Sounding the Alarm: A Short Story

It was a Christmas morning, somewhere around 1976 or so.  We had opened our presents.  The children were fighting about who got what and how much.  The Mister and I might have been drinking Bloody Mary’s.  Probably were.  There was a fire in the fireplace because that’s what you do on Christmas morning.  One of us suggested that we put the discarded wrapping paper and some dry pine needles in the fireplace.  Clean up a bit, so to speak.  So we did.

The phone rang very shortly after that.  It was our next-door-neighbor.  A kind gentleman.  Danish.  Quiet spoken.  Never ruffled feathers.  He informed us, in a very calm manner, that he thought that we had a chimney fire.  He wasn’t absolutely positive but he was pretty sure he saw flames coming out the flue.  Perhaps, he mused, we should take a quick look.

As we were on the phone with him, the side door flew open and his wife roared in the house.  Never one to make a quiet entry, and always one to get right to the point, she said: “You people have a f-ing chimney fire in your f-ing fireplace.  Get off the f-ing phone and call the fire department.  NOW!”

We told her that if her husband would hang up the phone, we would do just that.  

All ended well, I’m happy to report.  But without much time to spare. Without their help, without their warning, it would have been far worse.

They sounded the alarm. Knowing, on one hand, that it would save us. But also knowing, on the other, that there would be disturbances, chaos and even panic in the ‘hood. And on Christmas morning to boot. They made the right choice, the only choice, of course. They saved lives. Is there really any other choice?