By R. M. Eddleman

Cassandra must be saved. She is my favorite, after all.

This initial thought sparked one of the many occasions where I contemplated what I would do in a tragic, chaotic, even mortal situation. Of late I’ve been brainstorming about what I would do if my apartment blazed up and I only had 60-80 seconds to pick up what’s most important to me and race down three flights of stairs, 34 steps. Right now I was thinking of Cassandra, but there are four of her. Do I take them all?

Think about it, everything is material. I just can buy more. If America has one thing to offer it’s consumerism, at least according to my Cultural Foundations class. The conclusion, then, is that I should take what I can’t buy back. Pictures are now safe in the Cloud, so no worries there. Same with documents, phone numbers, fleeting notes, bank information, etc. I keep all my legal pads and textbooks lined up on the left wall of my bed like a hoarder in case I ever need them again. It would be a shame to lose that knowledge, but they’re too heavy to take. My favorite pair of combat boots, which my roommate injured but I still wear, are probably what will be taking me on my flight to safety.

What else? 60 seconds left, what do I take? This isn’t easy. I can imagine smoke rising thick and flames crackling hot, the vinyl flooring lamenting the fact it never got a chance to be real wood, and me, dangling, like spiders over a fiery pit. Sizzle, crackle, pop.

Why is it so hard to decide what the most important piece of my life is? I could go the enlightened route and be happy that I’m alive, but sitting at my kitchen table, looking at my material life, I am not happy with that answer. Then it comes to me as I stare at my mostly-empty living room, because the furniture I bought is still in Mesquite waiting to be hauled down here, and the only things filling up the space are bookshelves.

I think I knew all along, the clue being Cassandra that sparked this scenario. It’s not what will I take but who will I take. I just didn’t want to admit it, because I can’t save them all. I could jack them in, make them part of the Cloud, but I refuse to put people in machines and take away that tangible affection we have for one another.

Cassandra then, would be first. She’s too good to put down, but too good to pick up. Two seconds.

Black would be my next choice. She taught me about gentle people and the truths of desire. Four seconds.

There’s also Cruz– the dark one in a brightly polished world. She is demons within angels, angels within demons. Six seconds.

As for Austen, I don’t even have to justify Austen. Of course she comes. Seven seconds.

Holder and Viguie, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a chat with you. But I remember your three white lilies and ghosts from the past. You’ve been dealt a very wicked hand, but claw your way out of the phantasm scratching and tearing. Ten seconds.

Funke, ah Funke, we never finished our struggling conversation. You may stay behind. Two more seconds lost, I’m at twelve.

As for you Defoe, I’m not sure why I like you. Honestly you ramble too much and you’re kind of a harlot, but I guess I have room in my arms for you. Fourteen seconds.

Hope, I had forgotten about you collecting dust at the bottom. You can collect ash next. Three more seconds lost.

Cicero, we’ve never talked, but I’ve always liked the idea of one day having a conversation with you. I suppose I still like the idea. Twenty seconds.

Marrone, Morris, and Mead, you’re the three weird sisters with freaks, fangs, and phantoms. Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six seconds.

Fair Leona Blair, I stole you from a boy I hardly knew, and all for not because I still don’t know you. Loss of two seconds. Twenty-eight.

Jones, oh you’re psychotic, but I don’t think I’ll leave you in the fire, laughing in your rage. Which reminds me Geoffrey, hop on in. I’m sure I could find another one of you, being as you’re so popular you’ve now become common. Thirty-four seconds.

George my dear, you’re made of ice and snow… Oh, just get in. Thirty-six seconds!

Atwater-Rhodes, you thought I had forgotten about you, but you I would never leave behind in the forests of the night. You’re at forty seconds, stupid.

Twenty seconds left. There would be time to save more, but by now the bag would be full. I could get a bigger bag, but to linger would be to burn hotter than 451. I can imagine running down the stairs to meet the other panting people in the parking lot. I couldn’t say whether they’d have laptops in hand, beloved pets (crap, I forgot my roommate’s cat), probably their cell phones, and car keys would be smart. I couldn’t tell you whether I’d be the only one with a heavy and bulging pink Victoria’s Secret duffle bag. Someone curious might ask me what I saved. If I’m ballsy, I’ll correct them and say, “Who I saved.”

 

R. M. Eddleman is currently a senior English literature major at St. Edward’s University. She began taking creative writing workshops her first semester after transferring from ACC. She says the creative writing courses have helped her develop her writing, as well as inspire her to continue to write while working at a restaurant in South Austin and going to school full time. It was during one of these creative writing courses that she realized creative nonfiction could help her rediscover her own experiences through writing, thus enabling her to repurpose elements of her personal stories for fictitious ones.

Photo by Marcos Morales.