November 13, 8 p.m.
We're walking the dogs.
That's a lot smoke, my husband says.
Haven't heard any sirens, I say.
Then they start. A lot of them. We look up the street. Blue and red flashing lights everywhere.
Uncomfortable silence. We pick up the pace. Even the dogs seem more agitated than usual.
Finally he says it.
That's where the mosque is.
We walk faster. Like there is anything we could do.
The fire trucks come blasting down the highway and turn into town.
The mosque burned down once before back when it was out of town. Arson was suspected, I recall.
In my head ...don't let it be the mosque don't let it be the mosque don't let it be the mosque.
We cut the walk short and head through the park. The mosque is standing. A couple of vehicles in the parking lot.
It's house fire a block away. EMS standing guard at the end of the street gives us the idea no one was hurt. By the time we get home the fire chief has already tweeted the house fire has been put out and all loss stopped.
No one likes to hear there's a house fire. Especially not in my town.
But it wasn't the mosque. Thank God for that.
Not my town.