GrowingOlderHopeWiser

It was mid-morning on a Saturday, cartoon day. I was relaxing on the living room floor in my PJs, watching my favorite shows. Shirley, only 9, decided she wanted pork chops for breakfast. I had been attending Commercial Advertising classes during the day and night high school all week; I was not about to start cooking pork chops for her. I was only 15 and exhausted. We had just moved into a brand-new condo right across the street from the cemetery in North Miami, FL. The apartment still had the odor of new construction, and all the appliances in the kitchen were brand new. No furniture yet, except for a TV set and a couple of mattresses on the bedroom floors.

We had a little dog, Lexus, on a leash tied up in the kitchen. My mother was not home; she was working. The next thing I heard was a whoosh! I looked over toward the kitchen, and flames were shooting up above the stove. Shirley had decided to cook herself some pork chops and set the kitchen on fire. I dove to rescue Lexus and ran out into the hallway to get a fire extinguisher. The fire was spreading quickly. In my haste, I saw the extinguisher behind a glass case on the wall but did not see a way to get to it. So I used my fist to break the glass, retrieved the extinguisher, ran back to the kitchen, and, because my nerves were not letting me remember to pull the pin, I could not get the darn thing to work. Luckily, a neighbor came over and helped me put out the fire.

The kitchen was ruined, and I looked at my arm, which was bleeding profusely from my right forearm. I had a deep cut from trying to retrieve the fire extinguisher. So deep that I could see yellow fat cells trying to come out of my arm. The odd thing was that I felt no pain. I suppose it was the adrenaline rush. The neighbor had already called the fire department, and they arrived along with an EMT team that got me to the hospital for stitches on my forearm. It required 6 stitches to seal the gap. 

My mother arrived in a panic, as usual, angry and upset, blaming me for the catastrophe. She now had to face the consequences of a ruined brand-new apartment she had just signed a lease for. I had my own beef with the whole situation, resenting that I had to shoulder so much responsibility for my sister, who had ADHD.