We're On Fire

Sunday at 5:20 p.m, black purse on my shoulder and car keys in my hand, I was ready to go to Taco Bell for burritos. Before I could open my door, Mickey banged on my third-floor apartment. “The building’s on fire. Get out quick!”

Charlie stood in the middle of the living room with a look on his face that said, “Where are you going now?” I turned my back on the puzzled cat, stepped out onto the walkway, and slammed the door behind me.

Mickey was already at the apartment next door. I called to her, “What about Norman?”
“I’ll take care of Norman. You go!”
“Can I use the elevator?”
“Yes. Just go.”

Erline stood in the elevator door, holding it open.
She said, “I don’t know what to do.”
I glanced down the walkway. Mickey had disappeared into Norman’s apartment. No sign of his electric wheelchair.
I pushed Erline into the elevator and hit the button to take us down to the first floor

Erline shivered in a long, dark blue robe zipped up the front.
“I’m soaking wet,” she said. “I was in the shower. I don’t have a thing on under this robe.”
“You’re fine,” I said.
The heavy robe concealed everything between her neck and ankles.

Outside in the parking lot I looked up to see a woman with a walker was struggling to come down the stairs from the second floor. Norman came out gliding out from the elevator in his electric wheelchair. He was dressed in a dark shirt and slacks, but his big white feet were bare.

Erline walked across the parking lot to put her arm around her best friend. Pat, wearing a white tee-shirt with bright bands of yellow and green across the front, looked dazed. She said, “My whole apartment is on fire.”

Fire trucks, sirens howling, came around the building from both directions. Firemen, in heavy suits resembling men from outer space, unrolled heavy yellow hoses and started up the stairs to the third floor.

Dodie, who has an artificial leg, leaned against the front of a car for support.
I said, “Won’t you come sit in my car and rest until this is all over?”
She kept looking up at the third floor, where the fire started.
Dodie lives in the end apartment two doors away from Pat.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll stay right here. I’m worried about my cat.”

I found a fireman talking on a walky-talky.
“My friend lives up there and is worried about her cat.”
“Lady, the fire is in one apartment. Now go over there and get out of our way, so we can do our job.”

I sat in my car with two old ladies who, in spite of the excitement, were too frail to stand.

After about thirty minutes we were told the fire had been contained, but we could not go back to our apartments. Everyone on the parking lot was told to go to the dining room, which is in a separate building. The group walked into the dining room where another big group was singing hymns. Our noisy talk interrupted the Sunday evening church service.

The preacher paid no intention to us but went ahead quietly passing out communion. I leaned over and whispered to him, “We had a fire.” After the final hymn, the preacher said a prayer thanking God for our escape from fire. He made no other explanation. After he dismissed the congregation, there Christians and fire-escapers mingled, talking excitedly and asking, “What happened?” .

It was 7 p.m. before the fire trucks left; the others (except Pat) went back to their apartments. I got in my car and drove to Taco Bell for burritos. After delivering one to Norman, I sat on the couch and opened the paper around the burrito. Charlie climbed on my lap. I tried to explain that it was late and I wanted to eat my supper. He paid no attention and pushed his nose against my face. The cat seemed to sense that something unusual had happened.

Some residents came home after the fire trucks left and didn’t learn about the fire until breakfast the next morning. My friend Betty saw the fire on the 10:00 p.m. news and, concerned about me, called the next day. Bob’s daughter-in-law also saw the television report and called her husband, who called from Afghanistan. My brother and his wife were oblivious of the fire until I told them. .

Why are events like this so exciting? Perhaps it is the thrill of experiencing something potentially dangerous and escaping without harm. None of the residents in this retirement community was even slightly injured. The only damage was in Pat’s apartment.

Pat spent the night with Erline. She came to breakfast the next morning, still wearing the brightly-colored tee-shirt in which I saw her standing on the parking lot while firemen soaked all her burning possessions with their powerful hoses.

In the excitement, I forgot to have compassion for my friend who lost everything.