapsed wood-framed sign
“Warm, but still better than the wine we had at the church,” I said. “So I guess you’re not going to be staying here. You could stay with me. Until you find a place, I mean.” A smile crept over my face as I remembered Haley’s note and her teasing.
“What’s so funny?” Powell asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking about something Haley said.”
“What?”
I shook my head.
“Girl stuff?” he asked, letting me off the hook.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to go pack up some clothes. Help yourself to anything you want, well, anything that’s still good.”
I looked in each of the cabinets, pulling out any non-perishables and setting them on the counter. “Do you have any bags? So we can take the food with us.” I called.
“Under the sink.”
I retrieved the balled-up bags and stuffed several of them full of everything worth taking and then carried them outside and set them at the base of the step. As I turned to walk back in, the doorframe creaked, and the door seemed to jut out. There was a loud crack before the living room window burst into shards over the unkempt lawn.
I tried to shout through the gap in the door, but my voice was cut off as drywall dust plumed out through the doorway into my eyes and throat. I staggered, tripped, and fell backward onto the grass.
As I sat wiping at my eyes and coughing, there came a thunderous symphony of sound—cracking, creaking, crunching, and popping, punctuated by the high-pitched pang of breaking glass and followed by the pattering and tinkling of debris.
I waved the dust from in front of my face. When it settled, I saw through the blur of stinging tears that the house had collapsed in on itself, in on Powell .
“Powell,” I called, but there was no response.
I got to my feet and ran around to the back of the house to find another way in. The back corner of the house, where Powell had been, was crushed. The end of the telegraph pole hung only a few feet from the ground amid jagged wooden teeth and folded, broken drywall, with every gum-like gap filled with pink fiberglass insulation and shards of glass.
“Powell?” I cried through every gap.
I heard crunching and cracking from inside what was left of the kitchen, and I ran to peer in through a gap left by the now triangular window frame.
I gasped as a bright white face appeared at the opening.
“I’m okay,” Powell said and rubbed the drywall dust out of his hair, before squeezing his arm and head through the jagged gap. I grabbed his arm and pulled as he wriggled to get through. We both fell to the ground as his leg came free, and I let out a sigh of relief.
“I thought you were ...” I began.
“I heard the first crack and ran to the kitchen, but you weren’t there,” he said. “The ceiling collapsed and I got wedged up against the fridge. I didn’t know where you were.”
“You ran to the kitchen to save me?” I asked, with a smile spreading across my face.
Powell smiled a shy smile and stood up. “I was trying to save the rest of the beer,” he said and shook, patted, and brushed the rest of the dust from his hair, face, and clothes. “It’s a good thing I did. Look at that,” Powell said, staring at what remained of his bedroom.
“You okay?” he asked, the seriousness back in his tone.
“I’m fine. I was outside when it collapsed.”
He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. “I guess we should get going. There’s nothing left here,” he said.
As he turned, I stepped in his path and put my arms around him. He hesitated for a second, and then returned the gesture, hugging me tightly. We stayed like this for what felt like forever. When I let him go, he smiled his kind smile and continued as though nothing had happened—to his home or between us.
As we traversed the vehicle-and-debris-strewn roads on our way back to the truck, Powell stopped and called me over. We stood staring down at a collapsed wood-framed sign
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