Without further ado... The Fire Alarm Fiasco:
Saturday, April 22, 2017, 3:40 AM.
A high-pitched
screaming.
Cowering under the
covers, hoping that it will stop.
My roommate
shouting, “Guys! It’s the fire alarm! There’s a fire!”
This whole year
has been leading up to this moment.
***
August 2016, Orientation week.
Rrrttt says my keycard as I swish it in
and out of the lock on my dorm room door. I enter to find my two roommates
talking excitedly by the window.
“Guess what
happened?” Sarah exclaims.
“What?” I ask,
setting my backpack on the floor.
“The fire alarm
went off and we had to evacuate to the parking lot!”
“Wow! Was there a
fire?”
“No, but three
firetrucks came,” says Annie.
“What happened?”
“Someone on the
boy’s floor boiled the water out of a pan of eggs.” Sarah’s posture and tone of
voice say that she thinks boys should know better.
“I can’t believe I
missed the excitement!” I say.
“Oh, I’m sure
there will be another fire drill, Abbey,” reassures Annie.
She hasn’t a clue
how prophetic her words are.
***
November 2016
We were going to
watch a movie, but I can’t get the DVD player on my computer to work.
And then the
loudest, the annoyingest, the shrillest noise attacks our eardrums. Silver
flashing lights drive away any thought I had about my DVD player.
My heart starts
beating quicker.
“The fire alarm,”
says Sarah.
“Hnnnngg!” says
Joseph.
“Should we go?”
says Rebekah.
We gather our
shoes and coats and Joseph’s keys and join the throng of students exiting
the building.
“Let’s go to my
car,” suggests Joseph.
So, we do.
The four of us
huddle in Joseph’s car. Some of us are slightly annoyed. Others of us are
slightly scared.
We hear the
firetrucks before we see them, and we see their lights before we see the actual
machines. The night is tinged blue and red. Three fire trucks arrive. Members
of our bro-sis hall keep letting out the cozy bubble of warm air in Joseph’s
car. They get in to talk with us. They get out to take pictures. Finally, Joseph—one
of the annoyed ones—locks the doors and seals our bubble. We huddle under his
backseat blanket.
Someone sounds the
all clear and people walk back to the building. Had it been a drill? Had
another boy made a gregarious cooking mistake? The mystery remains unsolved.
***
February 2017
“All I want to do
is curl up on my bed with oreos and peanut butter and watch New Girl,” says Sarah from inside her
black coat. She wears its faux fur hood over her hair.
“That sounds
perfect. I’m going to join you,” I reply.
We trudge up the
stairs, key ourselves into room 332, and lackadaisically drop our bags on the
ugly, looks-like-the-80s-what-were-they-thinking-when-they-made-this-a-color
carpet. We hurry to tear our coats off in our sauna-like room. Next, one boot
off. Two boot off. Sweater off. Let the pit stains dry.
Then, a
high-pitched, shrill EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
“NO!” yells Sarah.
The dreaded fire
alarm.
One boot on. Two
boot on. One arm back in the coat. Two arm back in the coat. We don’t zip
ourselves up as we hurry out of the room and down the stairs. I had grabbed my
backpack because homework is important, even in a fire.
But, it’s not a
fire. It’s just a drill.
***
Saturday, April 22, 2017, 3:40 AM.
A high-pitched
screaming.
I awake, thinking
that it’s my alarm. I hit my clock a few times and figure that it must be one
of my roommate’s alarms. I plug my ears, hoping the sound will go away. I’m in the
process of sticking my head under my pillow to hide from the noise when Sarah says,
“Guys! It’s a fire!”
Immediately, I’m
awake.
Of course it’s the fire alarm!
I don’t remember
climbing down from my bunk. Somehow, I’m on the ground, shoving those sweat
pants that my mom told me never to wear out of the house onto my legs. Shoving
shoes on my feet. Shoving a jacket on over my oversized Walk MS sleeping shirt.
Shoving my laptop in my backpack. My novel is on that laptop.
“Come on! We have
to go!” Sarah urges. She has turned the light on so that we can see.
I grab my Star Trek blanket, and we leave the room.
Sleepy students rush to the stairwell and out of the building. Everyone is in their pajamas.
Once outside, I drop my backpack in a patch of grass and go to Annie. She’s
shivering. I am, too. I share my blanket with her. We look at our home, scouring
the building for flames. I don’t see any smoke… Maybe the building is not on
fire? The longer we stand in the freezing air, the more it seems like that is
the case. I still shake. Partly because of the cold. Partly because of fear. My
heart has not returned to a normal pace yet, but that could be because crush-worthy Peter is standing near to where I abandoned my backpack on the grass. My novel is on
that laptop. I try to think of a way to get it back without having to interact
with the boy from room 232.
“Where’s Joseph?”
Sarah says suddenly.
He has not come
out of the building.
She tries calling
him. I realize that I left my phone in the building.
I see John, our
RD, come outside with his newborn wrapped in a blanket. He deposits the baby in
his car. His wife and young son join him. Groups of shivering, pajama-ed dorm-dwellers stand discussing the alarm and telling nervous jokes as
firefighters (they only sent two firetrucks this time) examine the building.
The all clear is
called. False alarm.
The next day, we
learn the truth.
Someone on the
boy’s floor burned orange chicken. At 3:30 in the morning. Orange chicken.
ORANGE CHICKEN!
So, the year ends
as it began: with boys trying and failing to cook.
The circle of
life, indeed.
THE END