When the fire erupted on Jan. 7, I was in Malibu working out at a gym by Point Dume. My mom and I watched the first set of fire trucks roll out, then a second and a third. The power cut out in Malibu because of the winds and we had no cell service. We were freaking out because our puppy was home alone. My mom kept calling our neighbors, but received no answer. We figured out that the fire had started out in the Highlands. By the time my mom reached our neighbor Rachel, she was across the street crying, “that she barely got out with her cat, and the fire was two doors away from our house.” My mom and I jumped in our car and sped down Pacific Coast Highway behind a yellow fire truck. We drove as far as we could go, being stopped at The Reel Inn right before Topanga Canyon Road.
We parked the car and proceeded to run. We ran along PCH and up Sunset Blvd. where policemen and firemen tried to stop us, but we ignored them and kept running. We ran up Marquez St.; the air was thick with smoke and the searing heat. We continued running up Lachman Ln. and then up to Charmel Pl. By then, the ash was the size of quarters and the heat was so intense that our faces felt sunburned. We could see and hear the bushes catching fire, snapping and crackling with each step. Our hearts were pounding. We only had one wish: that our puppy was ok.
My mom told me where the spare key was on the deck and I ran inside and up the stairs and screamed out. My mom thought the worst at first, but I told her our puppy was okay. Luckily, we had a smaller car in the garage, but it had no room for anything except us, the puppy, a case of water and his dog food. That’s it. That is all we took. As we made our way down to Marquez St. and then on to Sunset Blvd., we saw the fire hop across Sunset Blvd. and set the Lake Shrine on fire. My mom whipped the car around and we escaped through the back of the Bel-Air Bay Club.
We had called ahead and reserved a room at the Oceana, a hotel in Santa Monica that we knew took dogs. As soon as we got to our room and the puppy settled, we went to Providence St. John’s Health Center for smoke inhalation. As we sat in the Emergency Room, we held our breath and checked our Ring camera to see if our house was still standing.
Finally discharged from the hospital, we got into our car and took one last look at the Ring camera and saw our house in flames. Neither of us could speak. We sat in silence and heartbreak as we drove back to the hotel. When we arrived there were fire engines everywhere. We were being evacuated from that hotel because the fire had now reached Rustic Canyon.
We drove to Laguna Beach where we spent the next 23 days in a hotel room with our dog. My mom drove back and forth every day looking for housing. We finally found a place in Calabasas. I still have not processed anything and the pain is overwhelming. In one day, I lost my entire childhood, leaving me feeling stripped of my identity.
Out of respect for those who have lost their homes, please never tell someone it is “just a house.” Do not give unsolicited advice. A simple “I am sorry”, a hug or “how can I help?” will suffice. Homes are our safe place, our sanctuary. Finding the courage to first feel safe again and then take on the long road ahead to rebuild requires guts and fortitude and the help of friends.
Edited by Sophia Winston
