The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: Part Eight

About a month had passed since my “Tahoe Mission Impact” and our youth group had just returned from its second summer trip, World Changers.

World Changers was like a Christian version of Habitat for Humanity. We spent 10 days in Chicago, IL repairing roofs, building fences, and painting houses for people who could not afford to pay for one.

After spending our entire summer on the road, Justin and I are worn out, so we devote our last few weeks of freedom to relaxing by my family pool.

“I’m getting hungry,” Justin says, “let’s dry off and go to Chick-fil-A.”

“Why don’t we save money and I’ll cook us lunch,” I say.

“Sure,” he says, “but I want some french fries.”

“No problem,” I reply.

While Justin is lounging on the sofa, I get busy in the kitchen.

I turn on the stove top and drizzle a small amount of oil into a skillet for the chicken tenders. As they begin to crackle I fill a large pot with peanut oil and turn the burner on for the fries. About 20 minutes later, the chicken is fully cooked and the french fry oil still isn’t boiling; I wonder why. I turn the heat up to high, hoping to speed along the process.

Another 10 minutes pass when I suddenly feel my eyes burning. I walk onto the back porch, wipe my face, and look back inside to where Justin is sitting on the couch. Way above his head, 12 feet in the air is a thick cloud of black smoke. What have I done?

“JUSTIN, JUSTIN COME HERE,” I call out while running back into the kitchen. The pot of oil now looks like a volcano ready to erupt.

“What do we do?” I scream.

“I don’t know, look for a fire extinguisher,” Justin hollers back.

In a matter of seconds, the hot smoky oil burst into flames.

I grab a large Tupperware bowl, fill it with water, and toss the water onto the fire.

POW!!!!! A massive fireball explodes from the pot causing the fire to spread. My body goes into shock; I freeze and stare at the blaze that is now destroying the kitchen. The crown molding is melting off the walls.

“My dad is going to kill me,” I think.

Justin runs into the back bedroom where there is an additional phone and calls 911. After coming to my senses, I run across the street to the neighbor’s house.

Knock, knock, knock. “Help, my house is on fire, do you have a fire extinguisher?” I shout at the top of my lungs.

“WHAT?” she screams.

The pint-sized lady who resided in the house across from us had always been odd, a hermit of sorts, but I never would have imagined she would respond like she did.

“Is there a car in the garage?” she asks while looking around frantically.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I say with confusion, “Do you have one or not?”

The lady slams the door in my face grabs her kids, and in a matter of second, peels out of her driveway. “I came to her for help, and she deserted me,” I think.

I fall to my knees and begin to cry. While sobbing on her lawn I look up and notice that my parent’s house is now smoking from the outside. At that moment, it takes all my strength to get up and walk the ten short steps to the other neighbor’s door. As the nice lady opens the door, I can hardly speak.

“Did you say your house is on fire?” she asks as her eyes open wide in the direction of my home. She insists that I not go back into the house.

“But my boyfriend is in there,” I snortingly holler, “and my dog.”

She keeps holding onto me, convincing me to stay.

The only time Justin ever had short hair

Suddenly, I see Justin. He is covered in black soot as he comes running out of the house.  

We hold each other tight as the fire trucks come rolling in.

It had barely been a month since I was hit by a car and I had already endured another horrific event. Our dog Rusty made it out okay and the Panama City Fire Department saved my parents home. Our clothes and valuables were spared but all the furniture and my dad’s six-foot gallon saltwater aquarium was ruined. I don’t know what I was thinking that day. I had made french fries a dozen times before and always remembered to test the oil with a sample fry.

“Make sure you throw one in to see when it starts to bubble,” mom always told me.

But on this day, I treated the oil as though it were water; stupid me!

I learned two valuable lessons that day: never throw water on a grease fire, and never depend on a neighbor for a fire extinguisher.