Please leave your feedback for Andrea Marti at: marti@prairie.lakes.com Mr. Kincaid grudgingly opened his car door and began his trek to the school door. The morning was without a sun and the dark clouds made spring seem like the air was full of ashes. The morning ordeal was once again his decision to open the door manually or push the handicapped button. The blue button would engage the electric door and make his task less arduous. The installation of te handicapped doors had increased the weight, making them very difficult to open manually. Kincaid mumbled to himself, "why does handicap accessible translate into more work for the non physically challenged?" Kincaid had fantasized about parking in one of the vacant handicapped spots so prevalent in the crowded lot. Just once if he could dash into the spot and rest in the handicapped space. The heavy air shivered, and rain began to pour down. He hurried to the door and into the building. Kincaid brushed off the rain and walked into FDR. Franklin Delanor Roosevelt High School, a school of excellence proclaimed by the Board of Education. The proclamation met with a great deal of cynicism by the community, each student totally oblivious to the assignment or the award. The bell sounded and the movement upstream began. The opening of a new semester would bring rules, regulations, goals, objectives and more safety training. Bus safety, fire safety, tornado safety- everything but hand gun safety. His first hour history class wandered in slowly. The looked like zombies of the new day, each mindless entities looking for a way out of the race. First the school race, then the job race, but never the human race. Most of them without gratitude, thanks, or appreciation, looking for the next hurdle. All but one. The white cane came through the door followed by a smile . "You must be Mr. Kincaid". I'm Angie....I can't see" she said, laughing. Rain began to drive at the one outside wall. gust of wind hit the drainpipes on the outer wall and they rattled in annoyance. The students seemed restless and put out by the dramatic change in the weather. The athletes were sad because the games would probably be canceled and the x generation lost because they wouldn't be able to hang out at the bus stop and discuss world hunger. Working all day in a school without windows has advantages if your a teacher. The students are more likely drawn into their desks then to the world outside. Row upon row of drooling youth. Lost youth contemplating the ever increasing gap between the Japanese and the Americans. Mentally challenged youth waiting for a Star Trek world where they drift off into space. Angie the blind girl was sitting close to the door so she could address any special needs immediately. "John and Ben, I want you two guys to grab Angie if their is an emergency." "you mean pick her Up" "No, I mean make sure she gets down the stairs safely in the event of a tornado or a fire" Angie smiled and quipped, "Mr. Kincaid, what about a volcano or a tidal wave?" "You're on your own if we have a tidal wave." The class laughed at the young girls cavalier attitude. She was small and yet had an air of strength in her voice and demeanor. Several times during the year Mr. Kincaid had seen her wipe out into walls and bang into open locker doors. She was apparently very resistant. The shock of the thunder came as a surprise. Mr. Kincaid's shoulders snapped up next to his ears. Some of the students screamed and grabbed their ears. Seconds later the lights flickered . "Mr. Kincaid, there's smoke down there!" In their panic, the students overturned desks, spilling books and other materials to the floor. The single word "smoke" had unleashed every ounce of their terror. People jammed toward the door, desperate to get out of the building. Before anyone reached the door however, the flickering lights gave one last gasp for life, and failed. More screams filled the air as the class jostled in the dark, tripping over furniture and each other. Mr. Kincaid yelled, trying to gain control, but it was no use. Angie stood at her desk, unaware even that the lights had gone out, although she guessed it. Why else would there be so much panic? Thoughts tumbled about in her head. She had to think up some way to get herself and the rest of them out. It seemed obvious that without the lights on, they couldn't figure out what to do. How could she possibly think in such chaos. Her head was starting to pound. Her eyes didn't work, but her ears were extremely sensitive. If she didn't get the noise level down soon, her head would burst. "Shut up!" she screamed, trying to overcome her own fright. If there was away to get out, it'd have to be done, and fast. The noise began to lessen and Angie took a tentative step forward. She had to find Mr. Kincaid and see if he would help her, or even allow her to take charge of his class. "Mr. Kincaid," Angie began, searching for some sound that would tell her where he was. "Angie, I'm right over here." Mr. Kincaid had completely forgotten her in his attempts to get the rest of the class calmed and out of the room. Now what was he going to do? "I think I can get us out of here. Will you help me try?" Angie's voice was a plea for help, for approval of her taking control. He wouldn't crush this chance that she could get them out, would he? Mr. Kincaid hesitated, wondering how this girl, this totally sightless girl, could help the rest of them. Minutes before, she'd depended on them. "Do it, do whatever you can," he told her. It was their only chance now. Angie took a deep breath. "Everybody grab onto the person nearest you and make sure we've got everybody!" Her voice, surprisingly loud for her size, amazingly penetrated the confusion. People grasped each other, forming a long chain. A few people cried out, letting it be known they didn't have anyone. Despite the dark, someone found their hands and they were dragged into the chain. "Come on!" Angie announced, tugging on Ben's hand, leading him out what she was almost sure was the door. It was. She pulled harder, forcing them to speed up their pace, tripping over books, purses, desks. To get out in enough time, they'd have to trust this girl who was much more at home in the dark than they were. Angie reached ahead with her cane, scolding herself for grabbing Ben with her right hand rather than her left. In her need to get moving, she'd forgotten she'd need her dominant hand for her cane. Well, she'd have to learn to use the left one sooner or later, she'd been told. So sooner it'd have to be. Further back, in about the middle of the trailing, stumbling line, Mr. Kincaid was immensely grateful this was an early bird class. Had the fire happened even less than an hour from now, the regular school day would be in session rather than just the few early morning classes such as the one he was smack in the middle of now. Mr. Kincaid wondered how they would ever have gotten out if the entire student body of Franklin Delanor Roosevelt had been trying to smash their way through the pitch black and smoke filled halls. He pulled on the student behind him, almost certain that it was John, and thought of his request only minutes before. So much for having John and Ben grab Angie; she'd had to grab all of them. They came to the end of the hall, where the heavy doors led to the winding stairs that would lead them to the bottom floor. Angie alone knew they were coming to these stairs, and wondered how she'd keep her long, unsteady line intact and on their feet. She took a deep breath and turned her face back to Ben. "Ben," she said, too breathless to yell, "make sure everybody behind us knows we're coming to stairs." Her breath, as well as everyone else's, was coming shorter with the smoke rising up to them. Ben started, missing a step and knocking into Angie. If she was talking to him, that meant she wasn't looking ahead. Then he remembered, rather embarrassed, that she didn't have to look ahead. he turned, and the message was relayed back down the line. Mr. Kincaid turned, yelling as loud as his shortened breath would allow him. Angie could turn around easily to give the message, but even without light to guide him, Mr. Kincaid and the rest of them needed to watch their feet. Angie began to shuffle her feet, anticipating the first step. Ben followed her example, and soon, the sound of shuffling feet searching for stairs filled their ears, temporarily blotting out the driving rain above them. They started down the stairs, slowly, and then faster as the smell of smoke became stronger. Angie hit the first landing, warned Ben, and continued on. She'd have to rely on the people behind her to inform their followers of their progress. The travel down the stairs grew smoother, and they at last reached the bottom floor. The rest of the students seemed to have realized this as well, and surged ahead to push their way through the stairwell door into the main hall and down the short passage to the outside. At that moment, the lights flashed back on. Everyone cheered, including Mr. Kincaid. Just like one of those cheap thriller movies, where the problem is solve only after another solution is found. The students rushed down the last few steps, heading for the door leading out of the stairwell. Angie grabbed for the handle, pushing down on it triumphantly. She shoved all her weight against the heavy door, but nothing happened. The entire area was flooded with light, making it easy for Ben to catch sight of the girl's draining face as he shoved against the door. Why wasn't it opening? They were almost out, the lights were back on, what could possibly be wrong? "The chain's still on," Angie whispered softly, not wanting to start screaming and terror again. It would be even more acute now, with the lights back on and safety so close within sight. Ben swore. He remembered that these doors were always secured with a chain until half an hour before the regular school day started. They wouldn't be unchained for another ten minutes at least, and there wouldn't be anyone coming to unchain them this morning. Angie shoved past Ben, pushing her way through the students piled from wall to wall of the stairwell. They looked at her curiously as she passed, but kept pushing themselves towards the doors they didn't yet remember were chained. Mr. Kincaid grabbed Angie's arm as she passed him, hugging the wall as if she were following it. "The door's the other way," he said urgently, tugging at her resisting arm. "Come on." "It's still chained," she said quickly, pulling her wrist from his grasp. She check the wall, still next to her, and pushed her way through the remaining students. Mr. Kincaid looked sadly at the young students surrounding him. Those doors were chained, and there was no way out except back up the stairs and into the blaze itself, possibly. What a way to start a semester. Angie continued walking along the wall, trying to ignore the smoke that was steadily increasing. There had to be a way out of this stairwell somewhere. It made no sense to chain doors and not provide an emergency exit in case of an occurrence such as this one. She felt along the wall, now holding her cane in her right hand like she was used to. Angie gasped as her foot caught on a rug. She was about twenty feet away from her classmates now. She reached down, feeling the mat, similar to those around the other exit doors. It had to be somewhere back here, behind the stairs themselves. She kept reaching ahead. Yes, directly underneath the stairs descending from the second floor. Now if she could only get the others' attention to let them know it was here. If she could get some way of catching Mr. Kincaid's attention, he'd get the rest of the class back here. She took a deep breath, choking on the smoke. A scream erupted behind him, and Mr. Kincaid spun around. Everyone else spun around too, aghast at the horrific shriek. A few stumbled towards the sound, and sudden silence fell over the group, now realizing the full reason for the jam of students at the doors. In the silence, Angie's voice came, strong and loud, fighting the coughs cause by smoke. "Back here! There's a door leading outside back here!" Mr. Kincaid stood still, shocked, but only for a moment. He began hustling students out, the light making it easier to tell direction. Fewer people tripped and they practically flew out the open door into the driving rain. At the last moment, Ben grabbed Angie by the arm and dragged her away from the building. "Watch out," he yelled gleefully. "Here comes the first tidal wave!" The following is a short POEM I wrote: The Path Do not push or drag me For not then freely do I go. Just cut the weeds and clear the way And your path, I shall follow. Clear the path and keep looking ahead, Don't look back for fear That I am not at your heels, For you know that I am here. Don't slow down, keep up your speed, For though you fall, you receive no harms. I will catch you from behind And hold you in my arms. The path grows easier, yet harder still, And from behind, I fall. You turn round and try to help, But for me, this is all. I send you ahead, but you won't go. You start off and always come back, The same energy which my body has lost Does now, your will and heart lack.