Smelling Smoke

Smelling Smoke

I didn’t hear the alarm, but I didn’t need to. My dog woke me at 3:25 a.m., crying and barking, and as soon as he did, I smelled smoke. A look outside the bedroom window caused my concern to quickly escalate. Fire trucks were beginning to line the street. When I opened the door to the hallway and confirmed what I had only smelled before, I was wide awake for good.

You always wonder what you would grab if your house was on fire. Now I know. Dog and leash, cell phone and purse. I threw a robe over my nightgown and skipped the shoes. I couldn’t find them quickly enough. As I dashed out of the lobby of my building, firemen were on their way in. I met a neighbor in the parking lot who said he’d been walking his dog when he saw smoke rising from the building. As we spoke, the firemen were making their way down the halls, knocking on doors and breaking them down when there was no answer. Neighbors were beginning to congregate in the street and compare notes about what might have happened.

Within minutes the street was filled with fire trucks. Smoke poured from the roofline above my three east-facing windows: bedroom, study, and living room. The news media wasn’t far behind: two cameramen prowled the street, panning the curb-sitting residents of my building. They stopped in front of my dog and me. (He is extremely photogenic; my bathrobe, not so much. Even so, I think I might have made the morning news.)

Here’s what I learned that day: I could live without my stuff. The apartment suffered only smoke damage and a broken doorjamb, but it could have been much worse. I would have missed my books and photographs, yes—but they didn’t matter enough to grab, even when I knew there was a fire. I just wanted out. Also, the threat of danger makes neighbors of us all. Watching your building burn is a surefire barrier breaker. (Maybe we should all talk more when nothing’s on fire.) And finally, by the time you smell smoke, the fire is out of control. Don’t dawdle. Run.

I’m grateful for my little four-legged sentry. I’m grateful to have smelled the smoke in time. And I’m grateful to see another sunrise.

I lie awake thinking of you, meditating on you through the night. Because you are my helper, I sing for joy in the shadow of your wings.

Psalm 63:6-7