The fire

The first I noticed that something was wrong was the sound. Popping and crackling as the insulation around the wires melted and the electrical system shorted out.

Then I looked out our bedroom window and saw flames shoot out the eves of the building across the street. The fire curled cleverly up onto the roof then licked and leaped towards the black night sky.

Then I smelled the smoke. It smelled like the smoke from burning trash in a barrel; the smell of the smoke from burning paper and plastic; a smell that you feel in the back of your throat.

Rhinehook was a small town on the bank of the Hudson river. There was only one Chinese restaurant, a dilapidated hotel, and a small cafe. Next to the cafe was an attached house - it was this house that was on fire now. The Rhinehook firehouse was just 20 yards down the road from the cafe.

I didn't call 911. I was sure that someone had called already. I walked downstairs with my wife and we went out into the square in front of the cafe. There were a lot of people standing around, watching the fire. Their faces were lit by the flames. I was reminded of campfires - quiet, flickering faces staring intently.

Minutes went by, I wondered where the firetrucks were. The house was a blaze now. Just to the right of me I heard someone sobbing and noticed for the first time a young woman wrapped in a blanket. She moaned and yelled out "He's still in there!". I don't know why I thought she was talking about her dog. We had just moved to town and didn't know anyone, certainly didn't know if she even had a dog, or if she had a cat. The next day I found out she had a boyfriend.