A Fire

Posted on January 12, 2003 in Neighborhood

I noticed the headache before I noticed the odor: the bitter azure stink of an electrical fire. Was it in our house? I called Lynn into the bedroom. “Do you smell smoke?” I asked. She didn’t until she entered the room. I ran over to the office and then out to the living room. The air in both rooms smelled clean. Because there was no obvious source for the odor in the bedroom and because the window was open, I put on my sweater and went outside with Lynn, bearing a flashlight and our cell phone.

A thin, long cloud stretched down the street at the level of the decks. I rolled down the stairs and shined my light into the sky, tracking the smoke with my flashlight. About six paces into my investigation, Kris my neighbor called to me. A white Pontiac exuded smoke from under the hood. The husband or boy friend of the owner sprayed it down with a fire extinguisher.

I walked up beside him and told him to be sure to direct the fluid at the base of the flames. He had it well under control. Smartly, he hadn’t attempted to lift the hood: two almond-shaped scorch marks warded against the folly of touching that region.

Nobody knew what had happened. The couple who owned the car parked it and went inside their condo. Chris’s son, Sykes, saw the flames coming up and called to the neighbors. The man of the house rushed down, broke the glass for the fire extinguisher, and started putting it out. Someone else called the Fire Department. The strength of four strong men could not budge the vehicle: the heat had evidentally frozen the emergency brake.

I directed traffic and signaled the fire truck when it came searching for the blaze. The firemen put on their gloves, opened the hood with a crowbar, and doused the blackened engine with water. I stepped back and explained to some other neighbors exactly what they were doing. (I’d spent a summer as an intern in a fire prevention department.)

The wife cried as they worked. I tried to comfort her by saying “it’s nothing you did wrong,” but that made her only cry more so I shut up. Lynn gave her our phone number and told her to call if she needed a ride. Then, after telling the local neighborhood council representative which fire extinguishers needed recharging, we went back to our condo.

Two hours later, the nauseating stink of the electrical smoke lingers. I need a shower. I hope I won’t throw up.