The morning after our wedding, Tim woke me up at 7 a.m. saying the fire alarm went off at the hotel we’re staying. Sleepy and not wanting to get up, I tried to pretend I didn’t hear him then go back to sleep. I was already half-awake when the alarm went off again and I heard and saw the flash myself.
Panicked, I jumped out of bed lightning fast (triggering him to do the same) and started scurrying around the disorganized room looking for valuables (i.e. phone & eyeglasses). Timmy started putting on his pants and shoes and I was already at the door about to go out–before he reminded me to put on some pants.
As we got out the door of our room in the 6th floor, a family of five–two of which were children–were rushing to the fire exit. Like us they were trying not to panic. They were ahead of us walking in that long hallway–they didn’t realize one of their own was way behind them, a toddler with a pacifier on his mouth, walking on his own.
Without thinking twice, I offered this kid my hand and he readily grabbed it. We were all raising to the fire exit (if I wasn’t in a flight mode I wouldn’t offer my hand to any kid with his parents in sight–not in this paranoid world where everyone could profile you as a pedophile when you play with a kid not related to you by far). When his parents opened the fire exit door moments after, they realized he was behind; the father lifted the boy while they thanked us profusely, especially the grandmother.
No this is not a “Jenny saves the day” anecdote. That moment I was holding the kid’s hand only lasted for about 15 to 20 seconds, his parents would have realized it earlier because that kid will have eventually tripped and made a sound or something. There wasn’t even a “real” fire then–well, nothing that Timmy and I have seen (was probably just a small kitchen fire). But those few seconds made me feel a kid’s touch again, and made me remember certain fat/muscular babies…
Ugh I miss **Apollo & Achilles.