Gannon Knight Perspective

     We all make snap judgments of our friends based on the outcome of one widely asked hypothetical question: “If your house was burning down, what three things would you grab and why?”
     But when I woke up at 9 a.m. Sunday to a series of sharp beeps and a polite electronic voice telling me to “please evacuate the building,” the only thing I was thinking about was getting the hell out.
     Sleepy and/or hungover college kids who are forced out of bed on a weekend morning spew cynicism like nobody’s business.
     While sitting on the cold cement outside the nearby Morgan Stanley building, I watched my peers snigger about how silly everyone looked in their pajama pants. I heard them mock the sirens of the rapidly approaching fire trucks.

     “What, do we really need seven of them!? Seven fire trucks? I don’t even see any fire. This is such a joke.”
     Sorry it wasn’t dramatic enough for you, pal.
     Would you rather see licks of an inferno spewing out the windows, busting the glass open?
     Would you like to know what it’s like to lose everything you own in a blaze?
     Thank God everyone in Harborview House Apartments got out quickly after the alarm went off. As it turns out, there may have not been a fire at all.
     Some situations aren’t so fortunate.
     Last December, more than 40 people lost their homes after a massive fire engulfed an apartment building at Presque Isle Condominiums.
     One of them was my sister’s boyfriend, Matt, who’s been in the family so long I consider him to be the brother I never had.
     Matt lived with his parents during his undergraduate years so he could tuck money away to live on his own once he graduated.
     That apartment was symbolic of his first fearless venture into the world of adult independence.
     A pantry full of Hamburger Helper. One leather La-Z-Boy recliner. Case after case of alphabetized CDs – all up in flames and gone forever.
     Matt didn’t even own a pair of matching shoes anymore – he slipped on two different ones in his rush to vacate the building.
     I remember waking up that morning to an inbox flooded with text messages giving minute-by-minute updates about the status of the fire, which happened overnight.
     Shortly after, I called Matt – normally a serene, upbeat guy – and my heart just broke from hearing the pain in his voice. I felt helpless, knowing there was nothing I could do to restore the home he so thoroughly set up for himself.
     Throughout the aftermath – digging through charred, wet piles of stuff to find anything salvageable – Matt kept up this amazing attitude that, hey, it’s just stuff. And stuff can be replaced.
     But the people who love you and take you in when all you’ve got are the clothes on your back – they can’t be.
     That’s reason enough for me to take any fire alarm seriously.