“It wasn’t like anybody was hurt,” was my mother’s way of comforting me.

“I guess not,” I mumbled into the phone. I hadn’t expected her to understand, but I still felt that old pang of disappointment. “Look, I’ll call you later. I have to file the report.” I hung up and wondered to myself why I’d even bothered calling. It always turned out the same.

It took a few hours to finish up with the police, but it was straightforward. The arson team would be investigating the scene for the next few days, but they suspected it was faulty wiring. I’d get a copy of their report for my insurance company, and that would be that.

I stepped out of the police station and blinked against the blinding sunlight. I don’t have a toothbrush, I thought idly to myself. I wandered down the street, thinking of the bright orange flames that ate my house. I can’t stand not to brush my teeth. Had I left the iron plugged up? How much could a toothbrush cost? I had five dollars in my pocket, could I get toothpaste, too? Maybe my electric toothbrush had shorted out and started the fire. I laughed at that, and then, I couldn’t stop. I laughed until tears were streaming down my face, until I was doubled over in the street.

Somebody asked me if I was okay, and I waved them off. Fine, I yelled, I’m great, thanks. I just need a toothbrush, I laughed hysterically.

They probably thought I was crazy. Didn’t I deserve the luxury of losing it for a few minutes? My whole house had been reduced to smoldering ashes in front of my eyes. The house I had rolled pennies to pay for. I loved that house. Now it was a wet, black, sooty smudge.

But that loss was bearable. It was my things, the little bits and pieces that made up my life, that made me want to scream, It’s not fair! The ceramic cat that Jolie brought back from Italy, the Sammy Sosa baseball my dad had given me when I was ten, the rug I brought back from Mexico. I had always prided myself on not being materialistic; I was above people who were attached to their possessions. So why couldn’t I stop thinking about the beaded lamp shade I’d splurged on last month? Or the quilting pieces my grandmother and I had worked on and never quite finished, and the green chenille afghan on my couch, or the friendship bracelet from my brother? Here I am in a street, wallowing in loss like a complete lunatic, laughing when I felt like crying.

I looked up at the bewildered people watching me, and I gave a wobbly smile. I’m okay, I said, standing up. Really, the crazy girl is fine.

I stumbled around for the next few hours, stopping in somewhere to buy a toothbrush. I was pretty sure I needed some other things, but I couldn't think of what, and I didn't really care. It was dark, but I wasn't tired, and besides, I had no where to go. So I walked.

I ended up on the Antioch Bridge, looking out at the lights of the cars and the houses reflecting off the black water of the river. No light out there has my name on it, I thought to myself. I'm alone, and all I have in the world is a new toothbrush. Oh, and baggage. Yeah, I've got plenty of emotional crap. That didn't burn in the fire.

I didn't stop to think what I was doing. I leaned over the edge of the bridge, and looked down into the nothingness. I couldn't see the water churning below me, but I knew it was there. I held my hand out over the water and slowly uncurled my fingers. The toothbrush dropped, swallowed up by the darkness. I turned and walked away.

Sometimes, you have to let things go.