5
October 2001
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4:30 a.m. At first I dreamily thought, 'oh, that smells nice. Like cozy Fall.' Then, 'oh, someone just made a fire.' Then I heard Tego bark. Quietly. Suddenly with urgency. I sat upright. That's smoke. Real smoke, not grill smoke or fireplace smoke. Eye tingling, nose aggravating smoke. My apartment's on fire. I stood next to my bed, wearing a tee shirt, and for a half second not knowing what to do, but thinking of only of Montego. My eyes were already stinging a little bit and I ventured into my living room. No fire. I released Tego from her crate, ran back into my room to grab a sweatshirt and, well, pants, before placing the back of my hand on my front door to feel for heat. Nothing. Maybe it's below us, but the smoke smell is stronger now and perhaps my sleepy eyes are playing a trick, but the air looks hazy. I glanced out the peep hole and saw strobey light. We were out the door. Three firetrucks' screamed silently as one of them hoisted ladders onto the roof of the building across from me. A few people stood on the walk in front of my unit, all half asleep in their nightclothes. My neighbor said that the smell was so strong it woke her up. 'Me too,' I replied. The smell was suffocatingly strong, but the rescue units' artificial sun made the smoke appear nonexistent. But somewhere in the building a home was on fire. I have to go back outside. The smoke smell is too strong in here. Montego is restless and I'm scared. I always played that game: if there's a fire I'd take (fill in three items). Scrapbooks, purse, cell phone. Or portfolio, at least one photo album, my favorite jeans. Whatever. But you don't. You put on whatever clothes are on the floor, grab your dog and leave. No scrapbook, no favorite sweater. Just your life. Someone I love is in a plane right night, streaming through the sky. And I woke up to fire.
The notify would like to take this opportunity to thank its local fire department.
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