Monkey Business

jamie’s on fire

Friday, December 12, 3:14 a.m.

I’m having that exam dream-you know the one I mean, the one where you’re scribbling furiously in the high-school gym and you realize you’re butt naked-when the alarm signaling the end of the exam goes off.

Then I realize it’s not an exam bell, it’s a fire alarm, and I shoot up in bed. Oy. It’s 3:14 a.m. It’s probably a false alarm, but what if it’s for real? When I worked at the hospital, I saw kids who were victims of house fires, and it wasn’t pretty. I grab a pair of sweatpants, sweatshirt, a jacket and running shoes, my credit card and new student card with photo (finally got that in the mail today, can’t have it go up in flames already), take my keys and step into the hallway. I don’t have too much of value in my room except for my TV and DVD collection. And the mini-fridge I rented for a hundred bucks. (Who doesn’t want cold drinks and ice-cream sandwiches available twenty-four/seven?) I try to remember what we were instructed to do in a fire situation. I think the brief on fire safety in my welcome package said to line up at the nearest exit.

The hall is empty. Either I’ve developed schizophrenia and hearing loud, continuously ringing fire bells is a part of my new condition, or I have quicker-than-average reflexes.

I begin to hear a faint rustling in the rooms.

“Make it stop!” someone yells.

I patrol the hallway to see if anyone other than me has deemed it necessary to vacate his or her room.

Nick is standing in his boxers, topless, looking skeletal and confused. “What’s going on?”

“Not sure.” I sprint down the stairs to see if I can find anyone who knows why this annoying bell is still ringing. I’m both surprised and impressed with my middle-of-the-night energy and agility.

The people from the second floor are exiting the building. I spot Lauren with an opened coat over red flannel pajamas. Maybe the carbon monoxide has spread throughout the third floor, and for some reason everyone except me is unconscious.

I decide to check on Layla and Kimmy, hero that I am.

I hike back up the stairs, my energy waning, and am poised to knock on Layla’s door when she flings it open. She’s fully dressed in khakis, a green turtleneck and a long wool coat. She’s toting a fishbowl above her head with one hand, her laptop with the other.

She is so cute. “It’s a fire alarm, not a flood alarm,” I say, and take the fishbowl from her.

“Thanks. I forgot to back up my documents last night. If this computer melts, I’m a dead woman. Are we supposed to go downstairs?”

“I think that would be the best option. I’ll just check on Kimmy.”

“Jamie to the rescue.” She makes a kissing noise and disappears down the stairs.

Funny, she doesn’t notice that I rescued her first. She’s possessed with the notion that I’m in love with Kimmy. I wish I could tell Layla that it’s her I can’t get out of my head, but it’s obvious she’s not interested in me. If I told her, I’d end up being another class joke, the way I did with Kimmy.

“Hello, Martha,” I say to the bowl. Then I knock on Kimmy’s door. “Darlin’? That alarm blaring? It normally signals fire. It’s best to leave the building so you won’t burn.”

I hear swearing from inside. Male swearing. There is a male swearing in Kimmy’s room. Must be Russ, I figure (not that it would take a rocket scientist to figure it out). Three pj-clad people pass me, and I’m standing by myself in the hall. “You two can come out now. Coast is clear.” No sound. “Russ, I know you’re in there.”

The door opens slowly. Russ is sitting on the desk, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, looking extremely pale. Maybe the carbon monoxide has gotten to him. Or not.

“Studying late, are we?” I ask.

He ignores me and peers into the hallway. “Do we really have to go out?”

I tug on my ear. “The bell does seem to indicate that.”

“Isn’t it a false alarm?”

“I assume so,” I say. “I don’t smell smoke, but I’m leaving the building, just in case. You two do what you want.” Like you’re doing already. I turn and leave them, disappointment overwhelming me. He should know better. She should know better.

Of course, it’s snowing. I find Layla through the flakes, clasping her laptop to her chest. She takes the fishbowl from me and puts it beside her on the ground. Nick and Lauren join us, and a few minutes later Russ approaches us, Kimmy following a few discreet feet behind. There are no fire trucks, no sirens blaring, no flashing lights washing the campus in red, so either this is a false alarm or the firefighters need to work on their game.

Russ is looking around, probably for Rena, the woman I’ve seen him talk to, the woman who knows his girlfriend. He spots her and waves. She waves back.

Layla’s teeth are chattering. I put my arm around her waist to warm her, but then I realize she might get the wrong idea, or the right idea, so I put my other arm around Kimmy and bring them both into a group hug, Layla’s laptop elbowing me in the stomach.

“You know,” I say, “an orgy would really warm us up.”

“Does your mind ever come out of the gutter?” Layla scolds me.

“What about a massage train?” I ask. Now that was fun. Being touched by Layla and touching Kimmy. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I certainly wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.

The fire alarm stops.

We wait a few seconds, holding our breath, then collectively exhale.

Russ pats Kimmy on the ass as they go through the door. I wish I could pull that move on Layla, but I think she would assault me with her laptop.