It was 3 am the phone rang
A cracked voice whispered its Fatboy
A nickname for my friend Mark
One he’d earned for his Harley Davidson
Always and forever he was on that bike
A Fatboy
I remember him living up the street from me
All my life
Just a few houses down
We played tag football in his yard
While he watched, too cool to play
We hung out and listened to music
And smoked
I jolted awake but too stunned to respond
Again the voice came
Strained and cracking
A fire.his house
The phone slipped from my hands
And I instinctively headed for the door
My bare feet pounding on the pavement
As I covered the distance between our homes
I stood there half naked with just a flimsy nightgown
In front of a blaze that lit the sky
Like an omen of ill will
Orange and angry
Around me worked the volunteer firemen
Desperately trying to contain the blaze
But none ventured into the house
‘Someone go and get him’ I heard myself
Barley aware I had spoken
More of a panicked plea
‘Is he in there’ me again
I’m still not sure if I said it out loud
There was stillness among the bystanders
They knew what I would soon learn
Mark was already gone
As I watched the roof collapse
I felt as though I would be sick
My whole body began to shake violently
Again I pleaded for someone
To go and get him
Then I felt an arm on my shoulder
And I folded into my brother’s hug
His tears confirmed my fear
We stayed there in helpless silence
Even as the sun came up over the hills
And watched it burn to the ground
About the author:
Meighan Leigh Freiling-Sabahi was born in a small town in the rust belt called Mingo Jct. She writes about her upbringing and how it was molded by the steel mills and the railroad that surrounded her home. If you would like to know more about her work please visit www.meighanswritting.com for contact info and a current list of publications.
