Matt and I are at a hotel tonight. (It is closer to
our appointment tomorrow.)
It was 10:00 p.m., and Matt had just finished his
shower. As he was drying off, the
fire alarm rang. Initially, I thought it was ringing because of the lingering
hot-water-fog; we both stared at each other.
Matt thinking, "Dang, I'm in big trouble
now!"
Me thinking, "I cannot believe we'll all
have to evacuate because Matt takes too hot of a shower!"
I checked down the hallway and people were beginning
to scurry out the exits; I could hear the alarm ringing in all rooms and the
hallway. Okay, maybe it wasn’t
Matt’s fault. Before I could enjoy
my feeling of relief, I realized the alarm meant there was a FIRE! Ducking back into the room, I yelled at
Matt to get dressed as I gathered the important stuff--socks, soap, watches
(yeah, well it seemed vital at the time!). Looking back over at Matt, I saw that although he had
vigorously dried his hair, he was struggling to pull his jeans on over his wet
legs. I convinced him to get
downstairs with a harried look and a decisive, “Just GO!!” After he hobbled out still trying to straighten is jeans, it dawned on me--I may have sent
my one and only, wonderful, most precious son into an inferno! With horrific
mother-visions, I wheeled around still clutching the hotel soap, scooped up Matt’s belt,
and sprinted down the stairs to save him and his dignity.
Unfortunately, I was still wearing my reading
glasses. I “shaved off” too much of
the final corner and smashed my face into the wall.
Panting and a bit bloody, I slid sock-footed into
the lobby yelling, “Matt, Matt, Matt!!!!”
There was no fire. There
was no smoke. There were, however,
all the firemen from the two large fire truck at the entrance. Nope, I did not feel smart or
brave. Nope, nope, nope…
Got to bed about midnight. Arranged all our things into manageable
piles...just in case. Matt wore his belted jeans to bed.