The door was locked. The damn doorknob moved back and forth a fraction of an inch. The man inside screamed louder yelling that he was in there. I took it as a sign he knew I, or someone, was trying to get in.

There are times, rare as they may be when weighing upwards of four hundred pounds comes in handy. Needing to get through a cheap apartment door to save an old army vet from certain death is one of those times.

I put my back against the wall across from the door which gave me about three feet to move. That was not a lot of room to work with. But like I said, cheap apartment doors. I ran forward as fast as I could, which was not fast at all considering the space I had. My right shoulder hit the door and I felt the thin wood crack and split into several places. My body pushed right through it splitting it into three pieces. The biggest piece tangled up in my legs causing me to hit the floor.

“Damn, son. That is one hell of an entrance.” He finished his statement with a harsh cough. “I would be pissed if that damn fire weren’t out there gobbling up the building. You’re that Reuben boy from down the hall, that right?”

I pulled myself free of what was left of the door and stood. “Yes, sir.Reuben Burger.”

“respectful as well as brave, I like that, son. Not qualities you see in kids your age. Well, you obviously broke my door down to save my old crippled ass. Let’s get to making a proper hero out of ya. Be a pal and grab my walker, would ya?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Smith*.” So I grabbed his walker, which was closer to the front door than he was, and brought it to him. As I carried the thought of how we were going to escape with him farting along on a walker ran through my head. That and an image of us both curled up on the floor dead from asphyxiation. “I don’t think you're going to be able to use the walker. We will have to move as fast as possible…”

“And an old man on a walker don’t move fast at all, is it? I get that, son and I’m worried about it too. But there isn’t a heck of a lot of options. I would say  you can carry me but…” He was kind enough to not say he thought my big ass was incapable of doing it.

To be honest, I thought that too, but I was not about to admit that. “If I am supposed to be learning to be the hero then it is high time I learned what it feels like to carry someone to safety.” I stuck out my chin to emphasize my point.

Mr. Smith* chuckled. “I like you kid. It’s too bad I had to wait for a fire to get to meet ya. That being the case, I want you to call me Sarge. Did a couple tours in Nam and trained up a shit ton of recruits in my day. I think I earned the honor of being called Sarge till the day I keel over dead. Alright, here is what we are going to do.”

A few minutes later, Sarge, had one arm draped over my shoulder and held a cane in his other hand. The idea was that the cane would relieve some of his weight. If it was working I sure as hell couldn’t tell. Sarge was a heavy guy which seemed weird considering he was so skinny looking.

Despite the encumbrance, we managed to get out of his apartment. Once the door was opened a rush of black smoke hit us. I nearly dropped him when I started coughing. Mr. Smith Did drop his cane.

“Grab my cane,” he said between coughs. “I’m leaning against …” Cough. “ … the wall.”

I bent down but didn't respond. To open my mouth was to cough again. Not something I wanted to do. The air down lower was a lot cleaner, but still carried the stink of smoke. I took in a few lungfuls of air as I grabbed the cane.

Another cough threatened to overtake me as I stood. I fought back the urge and passed over the wooden rod. Mr. Smith Put his arm over my shoulder and I groaned as his weighted settled on me again. We shuffled to the door not far from his apartment.

I pulled the door open and a cool sweet smelling draft hit me. I might be exaggerating that a little. By sweet, I meant a urine tinged gust of air that was a good ten times better than the smoke-filled hallway. We rushed into the stairwell and shut the door behind us. The smell of smoke was not yet strong enough to overcome the urine smell, but it was getting there.

“Let’s take moment before we start the long trek down,” Mr.Smith said. “Going down two flights is going to be a bitch. How are you holding up, kid?”

“I’m … OK.” I managed to get out between breaths. “Just a … little … harder than … I thought.”

“Hang in there, Kid. We will be through this in no time.” Mr. Smith patted my shoulder. “I need you to know that I would die in that cardboard and duct tape piece of shit apartment if not for you. Most people would have kept going to save their own hides. I am grateful to you, kid.”

“Reuben.”

“Come again?”

“My name is, Reuben, not kid.” I knew as I was able to speak a lot smoother than it was just about time to go.

“Ha! Damn straight it is. Don’t let anyone walk on ya, I like it, ki … er … Reuben. Forgive me.”

“I think we should get going. I’ve caught my breath and I am as ready as I am going to be,” I said.

“Good call. Let’s get to it.”

We took the first step down and I realized what I was in for. His weight came down on me and I had to work to keep my weight from falling forward and his. Not for the first time, I mentally cursed at gravity for being the bitch it was. The only saving grace was the slow pace we kept. Each step was a chore in and of itself, but we managed.

“You got a girlfriend?” Mr. Smith Asked me.

“Are you messing with me?” I snapped at him.

“What? No way. It was an honest question.”

“Have you seen me?”

“You think because you are big that no woman would want you? I expected more from the guy willing to brave a burning building to help a neighbor he barely knows.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Wha … what do you mean?” I asked.

“Come on, kid. What you look like is not what others judge you on. Well, maybe at first, but the content of your character is what will keep people around or send them packing.”

I halted our progress and looked at him, which was a bit uncomfortable since my face was inches away from his. I wondered briefly what my breath smelled like before I spoke. “So you are saying it doesn’t matter what we look like? Then why are all the famous people super pretty?”

Mr. Smith laughed. “Let me put it this way. If you are the good guy If I think you are then it will not matter what you look like. If a girl finds your size to be prohibitive, then she is not worth your time. Do you get me?”

We took the next painful step. I expected him to say something else, but he didn’t so we went down another. After five more we were halfway down the first flight and my legs shook from the strain. The light blue shirt covering my upper body was turning a darker blue as sweat-drenched it. Mr. Smith Didn’t say anything about the moisture saving me from further embarrassment.

I needed something to keep my mind off the pain but didn’t want to return to the same subject. I had enough to think about in that regard. “Can I ask you something? Something else I mean.”

“Son, you single-handedly saved my life. You can ask m about the damn birds and the bees if that floats your boat. Let it rip.”

“I have a friend and sh .. uh … this friend is hiding something.”

“Like hiding something in their pocket, or keeping something to themselves?”

“Keeping something to them selves,” I replied.

“Ok, I am intrigued now, go on, Son. Let’s see what we can come up with.”

“Well, sh … um … my friend.”

“Let’s cut the shit. You have almost said she a couple times now. I’m guessing you are talking about the pretty little wheelchair-bound girl I have seen you with?”

“I … I … I mean, I can’t …”

“Anything said stay between us, Reuben. She won’t know what I know. I can promise you that.”

I let out a puff of air. “Okay,  yes she has been covering up her hand. It shakes when she uses it and doesn’t seem to be as strong as it was. I know something is wrong like she is getting worse, but she is covering it up. I want to say something but I don’t know what to say. Maybe I should tell her mom, but if I do I might lose my only friend. I don’t know what to do.”

“Let’s take a couple more steps. You doing okay?” He asked me.

“Yeah, I’ll manage.” In truth talking about my concerns for Anaya made me forget about the pain in my legs.

“I think your best bet is to be straight up with her. Just come out and tell her what you are thinking. Now I understand this could be a sensitive subject, so you need to keep that in mind. Be supportive and let her know you care. The important thing is to build trust or if you have that leverage it. No one likes to ask for help, even though we all need it. Let her know the help she needs is there. I’m sure if you get that message across she will be a lot more willing to open up.”

“You really think so?” I asked.

“Yeah, I do, Ki… uh, Reuben.”

We started back down after that. I was too busy in my head letting his words roll around and hoping they would stick to say anything. Mr. Smith Let the listens carry us down the stairs.

We reached the last step leading to the second-floor landing when the door above us was blown in. The force of the explosion shoved us forward. Mr. Smith was blown free of me and smacked headfirst into the wall. O got my hands up in time to stop my own skull from cracking the drywall. My knees slammed into the tile floor and pain shot up my thighs.

“Ouch,” I mumbled. It was my go to reaction to pain whether big or small. As much as my legs hurt they were second to the fact that I heard a ringing instead of my own words and the ringing was not stopping.

I repeated my admission of pain as my hands moved to my ears. A tacky fluid met my hands and I feared my eardrums may have burst.

“Mr. Smith!” In my pain, I had forgotten about my charge.

He lay on the floor next to me face down. His forehead was pressed against the wall causing his head to be cocked back at an unusual angle. Fear raged in me. I responded by standing over him and sliding my hands under his arms. I heaved sliding him away from the wall then.  I took a knee at his side and took a couple deep breaths. Then I rolled him over onto his back.

“Mr. Smith!” The lack of sound from my own mouth enlightened me as to how dumb I was for yelling.

After shaking him three times he did not stir. If not for the rise and fall of his chest I would have thought Mr. Smith was dead.

“Crap,” I said as my shoulders slumped. I knew what had to happen, but I didn’t want to do it.

“Okay, Reuben, let’s do this.” I slid my arms under him and paused. If I can’t hear myself speak and there is no one around to verify it, did I really speak? If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there … Now I’m just stalling.”

I lifted Mr. Smith Off the floor. It proved to be the single most difficult thing I can remember ever doing. The muscles in my arms felt shredded and ached. My back felt like I had broken something and a steady fire burned in my thighs.

Then I took the first step down. A sharp pain blossomed out from my lower back and I swore I heard something pop, which was odd since I still couldn't hear. I took the next step. Not because I was feeling stronger, but because the smoke started to fill the stairwell and each breath burned a little more than the last.

The second step was more of a stumble than anything resembling a controlled moved down. And so was the next. I went with it.

My body moved quickly down the stairs and my legs fought hard to maintain control. The step before the last my left foot slipped forward. My balanced tipped forward and as I tried to correct it shifted to the front. I got my right leg under me and stopped from falling, but not from keeping my left knee from hitting the floor.

“Ouch! Damm it!” At that moment I was glad I couldn’t hear the filth coming out of my mouth. Made for good plausible deniability should Grandma Burger ask. Not that I really thought she would ask if i was cursing. Funny how pain makes one think the strangest things.

“Come on Reuben we are almost there.” I thought it was important to keep up with the positive dialogue even though I couldn’t hear it. It’s the thought that counts.

To my great surprise, my leg muscles brought Mr Smith and I back up to standing. Or I stood and Mr. Smith remained cradled in my arms. Which brought another thought to my mind. Every movie I would see from then on where the man carried his bride across the threshold with a huge smile on his face was going to get popcorn thrown at the screen. No more would I buy into that lie.

The good news was that we were on the bottom floor and four steps away from the exit. I pressed my back against the door and pushed. It gave with ease and a snap of cool air rushed by. It was glorious. In the blink of an eye, my lungs filled with new air and the sweat on my face cooled to sub-zero-ish temperatures.

I turned to find a man in a large yellow and brown jacket waiting with his arms out. He took Mr. Smith from me. It was the first time I could ever remember feeling light. If not for the pain in my arms, legs, back, neck, chest, fingers, toes … you get the idea. I would have been able to enjoy the absence of weight.

“Follow me, kid. You need to get checked out and get some good ol fashioned fresh O2 in a can forced down your face,” The fireman said. I followed him to the waiting ambulance. As we walked my head spun from left to right and back. I looked for Grandma, Anaya, and Ms. Crispen. They were absent.

Before we made it to the ambulance I stopped walking. The people I cared most for were not there. The entire reason I walked into a burning building against all thoughts of common sense was still in there.

Slowly I turned back around. The world around me was a blur as my thoughts were of Grandma and Anaya. One foot followed the other until I found myself back in the stairwell breathing in the foul smoke-tainted air.

“Here we go again.” I jumped. I heard me and the fireman. “Woop, Woop!”  I took a second to celebrate before heading back up the stairs.