I Carried My Elderly Neighbor down Nine Flights During a Fire – Two Days Later, a Man Showed Up at My Door and Said, ‘You Did It on Purpose!’

“Deal,” I panted.

Every step was an argument between my brain and my body. Eighth floor.

Seventh. Sixth. My arms burned, my back screamed, sweat stung my eyes.

“You can set me down for a minute,” she whispered.

“I’m sturdier than I look.”

“If I set you down. I might not get us back up.”

She was quiet for a few floors. “Is Nick safe?”

“Yeah.

He’s outside. Waiting.”

That gave me enough to keep going.

We reached the lobby. My knees almost buckled, but I didn’t stop until we were outside.

I eased her into a plastic chair. Nick ran to us.

He grabbed her hand. “Remember the firefighter at school?

Slow breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

She tried to laugh and cough at once. “Listen to this little doctor.”

Fire trucks arrived.

Sirens, shouted orders, hoses uncoiling. The fire started on the eleventh floor. Sprinklers did most of the work.

Our apartments ended up smoky but intact.

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