House on Fire, Page 5
G. Andy Mather
Chapter 4
The cedar house was old and weathered silver-gray. It had an attached garage off of the kitchen. Mom parked her Chevette on the far side, away from the kitchen door. Dad’s old Chevy crew cab was too long, so he left it in the driveway and instead used the garage space to build a workbench. It had a vice, shelves full of jars of screws and cans of paint, and all his tools hung up on a pegboard. It was really cool, and I was allowed to use it, just not the power tools.
It was a Friday night in March. After dinner, Dad left to drop off some film at the drugstore in town and then visit with his friends. Mom said I could stay up late and work on my boat model, but she and Sissy went to bed.
I wasn’t supposed to use the kerosene heater, but it was cold at the workbench so I did anyway. When I was done, I swept up the wood shavings, took off my sweatshirt, and went inside to use the bathroom. I smelled something like hot plastic, so I washed up quickly and ran back to open the kitchen door.
The work shelves were on fire - the heater! I knew what to do. I dug for the extinguisher under the kitchen sink and ran back. I pulled the pin and emptied the container toward the base of the flames. But the extinguisher was too small; it ran out in seconds and the fire spread way too fast. A can of varnish exploded and started more fires. I noticed the can of gas next to Dad’s snow blower...
Thick smoke started pouring into the kitchen. Wallpaper pealed and burned near the doorway. I should’ve closed the door, but the knob was too hot. My hands were shaking so bad it took three tries just to dial nine-one-one.
“Delta county dispatch, what is your emergency?”
“Our house is on fire! 55215 County Road Eighty. Hurry!”
“Are you in the house now? Are you alone?”
Am I alone? Jesus. I threw the receiver on the kitchen floor and ran upstairs, yelling for Mom.
Somehow, the fire had already jumped to the second floor. The smoke up there was sooty and acrid; it scalded my eyes and lungs. Flames in Mom and Dad’s room dimly lit the hallway. I flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. I stumbled over Mom and fell onto Sis, who was coughing hard.
I hesitated for a moment, realizing I had to choose, and then hoisted Sis up in a fireman’s carry, just like Dad taught us. My head got dizzy and I fell over, maybe passed out. I don’t know how long it was. I got back to my feet and got Jessie up again. It was so hot!
“Come on Mom – we have to go!”
She stared at me from the hallway floor.
I had to carry Jess over Mom to reach the stairs.
“I’ll be back for you!” I yelled.
But I missed the top step, lost my balance, and we plunged down the stairway. When we hit, Jess’s weight across my shoulders dove my face into the living room floor. I was pinned under Sissy’s limp body and my left arm wouldn’t work – it didn’t hurt yet, but a bone was sticking out. I started to panic.
I could smell my hair scorching away. Flying cinders were everywhere, some burning right through my tee-shirt and sweatpants. This was taking way too long. The whole kitchen was in flames, and the back of the couch was on fire. Something white-hot fell on my face and I screamed. I couldn’t tell if Jessie was breathing; the edge of her long flannel nightgown was smoking. It felt like my lungs were on fire, too.
It took a couple minutes to get untangled. The whole room was going to flash over, and the front door was our only escape. With a strength I’d never had, I lifted Sis with just my right arm and half-dragged her to the door. I set her down and grabbed the doorknob. My palm sizzled, but I held on and pulled hard.
Jessie was in my arm again – I don’t even remember picking her up. I couldn’t feel my hands, only the intense heat on my back and the cold night air on my burning face.
Outside, a distant siren wailed. I dragged Jess across the porch and we tumbled onto the yard. There was still some snow on the lawn, but the drifts were turning to slush in the heat – the wilted grass underneath was cool and wet. It felt so good on my skin. I gasped with relief.
A truck pulled up, its yellow light dancing crazy circles, pale against the fire’s glow. That was fast. Wait, how long had it been? Fifteen seconds? Fifteen minutes? My head was swimming. I rolled over to soak my back in the icy slurry. I breathed as hard as I could, but it didn’t feel like enough.
I heard Jessie crying and moaning. She’s alive. What if she doesn’t make it? Where’s Mom? The questions slipped away – I couldn’t think of anything but the pain.
The siren got louder, closer. The man from the truck ran toward us.
Then, after forever passed, the ambulance... I was so grateful for the oxygen.
The rest was a blur; faces hovering over me, Jessie choking and shrieking, the thick taste of burnt hair, the searing pain, the wail of the siren, and my own screaming... then more hovering heads and Dad’s hard face, grim and unreadable... and finally the dizzy, nauseous decent into nothing.
The cedar house was old and weathered silver-gray. It had an attached garage off of the kitchen. Mom parked her Chevette on the far side, away from the kitchen door. Dad’s old Chevy crew cab was too long, so he left it in the driveway and instead used the garage space to build a workbench. It had a vice, shelves full of jars of screws and cans of paint, and all his tools hung up on a pegboard. It was really cool, and I was allowed to use it, just not the power tools.
It was a Friday night in March. After dinner, Dad left to drop off some film at the drugstore in town and then visit with his friends. Mom said I could stay up late and work on my boat model, but she and Sissy went to bed.
I wasn’t supposed to use the kerosene heater, but it was cold at the workbench so I did anyway. When I was done, I swept up the wood shavings, took off my sweatshirt, and went inside to use the bathroom. I smelled something like hot plastic, so I washed up quickly and ran back to open the kitchen door.
The work shelves were on fire - the heater! I knew what to do. I dug for the extinguisher under the kitchen sink and ran back. I pulled the pin and emptied the container toward the base of the flames. But the extinguisher was too small; it ran out in seconds and the fire spread way too fast. A can of varnish exploded and started more fires. I noticed the can of gas next to Dad’s snow blower...
Thick smoke started pouring into the kitchen. Wallpaper pealed and burned near the doorway. I should’ve closed the door, but the knob was too hot. My hands were shaking so bad it took three tries just to dial nine-one-one.
“Delta county dispatch, what is your emergency?”
“Our house is on fire! 55215 County Road Eighty. Hurry!”
“Are you in the house now? Are you alone?”
Am I alone? Jesus. I threw the receiver on the kitchen floor and ran upstairs, yelling for Mom.
Somehow, the fire had already jumped to the second floor. The smoke up there was sooty and acrid; it scalded my eyes and lungs. Flames in Mom and Dad’s room dimly lit the hallway. I flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. I stumbled over Mom and fell onto Sis, who was coughing hard.
I hesitated for a moment, realizing I had to choose, and then hoisted Sis up in a fireman’s carry, just like Dad taught us. My head got dizzy and I fell over, maybe passed out. I don’t know how long it was. I got back to my feet and got Jessie up again. It was so hot!
“Come on Mom – we have to go!”
She stared at me from the hallway floor.
I had to carry Jess over Mom to reach the stairs.
“I’ll be back for you!” I yelled.
But I missed the top step, lost my balance, and we plunged down the stairway. When we hit, Jess’s weight across my shoulders dove my face into the living room floor. I was pinned under Sissy’s limp body and my left arm wouldn’t work – it didn’t hurt yet, but a bone was sticking out. I started to panic.
I could smell my hair scorching away. Flying cinders were everywhere, some burning right through my tee-shirt and sweatpants. This was taking way too long. The whole kitchen was in flames, and the back of the couch was on fire. Something white-hot fell on my face and I screamed. I couldn’t tell if Jessie was breathing; the edge of her long flannel nightgown was smoking. It felt like my lungs were on fire, too.
It took a couple minutes to get untangled. The whole room was going to flash over, and the front door was our only escape. With a strength I’d never had, I lifted Sis with just my right arm and half-dragged her to the door. I set her down and grabbed the doorknob. My palm sizzled, but I held on and pulled hard.
Jessie was in my arm again – I don’t even remember picking her up. I couldn’t feel my hands, only the intense heat on my back and the cold night air on my burning face.
Outside, a distant siren wailed. I dragged Jess across the porch and we tumbled onto the yard. There was still some snow on the lawn, but the drifts were turning to slush in the heat – the wilted grass underneath was cool and wet. It felt so good on my skin. I gasped with relief.
A truck pulled up, its yellow light dancing crazy circles, pale against the fire’s glow. That was fast. Wait, how long had it been? Fifteen seconds? Fifteen minutes? My head was swimming. I rolled over to soak my back in the icy slurry. I breathed as hard as I could, but it didn’t feel like enough.
I heard Jessie crying and moaning. She’s alive. What if she doesn’t make it? Where’s Mom? The questions slipped away – I couldn’t think of anything but the pain.
The siren got louder, closer. The man from the truck ran toward us.
Then, after forever passed, the ambulance... I was so grateful for the oxygen.
The rest was a blur; faces hovering over me, Jessie choking and shrieking, the thick taste of burnt hair, the searing pain, the wail of the siren, and my own screaming... then more hovering heads and Dad’s hard face, grim and unreadable... and finally the dizzy, nauseous decent into nothing.
