Our truck is the first to arrive at the scene. Caleb and I hop out and sprint toward the two-story home. The fire appears to only be on the west side. For now.
“Help!”
“You take the bottom floor, I’ll take the top,” I yell to Caleb as we push inside.
I take the steps two at a time, my heart pumping faster as the smoke grows thicker. What kind of scene will I find up there?
“Help!” comes the cry again, just to my left. I pound through the door and freeze momentarily. There’s a woman unconscious on the ground, a small boy tugging on her arm to no avail.
This feels familiar. But unlike the scene in Lyndi’s apartment, this one is real and dangerous.
The little boy looks up at me with wide eyes. “Mommy fell.”
I drop to her side. Nothing is on top of her, but her pulse is weak. I don’t have time to wait for a stretcher with the amount of smoke these two have already inhaled. The fire will be on us any minute.
I look at the boy, who appears to be about three. “Are you okay?”
He nods, and the tears run down his cheeks and drip off his chin.
“Okay. I’m going to carry your mommy out. Do you think you can walk beside me?”
He nods again.
I’ll take it.
“Alright.” I lean over and scoop up the woman. “Let’s go. Follow me close.”
The little boy grabs his mom’s hand and holds it while we walk. We need to move faster, but I won’t be the one to rip this boy away from his mom.
Caleb meets us at the bottom of the stairs and picks up the little boy. The child howls, trying to jump out of Caleb’s arms to reach his mom, and I walk faster to keep up.
The ambulance pulls up just as we make it out the door. I set the mom down on the stretcher and watch the little boy cling to her while others try to pull him away and comfort him.
That’s not what he needs. He needs his mom.
Please don’t take his mom away from him.
I turn my attention back to putting out the fire.
Hours later, when I’m at home, I still see the boy’s small fingers wrapped around his mom’s pale ones and pray she made it through.
How can I find hope and joy after witnessing the harsh realities of life?
The world is messed up, and the innocent suffer the most for it.
The sun’s rays burn through my living room window, beating against my face, but I fall asleep anyway.
“Get off your lazy butt. We’ve got people coming over,” Caleb says, throwing one of my baseball caps at me.
I groan when I try to stand. My back hurts from the last forty-eight hours on call. I turn over my phone. Three missed calls and a text from my mom.
Mom:I expect you here by seven sharp.
Yay.
“Can’t.” I pick up the hat and cover my messy hair with it. “I’ve been summoned by Mother.”
Caleb backs off. “Yikes. Have fun with that.”
