The clock reads 3:18 am. I lie in bed swallowing a muffled scream at a final unexpected jolt from a nearby lightening strike. The first time this night I awoke from the storm I checked the time. It was 1:28 a.m. The storm resounding with heavy thunder, and lightening strikes scorching the air has lasted a full 2 hours. The urge to look out the window and check the nearby homes drags me from bed just as I hear the sirens of Worthington’s firetrucks. I watch the lights reflect off wet buildings up on High Street, surprised when they turn onto my street. The pumper truck stops in front of my house. Is it my own apartment building which has been hit by lightening? No, it is that of my neighbor across the street. The kind lady in the delightfully periwinkle blue house with storybook trim she tells me her daughter hates is inside. My urge to run and help seems overwhelming. I know I will be in the way so settle for getting dressed. I am ready for I know not what.
The fire personnel are pounding on her front door shouting so loud I hear them clearly through my windows, “Your house is on fire. Everybody out.” A moment’s hesitation then a cracking sound as they force entry. Firemen push into the house. The glow of flashlights show their progress through the darkened interior as smoke billows overhead. A burnt smell and smoke’s essence hang in the air amid the showering droplets of rain. Thunder continues to rumble in the distance. The sound of the engine pumping water to the hoses being dragged from the second truck, across the lawn and into the house beats a steady rhythm. Flashing truck lights pulse at the speed of my heartbeats, wounded and warmed by the sight of so many brave fire personnel rushing to protect my neighbor, her home and our neighborhood.
All I can manage is to get dressed, while they manage a very dangerous situation, weighed down in hot and heavy protective gear, moving in darkness to find the source of the fire and extinguish its power to destroy. “Such love that they are willing to lay down their life for another,” I think. It awakens my soul even as my body longs for a night’s rest. How grateful I am for Worthington’s fire and police who guard us at their own peril in the dead of night when our fears are so close to the surface and we seem so alone in the world.
It is now 4:08 am. There are 6 trucks on our street and flashing lights around the corner onto High Street. Obviously more than a single company responded to the fire. Community is too small a word for where such dedication lies. Humanity more fully defines it. These public servants define humanity. They remind us we are not alone, but part of a larger human community. I wonder anew at the public and legislative attacks (never forget SB 5) on our public workers whose only purpose is to be there for us, to keep public services available at all hours for every small mundane matter, and for every middle of the night emergency. These men and women are servants to our community. Let us remember them when we vote; not just when we vote on tax levies to support emergency personnel, but to protect their right,and the right of all of our public workers to unionize,to seek fair wages and benefits, safe and sound workplaces, and human dignity. Let us not only support them; but, let us never support those who attack them. It is now 7:33 am. A single truck and its crew stands guard, ready in case the embers from last night’s fire rekindle. The charred hole along the roofline of my neighbor’s home testifies with an acrid odor the threat which still lingers. Yet, we feel safe because our servants stand guard for us as we go about our day.
Thank you,good and faithful servants of the Worthington community,and our humanity.
annarino writes 