BOOM. Baby.

By Andrew Braman-Wanek

Of course, many house stories aren't really about the house. They are about a significant event that happened and the house served as a backdrop to the story - a bit player of sorts.

April 14, 2004 -- In the early hours of the morning I awoke to an extraordinary noise. I could feel the pressure pass through the house, shaking even my bed. But, the force dissipated quickly and was followed by utter stillness. I had no idea what to make of it. For a moment I thought it could have been caused by a collapse at a condo construction project on our block. I peered out the bedroom window and could see nothing unusual. I listened for awhile as well, and heard nothing but silence.

I fell back asleep and awoke again at a more reasonable hour, still thinking about the unusual noise. But it was not until I walked downstairs and into our kitchen where I saw a TV news van in our terrace that I realized the noise was a bigger deal than what I could imagine. Approaching a cluster of pajama-clothed neighbors on the corner, I asked what was going on. "There's a house on fire. There was an explosion." An explosion indeed! There was only a foundation left to the house that had exploded, and one of the houses adjacent to it was ablaze. "A man died", I was told.

The cause of the explosion was never determined, although speculation ran rampant throughout the 'hood. In the end, the blast completely destroyed three homes and damaged countless others. In our house, only a few things shook loose from their place. We were the first on our block to remain unscathed.

For days after the explosion, our neighborhood was a tourist zone. The boom, as it turns out, was felt throughout the city and even suburbs. And people's morbid curiosity drew them to our quiet street. On evening, while dragging our garbage to the the curb, a car slowed up near me and then parked across the street. A woman approached me. I expected that she was another wreckage tourist stopping to ask questions about he event. Although she was in the neighborhood to see the damage, she was their because she had spent many childhood days in the neighborhood. Her grandparent lived in our house. In fact, she claimed that her grandmother was actually born in our kitchen!

We had a very interesting discussion and she shared memories of what the house used to be like. She had come to the neighborhood to check-out the condition of her grandparents home more than gawk at the wreckage. It was beautiful distraction from the drama and trauma of that week. And I never thought of my kitchen the same way again.