Escaping Paradise
Illustration by Anne Le Guern @anneleguern My sister was on her way to work when she first saw it: heavy smoke above Paradise, where our parents live. She grabbed her phone and dialed them. No answer. It was early, not yet 8 a.m. They were still asleep.
She called again. On the third try, my dad finally picked up. The sky had grown darker. There was no time to explain. “Go outside and look,” was all she said.
The first I hear of it is late in the afternoon. I’m at work in Times Square when my sister texts me, “Mom just got back to me. They’re still stuck in gridlock. Their house is probably gone.”
At first, I don’t know what she’s talking about, but then I remember: even though it’s November, it’s still wildfire season. Since my parents and little sister moved to Paradise fifteen years ago, they’ve had to evacuate multiple times. My mom keeps boxes next to the front door labeled for things like the checkbook and my grandma’s tortilla recipes. Keepsakes are permanently stored in a hauler by the road, ready to
