Shattered Afternoon

Sunday afternoon. I am tired in a good way, reverting to habits learned long ago, curling up on my bed for a nap. The boys are both away, involved in various activities. Just as I am beginning to doze off, voices rudely interrupt my soundscape. Someone is standing beneath my window talking a bunch of nonsense loudly.

Irritated, I roll over and pull my warm hat down over my ears, hoping the chatty cathies will move on soon. I can still hear their inane conversation. "Did you? Yes. But what if... Don't worry. Are they coming? Call again." What does it mean? The voices go on and on and on. How rude!

I try burying my head under the pillow. My world is nice and dark, but my ears are still assaulted by the loud voices. They are not voices I recognize, and I know most of my neighbors. Why are these people standing underneath my window? Go away! But they do not go away. Finally, I haul myself out from under the quilt and stomp to the window to see who these intruders are.

At least a dozen people huddle on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. I do not know any of them. They are in various states of dress and undress. Some have shoes on, some are barefoot, some have socks only. Two are wrapped in blankets, one has a jacket, two are hugging their bare arms, clad in only a tee shirt and shorts.

What is going on? They chatter excitedly among themselves. Suddenly I hear a siren. Hum. Must be a fire somewhere, or an accident. The wailing trucks sound closer and closer, turning down the drive into our complex. Wait! They are pulling up in front of MY building! What on earth? Alarmed, I hastily don shoes and socks and throw on my jacket.

I am about to go outside when a fireman pounds on my door. "Get out. The building is on fire. Get out now!" What?? On fire? I smell no smoke and my nose is famous for being very sensitive. I start out the door, then realize I cannot leave Sugar inside! I grab her leash and tromp downstairs and out the back where I gather with my neighbors.

Firemen ask if everyone is out of the building. We check who is missing and everyone is accounted for. Firemen walk hurriedly back and forth carting hoses and axes and huge fans. We are told that the fire is already out and has been out since before we were asked to vacate the premises. Someone tried to heat chicken wings in their microwave and things got out of hand.

They investigate several apartments on our side of the building to make sure no fire got into the ceiling and traveled elsewhere in the building. Nothing can be found. We get the all clear to re enter the building, and my neighbor holds the door for me while mumbling about the number of occupants in the offending unit. How can a dozen adults live in a two bedroom apartment? Something is not kosher.

Maybe they are just visiting. After all, there is a new baby in that unit. . . Still. It makes him nervous. The management here is falling down on the job. I am jolted by his quick conclusions, his pointing finger, his assumptions. I am even more jolted that I know only one person from the other side of my building. How is it that I didn't even know there was a new baby over there?

I stumble over hoses and lines and back upstairs. There is no resting now. I am wide awake and in a bit of shock. I cannot go anywhere because my car is blocked in by the fire trucks. I wander about the apartment, gazing out one window and than another until the commotion finally subsides.

That is how the unexpected comes. Without warning and loaded with the unknown. It allows no control and inhibits your freedom in uncomfortable ways. We never get used to it. We are not told that the far side of fight or flight is weak knees, shaky muscles, a sense of disorientation and a long recovery period!

The last engine pulls away from the curb and leaves no sign of the afternoon intrusion. Dusk surrounds the quiet building, no one hovers about, dancing from one bare foot to the other. Normalcy returns. I try to explain the whole scenario to my boys when they come home, but they do not find it interesting. Except the part where I didn't smell the smoke before the fire broke out. Imagine that!