You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

FIRE ON MISSISSIPPI AVE.

I was awakened by the voices of men shouting. I rolled over in bed to see Jean, standing in front of the window. Her naked body was illuminated by the flashing red and orange lights of emergency vehicles. “Your building’s on fire.” she proclaimed. I jumped out of bed, into jeans and a shirt, grabbed the keys to the shop, and dashed out. I ran across the yard and down to Mississippi Avenue. There in front of the shop, with smoke pouring out of the roof, a group of firemen with hoses stood ready to attack the fire. They were waiting for a young fireman, with a large ax. He raised the ax and took aim at the latch of the steel door to the shop. I ran up to them yelling “WAIT! Please use the key?” The young firefighter let the ax fall onto his shoulder as he turned to look at me. His expression was that of a disappointed teenager who had been turned down for a date. He pointed to the latch and asked “You got a key?” I gave it to him. Two firemen cautiously stepped through the door into the smoke and flame, manning a large hose, they washed down the interior of the shop. Then others pulled burning furnishings from the shop out into the street and soaked them. Other firemen were spraying water on the fire through the partially collapsed roof. I watched all this unfold from across the street. My concern was more for Leonard, the man who rented this shop space from me. My building insurance would cover the cost of reconstruction but not the loss of his contents. I doubted that Leonard had insurance.

In less than fifteen minutes, the fire crew had put out the blaze. A river of black water poured out of the door of what had been Leonard’s little market. The firemen quickly turned to the task of loading equipment back onto their fire trucks. Laughing and joking, quite pleased with themselves. They climbed into their fire engines and drove away, leaving a steaming pile of debris blocking half of Mississippi Avenue. It was 2:00 AM. I climbed the stairs and joined Jean for what was left of the night’s sleep.

I arose early the next morning to survey the fire damage and clear the debris from the street. As I was hauling the charred furnishing out of the traffic lane, a man in a suit approached and introduced himself as the fire inspector. He had come to examine the scene and determine the cause of the fire. He asked questions about the financial status of the business, questions intended to determine if I had set the fire. He inquired about Leonard and how his business was doing. He also spoke, with the tenants who rented the apartment above the store.

He determined that the tenant of the apartment above the shop had carelessly flipped a cigarette butt into the dry leaves on the roof of the shop. The fire in the leaves ignited the bitumen membrane roofing. Which burned through the plywood roof deck pouring burning tar down into the shop setting the shop contents ablaze. The tenant denied it and said it must have been a vagrant who threw his cigarette butt up onto the roof from the avenue below.

When the shop owner, Leonard, came to work to find his shop had burned he was not as distraught as I had anticipated. His reaction was to ask me to rebuild it as a delicatessen. He wanted to feature his special southern barbecue. He asked that I provide two additional sinks. He would provide the rest of the interior equipment and furnishings.

Over the next several months of summer and into the fall I would come home after my eight-to-five job, strap on a carpenter’s apron, and go to work rebuilding Leonard’s Little Store into Grandfather’s Delicatessen.