Page 10 of Living with Fire

I know it’s pointless, but I grab the handle and jiggle it, then pull with all my might, like I might be able to get somewhere with it. The landlord demonstrated all of this by locking himself in the day I met him, trusting that I would let him out. I’d freed him, but I’m suddenly wishing I hadn’t.

Pounding my fist on the door, I scream as loud as I can, “Help! Someone help!”

There are two other occupied apartments close to mine. The rest are either vacant, or on the other side of the building. I’m praying that one of my neighbors is home and awake, or at least doesn’t sleep like the dead.

But beating, kicking, and yelling until my throat hurts and my hands feel like they’re bruised, is all in vain. No one comes to my rescue, and with each passing moment, I’m feeling a little more frantic.

I can’t be stuck here all night. Five minutes is five minutes too long, let alone hours upon hours. I hate small places. I hate enclosed spaces. I hate being locked away.

The panic comes on strong and fast once my thoughts are triggered by being confined with no escape. My breathing quickens and grows shallow while terror floods my body, making me feel dizzy and lightheaded. It’s enough to make me stop wailing on the door, though I think I preferred bruising my hands to this.

I need to breathe. I need to relax. I need to stop thinking about the worst case scenario, or that this is like before, but it’s hard not to be sucked into things that I remember so vividly.

Trapped in a basement, the only light coming from under the door if it was nighttime. Hours spent clawing at the door, desperate to get out, begging to be set free, promising I would do better, act better, be better.

“No,” I gasp to myself, sucking in a deep breath. “No!”

I will not allow my past to dictate my future. This isn’t the same. I’m not in the same place. No one has locked me in this room against my will—unless you count the useless landlord who refused to fix the door.

Turning my back to the door, I slide down to the floor, resting my head between my knees, counting to four as I breathe in, repeating the process as I let the breath out. It takes seven rounds before my lungs aren’t screaming and my head feels clearer and capable of actual thought.

I can figure this out. I’m a smart woman. I’ve gotten myself this far in life, I can get myself out of this situation. I just need to figure out how.

Looking around the room, I frown. It’s empty. Bare. Not even my trash bag is inside with me because the damn door knocked it back into the hallway. I glance at the hinges on the door. I could try to knock the pegs out and open it that way. The problem is I don’t have anything to hit them with and I’m fairly sure my flip-flop isn’t going to cut it.

My eyes land on the garbage chute next, causing me to cringe. Eyeing the little door that opens, I wonder if I would fit, and if I did, would I survive falling down it and into the bin? That’s probably a bad idea, but I’m not sure if the alternative is any better. Being stuck in this room is going to screw with my mind, and I’ve worked hard in the last few months to get myself in a healthier mindset.

I’m about to get up and take a better look at the garbage chute, if for no other reason than to assess the situation, when I freeze and sniff the air. This room doesn’t smell great; I’ve witnessed many abandoned bags of garbage in here when dropping off my trash. Some people can’t be bothered to take the few extra seconds to open the chute and toss their bags in, which creates quite the stench, especially in the California summer heat.

As I sniff again, I can smell the garbage, but there’s something else that’s beginning to overpower it. A second passes before I realize what it is. The same odor that was in the hallway is now seeping into the room, but I was wrong earlier. It isn’t someone’s burnt dinner. Something is burning. Something is on fire.

The shrill sound of the fire alarm goes off, startling me so badly that I slam my hands over my ears and tuck my head down, shoulders raising as the noise assaults me. It’s got to be one of the worst things I’ve heard in my life. It’s so loud that I’m positive it would wake the deepest of sleepers, which I suppose is the point.

Jumping up, I start pounding on the door again, screaming to anyone who might hear. The elevators are in the middle of the building with a set of stairs at either end, and the garbage chute is next to the stairs closest to my apartment. If my neighbors are home, they should go right by, and maybe one of them will hear me screaming. If they aren’t home, or they don’t hear me, I really hope I’m not totally screwed. I have no idea where the fire is, but if the smell of smoke is any indication, it’s too close for comfort.

I’m still banging relentlessly when I notice a little puff of black smoke come under the door. “No!” I shriek, hitting the door with all my might. “No, no, no. Someone hear me! Please! Help! I’m trapped!”

Another larger cloud wafts in and I know I’m about to be extremely screwed if someone doesn’t hear me, or I don’t do something drastic soon. I glance at the garbage chute again, taking a break from beating on the door. Maybe it won’t be so bad. I can probably fit. It’s better than dying of smoke inhalation, or burning alive, right?

Dashing to the chute, I wrench on the door to open it, crying out when it only lifts halfway to its full height.

“What?” I gasp, tugging harder.

Panic seizes my heart when it doesn’t move even after I start to jump up while jerking on it. Throwing my body weight into it, hoping it’ll knock it loose, I scream as anger drowns out the fear when it doesn’t budge an inch.

If I ever get out of here and see my landlord, I’m going to murder him for not fixing everything that is wrong with this damn building. I’m facing a potential life or death situation, and I might not make it because of his negligence.

I might die in a garbage room.

The thought has me giving up on the chute. Turning back to the door, I ready myself to resume my assault on it when I realize I need to do something about the smoke coming in from under the door. I don’t stand a chance of surviving if smoke fills this room before someone can find me.

Acting on instinct, I strip down to my bra and panties, using my yoga pants and t-shirt as a barrier at the bottom of the door, stuffing them into the crack. It only takes a second to see that the smoke isn’t billowing its way under the door anymore causing me to pump my fist in the air in victory.

Score one for Savanna. Now if I can just get someone to open the door.

As if the universe heard my thoughts, a voice bellows from the other side of the door, “Fire department! Call out!”

“In here! I’m trapped! Help!” I cry, relief flooding me as I slam my hands against the door with such fierceness I’m sure they’ll be bruised if I get out of this.