Temporary Quarters- a sneak peak at my latest piece of creative non-fiction

Temporary Quarters

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When the fire alarm jolted me awake that Saturday night, I had already been in bed for nearly two hours.  I rarely turn in before 2am on the weekends, but I was making up for a lot of lost sleep. I cursed loudly at the ceiling as I threw back the covers and reached for the lamp on the night stand.  Where the hell were my glasses? 
  

Just as I had managed to pull on some mostly clean sweatpants and wriggle a bra on under my Durham Bulls T-shirt, the alarm stopped with the same intensity as it had started. I didn’t move or make a sound for several seconds.  When the numbers on my antique clock radio clacked over to 1:48 am, I actually jumped a little.  You’re such an idiot, I told myself and plopped down on the bed.

While I sat there and contemplated sleeping, I spotted an orange paw darting in and out from under the closet door. A few seconds later, Barnaby popped his head out from where he and his sister had retreated and meowed at me.

“Come cuddle with me,” I said, and patted a nearby pillow. He started towards me, but suddenly his body twitched into a painful dance and his ears turned to tight little triangles.  He disappeared back into the closet.

I began a muffled apology at the closet but was interrupted by a familiar, faraway ringing.  “Damnit!” I yelled.  

Angry, exterior lights flashed on and off through the windows.  I covered my ears with my hands as the distant shrill erupted to full blast, spilling violently into the hallway, up the stairs, and into my  tiny 7^th floor apartment.

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     Anyone who has lived at what I've come to call "the luxury apartments" for more than a month knows the drill when it comes to fire alarms. If it goes off again with ten minutes of the first alarm, you can bet your sweet ass that it will continue to go on and off, in excruciating intervals, for at least two more hours. Even if by some miracle the damn thing doesn't go off again that night, you can pretty much abandon any hope of resuming anything that resembles sleep.

      I figured I might as well slip on my Sketchers and head downstairs to join the others. There had become a kind of tradition among the residents to assemble in the lobby to glare at whichever poor community assistant happened to be on call that night. And I didn't want to miss it.

     I felt tremendously guilty leaving Barnaby and Kissa in the apartment, but there wasn't a lot I could do. After spending ten minutes trying to wrangle them both into their carrier, I eventually closed them up in the bathroom-the only place where the alarm didn't sound. (Yes, the alarms sound in every room in every unit, in every hallway and in every stairwell.)  I hoped that the crude tent made of heavy quilts I had rigged up in the closet  would protect their tiny ears. 

     Just as I made it down four flights of stairs and reached the third floor lobby, the fire alarm stopped. I looked around at the exasperated faces of my neighbors, some with crying infants and some with agitated animals, and some of them with both. The community assistant on duty-a tiny, twenty-something girl I knew to be attending college at nearby NC Central- was speaking with four very large firemen.When one of them separated from the group, I hurried over and caught his arm as he was exiting the building.

     "Hey! What happened THIS time?" I barked up at a man who looked to be in his fifties. His skin was rough and I wished I had some Blistex to offer him.

     He shirked my hand away from the thick sleeve of his heavy, flame-retardant coat. My cheeks burned. 

     "I'm sorry," I said sincerely and he gave me a slight, forgiving nod. "But can't y'all make them," I pointed to the management office, "Get this thing fixed?"

     Before he could answer, another, younger, less handsome fireman bolted out of the door and addressed the small crowd on the sidewalk.  "Listen up. You people can go back inside now. We have determined that this is a false alarm. There is no fire. You can return to your apartments."

     He started to walk away, but stopped and turned back to us. "But just so you all know, there's a very good chance the alarm will continue to sound throughout the evening. But rest assured, it is okay for you to stay in your apartment. You do not need to evacuate."

     He looked out towards the North Carolina Mutual Insurance building down the street and said finally, before walking away, "Again, it is OKAY for you folks to remain inside. Rest assured, there is no fire. What we're dealing with here is a faulty, overly sensitive alarm system."

     The fireman I had been speaking with looked down at me to see if I was satisfied with his colleague's explanation. I clenched my shoulders into a tight shrug with my palms extended upwards and screeched, "Really?"

     He didn't seem to like the situation any more than I did, but he just adjusted the rim of his heavy hat and started towards the closer of the two trucks straddling the curb, while I continued my rant.

     "Really!  Did he actually just tell us it was okay to go back inside and ignore any additional alarms that might go off tonight?"

     I looked around at my sleep deprived neighbors and muttered, "Unbelievable."

  

    

Copyright © 2015 by T. Allyson Jones