The scentof smoke wakes me.
I’m confused, sitting up and dimly grasping to reconcile the darkness of my room with that pungent and unmistakable smell. Is Sabrina cooking before the sun comes up? Fumbling around for my phone, I locate it under my pillow.
2:47 a.m. Sabrina is burning something in the middle of the night?
Tossing off my sheets, I plant my feet on the floor. Each second I’m awake brings me closer to full consciousness. The smoke does not smell like burning food. More like a campfire. And…plastic? Also, Sabrina does not cook.
Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygod.
What do I do?
Help.
I grab my phone, frantically dialing 9-1-1.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“I think my house is on fire,” I choke out the words. My hands shake, my heart pounds. “I smell smoke.”
The operator asks for my address, name, and number, and I blurt it out as fast as I can make my lips move.
“Are you alone in the house?”
Her calm tone does not match the way my heart batters my breast bone. I open my mouth to tell her about my roommate, but it hits me that Sabrina isn’t here. She stayed the night at her boyfriend’s house.
“I’m alone.”
“Does your room have a window you can climb from safely?”
“I’m on the second floor. First door on the right.”
“Get on the ground and stay there. Do not open any doors or windows. The fire department is on the way.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, dropping to my knees and sitting back on my heels. “Will you stay on the phone with me?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says reassuringly.
“I don’t have on a bra.” I look down at my pajama top as I lower my face to the ground. It’s flimsy, but at least it’s not white. Why is that what comes to mind right now? Shouldn’t there be more important thoughts, like what valuables I should save from the fire? Except I’ve been told to get down and stay down, and I’m not about to break rules now.
The operator doesn’t laugh. Maybe it’s not funny. Or maybe she’s not supposed to laugh. I’m not sure. She says, “I don’t sleep with my bra on either.”
“My grandma always said to make sure I leave the house in matching bra and underwear in case I get in an accident and they have to cut my clothes off me, and I never do that.” I’m whispering for no reason except that I’m terrified, and bent at the waist with my nose against the carpet.
“I don’t know many people who do.” There’s that steady voice again, rock solid, a life preserver.
Sirens pierce the smoky air. “I hear them.” Hope tinges my tone.
“Stay put,” she reminds me. “Let them come to you.”
I nod, knowing she can’t see me, but my ability to speak has disappeared. There are noises outside, sirens and horns and yelling, and my fingers shake as the heavy reality of the situation sinks in.
“Help is there, and I’m right here,” the operator says. I cling to her smooth calmness.
What if she is the last voice I hear? The thought is a knife to my stomach. My eyes wrench open, my head whips around the room. Suddenly I want something. Anything. I want to hold something I love.
Leaving my phone behind on the ground, I crawl to my nightstand. Inside are two photos of me, my sister, and my mother. I choose the one where we’re smiling. If I have to save something, it won’t be the photo that makes me sad.
My purse. It’s here too, lying on top of my nightstand where I dropped it last night when I came home. I lift an arm and find it quickly, the feel of the metal chain strap unmistakable.
