Having plunged the toilet and soothed the sick teenager, I pause in fatigue to watch him pack silently for his trip. My last delicate nerve frayed, I ignite an ill-timed confrontation, and we stand in aching tension, anticipating the distance. As we hold the heavy question of how to proceed amid the weight of departure, the fire alarm’s shriek ejects us from the vice of conflict, down the stairs, into the stench of grease and melting plastic, through the enveloping smoke. Cast iron aflame, windows thrown open to winter, children comforted. And there, in the emergency, we repair our alliance.
Rebecca Ingalls is a former English professor, now midwife and nurse practitioner. She loves to write. She lives in New England, close to the sea, with her family.