2 am

She drifted towards sleep until sometime between 11:30 and 12 she feel into heavily.  The sound of snow plows in the middle of the night invaded the fringes of her consciousness.  Why do they have to plow in the middle of the night?  Do they do they anywhere outside of Washington Heights?  These were her first two thoughts.  Next was “Please let my husband sleep through this.”  But he didn’t.  Perhaps it was the noise from upstairs – what were they doing tonight, tai kwan do?  Bowling?

He stirred, and noticed the noise, and the unusual accompanying lights and siren.  Like he does every time he gets woken up, he lifted the shade and looked outside.  She laughed at him in her head.  He turned to her and said “It’s a fire.  Go!  Go!”

The word “Go!” processed, even before the word "fire" and she leaped out of bed trying to make sense of the rest, trying to make sense of the banging at the door.  He ran to the door, she scrambled to find something to drape around herself, please something bigger then a towel!  Her mother had always told her to sleep in enough clothes to be able to run out in the middle of the night – why hadn’t she listened?  As she picked up a robe, a man walked in and shone a flashlight at her.  She desperately said “Please, wait, I’ll be ready in a minute,” not sure if she was asking for her rescue to be delayed or if it was just a plea to give her time to get covered.

Somewhere in the confusion she understood that the fire was indeed not in their apartment, but in the apartment upstairs.  She ran to the door, and the Fire Chief asked her to keep it open.  Her husband appeared beside her.

The sound of breaking glass panicked her; she thought that maybe the fire had spread to their apartment as well, then realized that the windows were being broken upstairs.  They do that to keep the gases from expanding and blowing the windows out, endangering everyone.

A policeman was stationed at her door.  She asked urgently “Are the guys upstairs all right?  Do they know where they are?”

He asked her for names and ages.  As she said them, she couldn’t stop the tears from forming.  Her knees sagged, and she felt like she was going to throw up.  A voice kicked in inside her, begging that they live, that they not be hurt.

Her husband noticed water dripping through their apartment and went about saving the couches, the computers, the television…  she couldn’t move away from the police, from their walkie-talkies, from the information they might have for her.

It was an hour, then more.  She sat, clenched, unsure what to think what to feel, knowing she’s never look at fictional crime scenes the same way again.  Then she heard a voice – they were talking about wrestling.  She dashed into the hall.  “M****!  Oh my GOD, what happened?  Where’s J****?  Are you okay?”

He smiled.  “Yeah, I just got here.  I’m fine.  Maybe my stuff is too.  They told me J****’s downstairs, and he’s fine too.”  She felt time slow around her, felt the worry slip, but the fear wouldn’t let go.

The police called in a bleeder – someone had run onto a fire escape and cut herself badly.  They would get there, she would be okay.

J**** came upstairs.  She walked over to him, wanting to hug him.  “J****, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m okay.”

He didn’t need anything; he said his stuff was mostly undamaged
.  She asked what had happened.

“I was in my room reading when my light blew.  I got up and went into M****’s room, and was on his bed reading, when I noticed flames licking their way across the bed sheet.  It turns out we had a short, and luckily it blew my light – if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen the fire until it was too late.”

She waited, watching as the fire-fighters finished and cleaned up.  The Fire Chief stopped in to say goodbye and apologize for walking in – he needed to see the layout of the apartment.  She smiled and said she was glad to have helped.

He left, and then it was just her and her husband.  They stood and looked at their apartment and the water streaking down the walls and through the lights.  Then he locked the door and they went back to bed.  She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest, relax.  So when the bell rang at 4:15, she ran, not sure what she would see when she opened it.

Red Cross Disaster Relief had arrived, assessed damage, and was taking care of J**** and M****.  She spoke with them, then lay in bed,kissed her husband, and listened to the sound of them cleaning the apartment upstairs, clearing the glass, removing pieces of the wall…

I’m still shell-shocked.  All morning I’ve felt like I was going to pass out.  It might be delayed reaction to the whole thing, the lack of readiness on my part, or the fact that if God forbid there’s ever a fire in our apartment, we have no way out.

If I start to cry today, I’m sorry.  I need some release.