The Paralegal Chronicles
“Mac, do you smell smoke?” About that time, I saw it, a haze of smoke easing its way through the doorway. Mac ran to the top of the stairs and looked down. He shouted, “The building is on fire, we’ve got to get out of here. Grab that ledger and let's get going.” I snapped up the ledger and the agenda, took hold of my purse, and started to run. Mac looked worried. “Wait, he thundered, we can’t get out the same way we came in, maybe there’s a fire escape.” Running from window to window, we looked for a fire escape, but found none. “Mac, I shrieked, what are we going to do?” The flames were beginning to make their way up the stairs. He took hold of my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. “Don’t panic,” he said calmly. “Trust me; I’ll get us out of here.” At that moment, I would have walked through the flames if he had told me to. Those sparkling green eyes emit such warm assurance, I would entrust my very life to him and it looked like I did not have much choice but to do just that. He said, “Follow me,” as he walked swiftly to the bedroom. "Grab hold of the other side of this mattress.” “What are you going to do?” “Here, cover your head with this blanket. He picked up a heavy chair and hurled it through huge window that took up almost the whole wall across from the bed. “Help me drag this mattress over there,” he said, gagging on smoke and pointing toward the broken window. Each of us picking up a side of the mattress we dragged it to the window. “See that pile of boxes and packing materiel down there in the alley?” “Yes.” “On the count of three we’re going to heave this mattress out the window onto that pile. One, two, three, heave ... What are you doing? I said heave." “I wasn't ready, I coughed, do it again.” “One, two, three, heave,” and out the window it went, right on top of the boxes. “OK, you first” “Me first, what?” “You first out the window, go on, now!” The flames were licking around the bedroom door. The heat was so intense, I could feel it burning through the soles of my shoes. “Mac, I can’t, it’s too far. I’m afraid I’ll miss the mattress.” “Either you jump or I’ll throw you out.” “You wouldn’t!” “Don’t try me. It’s either this or stay here and fry. What’s it going to be?” You cannot argue with that kind of logic. I climbed over the windowsill, sucked in my breath, took one look and let go. Screaming all the way down, "Maaaaaac!!"