I almost ignored the fire alarm when it started going off during my morning class. Everyone, in fact, ignored the loudspeaker. Noise in the hall shouldn't interrupt a good class discussion. Finally we evacuated. The prerecorded voice said over and over not to use the elevator, which is fine by me. I was only one floor below street level.
As I passed one classroom, however, I noticed someone emerging, someone to whom one flight of steps might be more than an inconvenience. I've met this kid many times, though I don't know his name. He's simply the blond curly-haired boy who has the electric wheelchair I so covet. I kept my eyes on him as Laura and I walked to the stairs. Would he take the elevator anyway? It probably wouldn't hurt anything, I thought. Laura had the same worries. How is he going to get up the stairs? I saw the answer to that.
One guy who had followed Curly out of the class, bent down next to him and said jovially, "How about some help there buddy?" The strapping youth waved a hand to another anonymous classmate and the two stooped and lifted the chair between them. I couldn't watch the whole procession out the door, because I had already easily mounted the steps by myself. As I walked out of the building, my heart lifted at the thought of those two boys and the kind deed they had done.
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