World on fire

The day was like any other - the sun was out and people were decisively missing class to tan next to the lake. My ethics class had just ended and with my iPod earbuds firmly in place, I started my twenty-minute trek home. Clad casually in a skirt and a thin hoodie, I realized that I love spring. Not only does it mean flipflops weather, but everyone is out - playing catch, throwing around a frisbee, chatting up old friends. Everyone is nicer (and more beautiful) during the springtime. As I neared my dorm, I realized that more people were out than normal. Strange, I thought, I thought we were the anti-social, nerdy dorm. Clearly spring fever is contagious and everyone has caught it.

That's when I heard the fire alarm blaring resolutely over the Michelle Branch and Santana song in my ear.

Well, that's inconvenient, I thought - remembering all the reading I still had to do for my two midterms. For fire drills, we're usually locked out for at least an hour. And I was hungry. I scanned the crowd, hoping to find my suitemates so I could suggest going out for dinner to help pass the time.

People were still streaming out the doors when I saw her. My suitemate. Weeping openly and shaking uncontrollably, while others stood uncomfortably around her, not knowing what to do.

Oh crap.

That's when I realized that this was no fire drill. Worriedly, I clawed my way through the crowd to get to my suitemate.

"S-S-Stephanie?" she stuttered through her sobs as I approached.

At first I was perplexed. Was she so in shock that she had forgotten my name?

"No honey...It's Michelle...Don't worry. It's all going to be fine."

"N-n-noooooo...Is Stephanie out? Do you see her? She was inside...Oh my god - the flames were so big..." She muttered as she turned to look at me, her hand covering her face.

Stephanie is my other suitemate and good friend. We've lived with each other for several years. The last dorm we lived in had faulty smoke detectors, and she had developed a habit of locking herself in her room and sleeping/studying through the noise.

"She just got back from the gym. Someone needs to check her room! Does anyone see her?!" She made a mad rush for the door, where an RA barred the entrance. Frenzied, muttering oh my god every 30 seconds or so, and completely distraught, she was - and understandably so - an utter mess.

Every authority who came out the door was subject to my suitemate's questioning - Is everyone out of the suite? Did you check the rooms? Please, sir, you HAVE to check the rooms! Have you seen Stephanie?!

After five or so of these interrogations, they finally realized that she was the only witness to the fire and invited her inside to go over the details with the fire inspector.

That's when I started freaking out. She had said that the flames were "so big," but how big were they? I imagined our entire suite in flames - Stephanie stuck in the middle - trying desperately to find a way out, but retreating further and further back until the flames were completely encircling her. Overhead, we heard the noise of helicopters. My first thought was that the fire had gotten so large they had to bring helicopters full of water to help contain the flames. Luckily, it turned out to be merely the evening news, looking for an human interest story.

Once all systems were under control, the people in charge began letting in the residents. As I walked into the lobby, I went to comfort my suitemate, who was now somewhat more calm, although she was still crying openly. "Stephanie?" I tentatively asked her. "There wasn't anyone in the suite," she responded, and we both sighed with relief as we hugged each other.

While she stayed downstairs, too afraid to see the damage, I, finally working up the courage and clutching Dennis' arm with a death grip, went to face the music. Our suite was flooded and the walls around the kitchen were dripping with gray water. The kitchen itself looked like a warzone - the area next to the stove now burnt to a crisp. Firefighters were walking around, picking things off the floor and away from the small lake that was now our suite.

I don't know how, but something inside of me clicked, and I started cleaning. Friends started coming in the door, offering their help - which I gladly took. Within 20 minutes, things had been moved around - electric sockets were examined and closed, books were being air-dried by the now completely open windows, and nothing was left on the water-soaked floor. Strangely, it all happened so quickly and so efficiently, I was almost convinced that someone else had taken over my body, and I was merely observing it all. It was an out-of-body experience, if you will.

My cell phone started ringing in my room (which suffered the least damage, thankfully - and was now being used as a fort to hold valuables). Pillaging through the rummage, I willed my cell phone to continue ringing as I searched for it. Upon finding it, and seeing the display, I promptly sat down and jumped back up, exclaiming from the damp (and dirty) floor.

Incoming call - Stephanie.

"Michelle! Are you home? Apparently there are fire trucks and news choppers?!"

I told her the news - a little bemused that she clearly had no idea that the apocalypse had just come and gone through our suite. Needless to say, she was shocked.

"Well...Is everyone okay?" Yes, I reassured her. "Phew. Well, all's well that end's well. Hm. It's going to take them a while to clear out the water from our suite huh? Why don't we go grab some dinner and pie from Bakers' Square?"

And with that, we went. Apple pie never tasted so good.

All's well that ends well.

And the lesson of the day is: Always leave the apartment when the fire alarm goes off. And don't use too much grease while cooking.