Not Santa

So, Mike wrote again last nite, w/the next bit of his story, picking up after he noticed the smell of smoke in his apt:

At 3:02 AM, Michael Patterson said…

April,

As I promised you, this is the next installment of our night of excitement. When I left off yesterday I had just finished my manuscript for my novel, I had praised my muse, and I had smelled smoke.

Then the smoke alarm went off and made a lovely “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” sound. You get the idea. There were 68 E’s just in this installment, and trust me when I say there will be more E’s in my installment tomorrow. I counted them as a matter of habit due to the instincts of my journalistic training. The smoke alarm sound caused me to reminisce about the last time I heard the smoke alarm go off in the apartment. It was back in 2002 and Josef Weeder was frying / burning an egg. Then as Josef was pulling the apart the smoke alarm to get the sound to stop, Lovey Salzman appeared at the door to ask if there was a fire. Then it occurred to me, there was something different from that time when I heard the “BEEEEEEEEEEE” of the smoke alarm in 2002, aside from having fewer E’s, and this modern-day occurrence. Lovey Salzman had not arrived at our door, asking if there was a fire, when actually it was Josef’s cooking. I thought to myself, “If Lovey is not here, then this must not be a cooking fire. Plus this smoke doesn’t smell like the Kelpfroths’ cigar smoke or incense or gaseous excretions, smoky smells we have dealt with since they moved in. It must be a real fire.” My first thought after that was, “Get mommy!” But then I realized I wasn’t living with mom, not yet anyway, so I ran for the nearest mommy, and that was my wife Deanna.

Little sis, as you may recollect, my wife Deanna is a heavy sleeper, since she slept through the Tinkle Tonkle noises of our ceiling fan over the summer. I said to her, “Deanna! Wake up! Something’s wrong! The smoke alarm’s going off!” But this did not wake her up. So I grabbed her right arm with my right hand to brace me, and I gave the hair near her bangs a vigourous tug with my left hand. This woke her up and she said, “What?”

Then time was of the essence. I yelled at Deanna to go “Get the kids! I’ll call emergency!” But Deanna grabbed her forehead instead, I think because I had yanked out a little of her hair near her forehead when I was trying to wake her. So I yelled “HURRY!!” at her with 2 exclamation points to get her going. When I was talking about that moment later on, the authorities explained to me that calling emergency while I was there in my bedroom of a burning apartment building was probably not the best way to do things, and I should have left the bedroom before making that call. I completely agree with that advice now. I should have gone into the kitchen, where we keep our phone books, so I could look up the emergency numbers. Just to let you know April, the number is 9-1-1, in case you ever get caught in an apartment that’s on fire.

Well, Deanna was ever the smart mother. She got the kids’ coats and put hers on first, so she would not have to deal with that while she was helping the kids on with their coats and boots. I was so proud of her intelligent way of dealing with an emergency. I heard her say, “Robin, Merrie—Let’s get your coats and boots on! We’re going outside—Right NOW!” It was definitely the voice of authority and the kids took note of it.

Our daughter is old enough and responsible enough to put on her own coat, as you know from when I told you how she traipsed around after me in her coat and pyjamas the night we found Ned in the plumbing. But our son needed help with his. He kept on saying to Deanna, “No mommy. Boots on outside. No burn Robin.” He was so cute.

And speaking of cuteness, our daughter thought we were going outside to see Santa, because she said, “Is Santa here?!!” Now, I know what you’re thinking, little sis. Why does our daughter think that going outside in the middle of the night with a smoke alarm sounding off is the way to meet Santa Claus, when she is 4 years old and has experienced Christmas before? Well, sadly, the answer is that our daughter has never actually spent Christmas in her own home. We always travel to Milborough and have Christmas there. The whole tradition of Santa coming and delivering presents to her own house while she is sleeping is a completely foreign concept to her. I say, “always travel to Milborough”, but that is not completely the truth. My daughter’s very first Christmas Eve in 2002 we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning at Deanna’s parents’ house and had Christmas dinner in Milborough. But there was so much complaining about that situation, we and Deanna’s parents have traveled to Milborough every Christmas since then, just to keep the peace with mom. Mom is happy about the arrangement, but it means our daughter doesn’t have the first idea how Santa Claus works. Mom always says that is best to protect your daughters from getting involved in the more commercial side of Christmas, so you can concentrate on the true meaning of the season. I said, “The birth of baby Jesus?” And mom says, “No, Michael. The food.” When she’s right, she’s right. That’s our mom.

That’s it for this installment, little sis. I wouldn’t want to spoil you with too much information for your readers. More tomorrow.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Hey, Mike, I've known abt "911" since I was around 4 yo. Also, when we learned abt fire safety in school, they told us U get every1 out FAST, take yr coats an' stuff w/U, call 911 when U get out, an' THEN get the coats an' boots on when U R out of danger. But I'm glad yr safe, even tho U guyz don't really seem 2 know what U R doing.

Apes