I look up. It’s a fireman. Two others are over me as well. They all look like giants with their long black coats and black fire helmets.

“We’ll take her,” says the second one. He and a third guy pick her up. Now I see she has a bump on her forehead and soot marks on her face. A fourth guy is trotting up the sidewalk with a stretcher. They place her on it and the fourth guy places a mask over her mouth and nose. Then they wheel her gently to the ambulance.

“Come with me, son,” says the first fireman. “How do you feel?”

“Awful. Tired.”

“I’ll take you over to the ambulance. Can you walk all right?”

I get up and almost fall backwards. The fireman catches me. He places his big arm around my upper back and props me up. We walk down the same sidewalk to the ambulance.

It’s then I notice the cop car and fire engines. A cop is directing traffic on Beech St., a couple of firemen are attaching a hose to the hydrant across Jasper St., another is breaking our living room windows in, still others are entering our house through both doors. Then there are the people gathering around all this chaos. I don’t see anyone familiar.

The two attendants hoist the stretcher into the back of the ambulance now and slide her inside the ambulance.

I think of her favorite slippers lying, burning on the dining room floor.

“Here, put this on,” says one of the attendants. He places the same mask on me that he put on Mom. It has a hose that runs to a tank.

“It’s oxygen,” he explains. “Whenever you’re in a smoky area, it’s a good idea to have extra oxygen to breathe.”

“Francis, Francis!”

I turn to see my dad breaking through the crowd and running up to me.

“Are you all right?”

I nod.

“This your son?” asks the first fireman.

“Yes, yes, I sent him home for some smokes….” his voice trails off.

“Then the woman in the ambulance,” says the first fireman, “must be your wife.”

Dad has his arms around me, hugging me. “Oh, my God, no, how is…is she okay?”

“Near as I can tell. Hey, Charlie.”

“Yeah,” say the attendant nearest the open ambulance door.

“The woman in there. How’s she doing?”

“She’s suffering from smoke inhalation. But she’s stable. He the husband?”

“Yeah.”

“Sir,” says the attendant, directing his attention to Dad, “first indications are that she will be fine. She has a contusion on her forehead which appears minor but it’s best to have a doctor evaluate it.”

“Thank you,” says Dad.

The first fireman leans toward Dad. “Yeah, your son here was pulling his mother out of the house when we got here. Had her halfway out that door over there by the time we got to them. Brave kid.”

Dad pulls away from me enough to look at my face. He cups my face with his left hand and kisses me on my forehead. Then he hugs me tighter.

“We better take your son in to check him out. We don’t know how long they were both in the house. He seems pretty good but it’d be smart to have him checked out.”

I can feel Dad nod. “Where are you taking them?”

“Union General.” He leans to the attendant, “Hey, you can take the kid, too, right?”

He confers with the other guy inside the ambulance. “Yeah.”

Dad pulls away from me, “I left your brother and sister with Mrs. Bridges at the church when I saw the fire trucks go down Beech. I’m going to bring them to Gramp’s and then I’ll come down to the emergency room. You go with Mom now in the ambulance. You’ll be okay?”

“I guess so,” I say through the mask.

“Yeah, we’ll take good care of him,” says the attendant.

The ride to the hospital is quick. I sit next to Charlie and across from Mom. She doesn’t wake up the whole trip.

When we arrive at the emergency room, Charlie and the driver carry Mom off the ambulance to a waiting nurse. There is all this talk about BPs and heart rates and other stuff I don’t understand. They separate us. I’m taken by a younger nurse. She brings me over to a bed and pulls a big curtain all the way around the bed.

“I want you to take off all your clothes and put this johnnie on,” she instructs.

“Even my underwear?” I ask.

She smiles a little, “Yes, please, even your underwear. I’ll leave you for a little while so you can undress.” She disappears through the curtain.

As I undress, I’m aware of the sounds. Someone is coughing in the distance. Someone is talking to someone else about how stupid he is for not watching what he eats and how it led to his heart attack. I hear voices go by in hushed tones and I see white shoes scurry by my bed just below the curtain. I’m down to one sock. I pull that last sock off and throw it onto the clothes pile on the chair across from me. I pick up the johnnie and look it over. It’s light green and looks like a pillowcase with the back cut out. There are two pairs of strings in the back and short sleeves. I slip my arms through the sleeves. I loop the strings up over my neck and struggle in vain to tie the strings like laces on a shoe.

Then in bursts Santa Claus. He’s as big as I imagine Santa to be with a big, white beard, and fat belly. He even has on those half glasses like in the Coca Cola ads.

“Hello, young fellow, I’m Doctor Nickleson. I understand you had quite an eventful Sunday. A Sunday like no other, I’d say. I’m told you rescued your mother.”

I didn’t know what to say. I still have my hands full with these stupid strings.

“Here, here,” he says, “let me help you with those. I know many an adult who have trouble with those. It’s like tying your necktie without a mirror.”

He does both pairs in no time. “If you would get up on the bed, please. I want to listen to your lungs. Do you think you breathed in a lot of smoke?”

“It sure felt like it.”

“Okay, breathe in through your mouth.” he says as he snakes the stethoscope under my johnnie and onto my chest.

I practically inhale all the air in the room when the ice cold stethoscope lands on my chest.

“Good, good, excellent, now, once more and again,” he says. He goes around to my back. “Another breath, please. And one more. Well, you sound pretty clear.” He takes the ear pieces out and hangs the stethoscope around his neck. He does a few more tests. “Well, you seem to be fine. You can go home. I’ll have one of the nurses check on who is waiting for you in the waiting room. You should be able to untie those laces there. I didn’t pull very hard. Then, you can get dressed. Ah, but before I go, I just want to tell you what a brave act that was to get your mother out of that burning house. I don’t think many young fellows who would have the presence of mind to commit such an heroic rescue. Well, toodles.”

I nod.

Then he was gone. Like Santa up the chimney.

Toodles?

I’m dressed and sitting on the bed. While I wait, I look at my clothes. My pants are filthy and so is my suit jacket. My white shirt has smudges on it. I stash my stained tie in one of my pants pocket. The same nurse and Dad come in.

“Well, Doctor Nickleson has discharged you. Are you feeling better?” asks the nurse.

“Yeah, I think so. I haven’t coughed any.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.”

On the way home, Dad is doing all the talking. “Once your mother is out of the hospital, which may be as soon as tomorrow morning, we, well, me, Harry, Kathleen, and Mom will be staying in a hotel on Route 166. You can stay with Gramma and Gramp since your school is just down the street. Your brother and sister’s school is much closer to where the hotel is. I’ve already talked to your grandparents and they’re very happy to take you. Gramp and I have picked up some clothes from the house for all of us so you’ll have some underclothes but you’ll have to wear part of your Sunday suit to school for a few days. There was a lot of smoke damage in the house. It’s going to be a big clean-up job. You’ll all have to help, probably. I’ll have to take some time off from work and deal with the insurance people and the clean-up. There’ll be a boat load of laundry to do and cleaning and scraping and painting….”

He never looks at me the whole time he’s talking. It’s as if he’s talking to himself. The lines on his face look deeper like he’s suddenly grown older.

The rest of the trip to my grandparents’ house is with Dad chattering away.

By the time Dad and I reach the living room door, Gramma has it open and is waiting for us.

“My land, you are all right,” she says. She steps up to me and envelopes me in a big hug.

“How’s Nora?” she inquires over my head.

“I talked to the doctor and she’s going to be fine. She’s got a nasty bump on her head but otherwise she’s okay. She’ll likely come home tomorrow.”

“Lord save us. That’s wonderful news,” she says as she pulls away to see my face. “Well, and you. You saved your mother’s life. Such a brave boy.”

I didn’t know what to say again.

“You must be very hungry, by now I imagine you haven’t eaten since breakfast. Let’s see what we get you.” She gently pushes me toward the kitchen.

“Where’re the kids?” Dad inquires.

“Simon took them for ice cream.”

“Ice cream in October?”

“I know but under the circumstances….. I know, Francis, I’ll fix you some leftovers from last night,” she says, heading for the refrigerator.

Dad heads for the bathroom with a knowing smile on his face.

I groan to myself as I see her pull out a dinner plate wrapped in cellophane. There are some white potatoes, some white turnip, some semi-green peas and a few slices of a whitish meat. It might be either turkey or chicken. It’s hard to tell. My grandmother likes to boil everything. If she could find a way to boil Cheerios, she would.

“I’ll just pop these in the oven, plate and all.” She opens the oven door, turns the heat on and places the white china plate on a rack. As she closes the door, she turns to me, “What would you like to drink? Milk?”

“Sure.” Might as well keep with the white color thing. I sit down at the kitchen table. Gramma hands me a white napkin and a fork and knife. I place them in front of me and look out the window. The leaves are all orange, red, yellow, and brown. The lawn is a dull green from up here. It won’t  need cutting until next summer.

“James, are you hungry?” Gramma asks as Dad comes out of the bathroom.

“No, no, but I’ll have some cider if you have any left.”

“There should be some in the fridge.”

She goes into the pantry. “Would you pull out the milk for Francis?”

“Sure thing,” he says as he pulls the milk carton and the cider bottle out and places them on the table.

Gramma comes back out with two glasses.

“I’ll pour,” he says. He neatly fills my glass with the milk and his with cider. Dad sits down across the table from me. Gramma is already seated at the table.

“Well,” Dad says, looking out the window, “that lawn looks like it won’t need to be cut until spring, eh? You must be happy about that.”

I nod and smile with a big mouthful of milk.

“You’ll be shoveling snow before you know it,” he chuckles.

He turns to Gramma. “What’s the Farmer’s Almanac say about the possibility of snow this year?”

She ponders a moment. “Snow’s likely near Thanksgiving.”

“That soon? Wasn’t there a storm…”

Suddenly, he sniffs. “Do you smell plastic?”

“The plate!” I shout. “In the oven. Gramma, open the oven door quick!”

Dad reacts first. He leans out of his chair and pulls the door open with a jerk. He turns to me and motions for my napkin. I throw it and Dad snags it. He turns very quickly and pulls the plate out of the oven. He throws it on top of the stove with a clatter.

“Jeezus, that’s hot!” Then he looks at the plate again. He laughs out loud. “The plate. You left the cellophane on. All the food is encased in plastic.”

During this whole time, Gramma just watches. She doesn’t comprehend what just happened. “I what? Oh, my land. Are you sure? It doesn’t look different.”

Dad is laughing so hard, he can hardly get the words out. “ Oh, really,…then why is it… so nice and shiny?”

I’m laughing, too. I won’t have to eat that now.

Gramma continues to stare at the plate. “Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my.” She looks over at me. “What will I feed you now?
“Cheerios,” I say.