Outside it’s the same bad luck, every two or three seconds a catastrophe happens to someone, goes unnoticed by someone else. When the helicopters flew over and the sirens started, I had no idea my neighbor’s house had caught fire. I went on weeding, another uneventful afternoon.

We walked by the house later, saw the caution tape and everything inside charred. Holes where windows had been. A black film over yellow wallpaper. Firefighters moving slowly between the house and the fire engine.

It would be dishonest of me to tell you I didn’t think of myself, and feel lucky.

::

Weeds in the backyard have doubled in length. Their roots hold the soil, misshapen pale hands. I drive in the shovel, remove each weed in its entirety, not so they won’t grow back but so I can see the delicate roots, how they taper then fray like old gauze. Nothing should be so white and vulnerable.

::

It’s like the feeling of being on a carnival ride, but in my feet, she tells me. She presses the toes of her right foot into the arch of her left foot, hard. This relieves the feeling to some extent, she says. She sits this way for some time. It also helps to lie on my stomach and hang my feet off the bed.