Flashback

All this talk about evacuation plans reminded me of a story.

When I was in 2nd grade, Santa brought me a baby doll that I'd been in love with since the afternoon I saw her in the toy store. I remember the morning like it was yesterday. I walked in, discovered that she was under the tree, and immediately named her Joni. She was attached to me for the rest of elementary school. I carried her and cradled her like she was a real baby. I wrapped her up and took her to the grocery store and I imagined that everyone thought I must be carrying a real baby. I even made Mema babysit her when we went on vacation. I meticulously packed her diaper bag with one outfit and one diaper for each day. When I picked her up and realized that none of the outfits or diapers had been used, I reprimanded Mema for neglecting her. The next time Mema babysat, she was sure to change her clothes and diaper every. single. day. That doll was my most prized possession.

As an elementary student, when we discussed our family fire plans at school, I always imagined what it would be like to STOP. DROP. AND ROLL. while holding Joni, because I was not leaving my bedroom without her. As the years went on, even though I didn't really play with her anymore, she still had a prominent place on my window seat. My fire escape plan evolved into grabbing my Bible, throwing it into Joni's basket and leaving with those two treasured possessions.

This is the plan I carried in my heart even into college. I provided my roomies with much fodder for jokes since I insisted on having Joni with me at FCU. But, had we needed to escape a fire or other tragedy during those years, I knew exactly where she was at all times.

The summer of 1997 was a hot one in our town. I had just moved in to Honey's and my first house. We were putting the finishing touches on the wedding plans and in a few short weeks, Honey would get to move in with me. We were living through a streak of like 28 days of temperatures over 100 degrees. I had only spent one or two nights at the house, so I was still a little on edge about being in a new place alone.

About 4:00 in the morning I wake from a deep sleep to the sound of someone banging on my front door. I wrap my pink blanket around me (another childhood security item, another story, another time) since I didn't own a robe, and summon the courage to open the door. It was a fireman, dressed in full gear, mask and all, demanding that I evacuate the house and go down the block a few houses .

I was so shocked, taken off guard, and jittery that I explained that I just needed to grab a couple of things. I immediately went to one of the guest rooms, grabbed Joni in her basket, and picked up my Bible off the coffee table on the way out the door. I didn't try to get dressed, and I didn't put on any shoes. I just followed the fireman to safety and huddled with my half-awake, stunned neighbors.

Looking back, I realize that I looked like one of those people on TV. The one that they always find to interview for ABC World News Tonight. The one that isn't dressed, but wrapped in a blanket full of holes, grasping on to some treasured possession that seems ridiculous and totally non-practical. And barefooted. Aren't they always barefooted?

When the scary firemen got the fire in the storage shed across the street under control, we were allowed to go back to our homes, and the drama was over. It was like 5:30 by then and I decided that I couldn't go back to sleep since I was set to wake up in an hour anyway. So I called Honey. I just knew he would want to hear about his sweet bride-to-be's middle of the night scare. I imagined that he would rush right over and take me to breakfast in an effort to gently calm my nerves before we both headed to work.

After making sure he was awake enough to hear my story, I was completely offended when he laughed and said, "You went out there in your pajamas carrying that doll?!"

Let's just say, we had plenty to talk about at pre-marital counseling that night.