It started simply, with a wish: \u201cI wish every word was as fun as \u2018kumquat\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019d be fun,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Later that week, when I needed a paper towel but couldn\u2019t immediately recall the word for what I needed (or, I did, but I also thought of the word \u201cnapkin,\u201d and could not quickly enough reconcile the tension between one word and the other to designate what it was that I was asking for, precisely), I said: \u201cCould you hand me a\u2014that\u2014a\u2026please, hand me a \u2018kumquat,\u2019 please.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I asked for a kumquat and got a paper towel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few days later I proffered the right item (a receipt we\u2019d need to make a return) when all I heard was, \u201cDo you know where the \u2018kumquat\u2019 for the shirt I bought yesterday ended up?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2312<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s been nine months. It seems as if every 10th word we say to each other is \u201ckumquat.\u201d Kumquat means \u201clove;\u201d it means \u201cno\u201d; it means \u201cblowjob,\u201d \u201cpizza,\u201d \u201ctired,\u201d \u201csad,\u201d \u201cnot-it,\u201d \u201cyour turn,\u201d \u201cbook,\u201d \u201ccar,\u201d \u201cnerd,\u201d \u201cshower,\u201d \u201cnap,\u201d \u201cdinner,\u201d \u201cphone charger,\u201d \u201cgas,\u201d \u201cnot now,\u201d \u201cdog,\u201d and so much more. It\u2019s never confusing, what one of us means when the other says \u201ckumquat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2323<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bag of kumquats my coworker gave me on Friday on the way out of the office has sat on the counter all weekend. Neither of us has discussed what it would mean to eat them, or to throw them out, or to give them away. But we\u2019ll have to sooner than later. I hate to think what would happen if we just let them go moldy and bad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sun did not rise today. Or it did rise, but didn\u2019t see it. Couldn\u2019t tell. The smoke is thick\u2014thicker than it\u2019s been for weeks. It\u2019s also overcast, supposedly. That\u2019s what the weather report says, anyway. What it is is hot. The weather report says it\u2019s in the 90s, but it feels hotter. Is it humid? Or is it dry? Yesterday conditions were dry. Today, I think, they are humid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What I can see is round-the-clock red glow down the street. The fire station on Canyon Road must have been upgraded to a field station. Last week the glow was yellow, when the station served as a makeshift pantry. I went to see what was on offer and left with a box of baked beans and three boxes of macaroni and cheese.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEnjoy it while you can,\u201d said the volunteer who greeted me on the way out. \u201cWheat isn\u2019t growing. No more mac \u2018n cheese.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tomorrow\u2019s high is going to be 93, says the weather report. Smoke quotient will be at 5 again. No progress has been made on the ORWACA mega-fire, and conditions are supposed to worsen by the weekend, when the smoke is expected to merge with a volcanic ash cloud coming up from the South Pacific. The weather report says they\u2019re talking about adding a lettering system to the smoke quotient scale to designate even worse air quality, accounting for factors outside of forest fires. In this case, volcanic ash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The clock says it\u2019s 11am. It could be 7pm. The smoke quotient today is 4C. I could see into my neighbor\u2019s yard, which is something, but I\u2019m not supposed to be outdoors for more than 10 minutes because an atmospheric river is dumping inches of acidic rain all around us. According to this e-mail, we\u2019re not supposed to eat any food we grew ourselves outdoors if we didn\u2019t harvest prior to Monday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My houseplants are dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I said earlier that I could see into my neighbor\u2019s yard. That wasn\u2019t true. My neighbor doesn\u2019t have a backyard. We have small patios.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Today\u2019s weather report said that world bee populations are increasing, reversing a trend that\u2019s been observed for at least a decade. Because no one really understood bee colony decline to begin with, it\u2019s not totally understood what\u2019s behind this reversal. The high today was 97. Smoke quotient was 4A.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The constant glow down the street went from red to purple. I don\u2019t know what that means. The news says that the ORWACA mega-fire has grown. Smoke is at 5C. It\u2019s 101 out. My neighbor came by about an hour ago and knocked and knocked. I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We\u2019re being evacuated. My neighbor, who is sitting next me on this bus, is telling me that he came by earlier to tell me that we were going to be evacuated. \u201cI was sleeping,\u201d I lied. \u201cWell, no matter. Here we are,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This is my neighbor\u2019s second evacuation, I\u2019ve learned. My watch says it\u2019s 10am. My watch stopped working weeks ago. I tap on the glass, expecting nothing to happen. Nothing happens. There\u2019s an announcement. We\u2019ll be on the road for three, possibly four hours. No stops. We are to keep the windows closed as much as possible. We are encouraged to sleep. Someone asks where we are being taken.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We were each given a shortwave radio. There\u2019s nothing to listen to, though, except for the recorded messages coming from FEMA. At night, someone somewhere sends out old episodes of \u201cCoast to Coast,\u201d so that\u2019s something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My neighbor hasn\u2019t been seen for days. No one knows when he was last around. His cot and his things are all accounted for. The last thing he told me was that the fires and the smoke were all a cover. A cover for a sunless sky. He said that the sun had not been rising for months now. \u201cWe\u2019re being lied to,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s no more sun.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The camp loudspeakers are playing \u201cWalking on Sunshine.\u201d No one seems keen to finish their lunch. Today is a can of pineapple chunks and a chunk of summer sausage. The summer sausage had a sticky film on it, which was a chore to remove, but once it was off it each bite was salty-minerally good. When the song ends, people just sit and stare. Some get up and throw the remnants of their food away. I ask the little girl next to me if I can have her pineapple juice. She slides the tin in my direction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The little girl has taken a liking to me. She brings me cuttings from a plant that grows nearby; it thrives in dry, rocky soil. The leaves are heart-shaped and variegated: some are a transparent milky white, some are a velvety, fuzzy black. She also brings small piles of flint and turquoise, which she says is food for the plant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No one is bothered by the expanded playlist we get with meals now. The rotation includes, \u201cHere Comes the Sun,\u201d \u201cGood Day Sunshine,\u201d and \u201cSoak up the Sun.\u201d The temperature has hovered around 103 for weeks now, the smoke quotient around 4B.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Today\u2019s FEMA report brought new information: the ORWACA mega-fire is 51% contained. It\u2019s been 52 weeks since the fire broke out. Smoke quotients have been hovering around 2B. Temperatures remain high, but seem to get above 100 only occasionally. I saw a bee today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
________<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rub\u00e9n Casas is a writer living in the Pacific Northwest<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"