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I didn’t remember much about that moment, other than the panic I felt as the smell of smoke filled the salon and the busy scanner said something about a fire two blocks over in my small town.
It must have been a bad one because we all listened on as every available station was called to the scene. But it was only when I heard that Columbia Station Nine had arrived that I felt like I was going to pass out. I clutched the salon chair in Selena’s booth, taking in big breaths, my vision blurry, my heart pounding in my ears like a drum.
I didn’t know what happened after that for a bit. I must have left the salon because the next thing I knew, I was running down the street, kicking off my high-heeled shoes I’d worn that day, sweat pouring from my brow, the streets out of focus through my tears.
My feet burned on the pavement after two blocks, but I hardly noticed. The smoke was thick and pungent around me the closer I got and still, I kept going even as my anxiety grew beyond measure.
I couldn’t do this again, my mind screamed, and still, my feet pushed me forward until I was there, right in front of it, what felt like a million first responders around me, but I hardly noticed them.
The inferno blazed right in front of me, almost an entire block of a strip mall up in flames, the heat coming off of it searing something deep in me, taking me back, transporting me to another place and time.
“Sloane!” I screamed through smoke, coughing and gagging. “Where are you?” I cried. I could hardly see anything. My eyes and throat burned as I crawled around on the floor, looking for my baby brother.
He’d sneak into my room every night and get into bed after our parents would go to bed. He was a professional crib escaper at two years old. Well, maybe not professional since he’d just throw himself over the rail and walk to my room and stand by my bed.
I’d pull him up into my full-sized bed and cover him and cuddle him close.
Tonight had been no different, so I knew he had to be in the room.I’d woken up to the smell of smoke and the feeling of extreme heat, my room already flooded with both. I’d felt around the bed frantically for Sloane but never found him.
Now I was on all fours like they taught me in school, keeping low. “Sloanneeeee!” I screamed, feeling like I couldn’t breathe, my throat raw, the room all aglow, sweat covering me. Every breath I took felt like a struggle and eventually, I just gave up and lay on the floor and tried to slow my breathing.
I didn’t know how long I lay there, but I did notice the room became hotter. I kept my eyes closed, praying for relief. Anything really. I just needed the pain to stop.
“Sloane,” I cried again, desperate to find him even though I couldn’t move. Tears trekked down my face from closed, burning eyes.
I sobbed and coughed into the carpet, keeping my face pressed to it, hoping it would help but thinking I was probably going to die in that room alone without my baby brother.
It was then I felt two big arms wrap around my body and lift me. I didn’t know who it was. I couldn’t even open my eyes that had felt like someone had poured acid into them to try and see this person.
But my seven-year-old self had hoped that he was there to save me and Sloane.
“You’re okay.” I heard a man say. But his voice sounded muffled like he was talking behind a glass window as I felt cool, clean air hit my skin and lungs.
I breathed deeply, only to sputter and gag more.
“Easy. Slowly,” the voice said again and then I was laid on something hard, a mask placed over my face.
Attempting to open my eyes, I cried as they felt like fire itself was in them. I tried to make out the figures around me, but they all looked like paintings someone had washed away.
I sobbed and coughed into the mask and only calmed when I heard my father’s voice.
“It’s okay, Emily. You’re okay,” he said from above me and I thought I could feel him petting my hair.
I calmed and tried to breathe, but my chest felt like someone was sitting on it.
“Did you see Sloane?” my father asked above me, sirens and shouts all around me.
“No,” I croaked out, fresh tears slipping free and scorching my face. I cried, knowing the man who’d saved me hadn’t found my brother or my father wouldn’t have been asking.
A crashing sound reverberated around us as the ground shook with the force of it.
“Noooo!” my father yelled above me, his voice full of anguish. My mother’s screams in the distance gutted me.
I didn’t have to see it to know we’d lost Sloane as the roof crashed down into our home. I didn’t have to see it because I could feel it all around me. My baby brother was gone.
I stood in front of the blazing inferno that had once been a long strip mall in my quiet town, my eyes scanning the plethora of police and firemen and medics everywhere, trying to put that awful memory behind me when really I wanted to sit on the ground and cry.
I had to find my Weston. When my eyes landed on Charles from Weston’s station, I sprinted forward on my aching feet.
