I was sitting on a bike, pedaling to nowhere in Lifetime spin class on Wednesday morning, looking around, thinking about how much I hated that class and all the people in it… I watched the clock slowly tick from 5:30 all the way to 6:30. Thank God, I thought. 6:30. Stupid class was over. I went over to the nearby aerobics studio to stretch and do some abs when I got a call from my mom on my cell.
6:30am phone call. My mom. Calling from Savannah. Not a good sign.
Our house is on fire, she said, crying. Our house. It’s burning, Meredith. Oh my gosh…
She was standing outside, with my dad, watching their home, my childhood home, burn.
I hung up with her and ran out of the gym. Then I ran back into the gym, because I needed to shower somewhere. I showered. I left my gym card in the locker. I got in the car and I started to drive home from Atlanta to Savannah, but I realized it was rush hour, and there was no point. Then I started to drive to my house, but that didn’t make any sense. So instead, I went to work. I tried to find all the loose ends to tie before I left. And then I remembered the Expert was leaving for Australia. The kids. Deadlines. The complicated things…
I couldn’t connect the dots to make any sense.
Over the course of the morning, I talked to my parents. The fire is out. We don’t know the damage. We don’t know what we are going to do. Yes, we called the insurance company. No need for you to come home.
So I didn’t go home to Savannah. I should have, but I listened to them. Instead I book them a hotel to take up residence… and I waited for updates from them. Then a friend texts me a picture of the damage, and I am dumbstruck.
Then I stood up and I ran. Everything hurt. My feet hurt from the crack shoes I wore to work yesterday. My hip hurt. My head hurt. My brains hurt. My back, the muscles and the place where the heartrate monitor strap continues to tear into my skin, run after run… it hurt. My heart hurt. My parents… Everything.