The Year the Winds Were Cold

The Santa Anna winds come up sometime in the first semester of school every year. They come hot and fast and dry, and it's my least favorite week of school for the whole year. It's a week of chapped lips and holding our skirts down and fanning our faces and necks with papers and books. 
But this year, for whatever reason, they came late. On Monday, December 4th, the winds came with a wintery bite instead of a heat wave. They still came strongly. 
I left school late that day. All over campus were the usual conversations of "I can't believe it's only Monday" and "see you tomorrow!" My friend walked me to my car and we laughed most of the way. It was cloudy and the sun had set, giving the world a purple hue. I drove away, wondering when I would have time to write my thesis or finish my math homework. 
That night, the wind picked up. I sat on my bed watching random comedian clips when I got a text from a friend on the East Coast, asking if I was okay. When I asked why, she told me about the fire. 

the actual fire (not my image)

About half and hour away, the college I'm going to next year was being evacuated due to a fire in the hills. I called my cousin who goes to that school to find out if he was okay and where he was going, and he in turn asked if I was okay and if our grandparents were okay. Our grandparents live down the block from me, and we all were a good half an hour from the college. I scoffed because I couldn't believe he was worried. We weren't in danger. It was not the first time there had been a little fire in the hills up there. I was fine. 
An hour later, my dad told me the fire was looking bad and that I might want to pack a bag, "just in case." I didn't. Not right away, anyway. I was comfortable in my bed and the loud wind outside made my room seem more cozy, and I wasn't in a big hurry to pack anything. I had school the next day, after all. 
Around 10:30 PM, the lamps in my room blinked. Then again. Then it was dark. You've got to be kidding me. I turned on the flashlight and went out in the hall and my dad told me to pack a bag again. 
The fire was coming. The fire was here. I threw a couple t-shirts in a backpack and anything that was irreplaceable to me. But looking around my room, I realized how little of it was irreplaceable. I took my favorite hoodie, my school books, the nice pair of earrings my grandma had given me, my notebook. That's about it. We met my grandparents and we left. 10:48 PM. 
I had to drive one of the cars part way, just far enough till it was away from the fire. My brother came with me. The wind was brutal, the smoke poisoned the air. 
As we left town, I could see the hills I lived on. They were ablaze with hellish flames.  

I got to come home today. My house survived, by some miracle. The air is still not that great, and all my stuff smells like smoke. The fields across the street are charred and black and the houses aren't there anymore. 
I wonder when it won't be strange to drive down the streets that used to be so memorized in my mind and see them so altered. I wonder when I won't be shocked as every other house is in ruins and people I know are homeless. I wonder when I'll be able to drink water from my own faucet. I wonder if the image of my hillside in flames will ever fade. 

I write this all down, not to ask for a pity party or try and tell you all that I went through some harrowing experience, because it isn't true. I got so lucky. Not everyone was. I write all this down because I want to remember all the details. I want to remember how it happened. I want to always remember that I can't take my home and belongings for granted. 

The year the winds were cold was the year my world went up in flames.