Michaelishious - Vol. 2018

Dec. 21: The Firefighter, Pt. 1

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Somebody please come quick! Our house is on fire! It's..."

I chocked and started to cough, because of all the smoke that welled up from downstairs. I had no idea when it started, or how big the fire was, but it was getting really warm on the floor underneath my feet.

"What's your name and address, ma'am?"

"Leila Montgomery. 1339 Laurdale Avenue, Edison. Please come quick!"

I coughed again, and tried to calm my terrified daughter that was sobbing into her teddybear.

"How many are there inside the house, ma'am?"

"Three! Me, my daughter and our dog. Hurry! We are trapped in her bedroom upstairs."

I thought about how Molly had woken us up, already before the firealarm had gone off, by barking and scraping at the floor with her tiny paws. And I didn't really remember much else before I was sitting in Kensie's bed, with Molly between us, calling for help, minutes after.

"Shhh, baby. It's gonna be alright. Don't worry."

I tried to calm her, but the panic of being stuck in a life threatening situation without being able to do anything, was numbing. I wanted to scream in terror, just like her, and hide under the covers, but I couldn't. And even though my words were meant to be soothing, I knew they were worthless if we didn't get out of here in a matter of minutes. The smoke was already seeping in through the keyhole of the closed door. And I could even see smoke coming up between some of the floor boards.

"HURRY!" I screamed, feeling the smoke fill my lungs, making me cough again.

"They'll be there in one and a half minute," the man on the phone said, but he might as well could have said seven years, because right there and then, even seconds felt like an eternity of despair.
"Hold the line until you see the firetrucks, okay? Keep talking to me. This is very important."

I didn't answer. My head was too filled with horrible scenarios to think straight.

"Ma'am? LEILA!" the man shouted, and pulled me back to reality. And after I answered, he kept giving me instructions on what to do.

"Stay on the ground. Do you hear me? Get down on your hands and knees and crawl towards the window. Not the door, the window. Okay?"

"Yeah..." I mumbled, while trying to get my daughter to do what I did. But it wasn't easy to get a five year old with a panic attack, to listen.

"Do not open any doors or windows until I say so. Not unless you really struggle to breathe. Because when you do open, you'll fuel the fire with oxygen, and everything will escalate rapidly. Okay? Are you on the floor next to the window now?"

"Yeah, we are," I answered hoarsely, and pulled Kensie and Molly as close to me as possible.

"Are there any outdoor fire escape outside the window?"

"No... I was supposed to fix that last year, but..."

I couldn't hold my tears back any longer. The thought of how I'd failed as a parent, for not making sure we could get out safely in situations like this, hit me with full force. But there simply wasn't enough money after my husband's funeral last year, to do it. I couldn't even afford to fix the heating in the bathroom. So every time my daughter was having her bath, I used the old zinc washbasin I'd found in the garage, filled it up with warm water in front of the fireplace, and made sure she didn't get cold. But now...? We wouldn't even have a house to live in. Everything we owned was going up in flames around us. Even Kensie's Christmas gifts.