18 Minutes

The buzz of a dozen sewing machines filled the workroom. Each woman, hunched over her small white machine, shoulders tight, fingers moving, desperate to finish their last shirtwaist before heading home. They had plans; it was a Saturday night, and the only way they could unwind after a tedious and miserable long week was the promise of dancing on the joyous floor of Cosmopolitan Hall.

Since I managed to fulfill my end of the rent for my landlord Mr. Polis, I was just as eager with the rest of the women, knowing that I would finally get a chance to twirl in the arms of another. Mother had said it was time for me to look for a prospective partner, one who could finally carry out the financial burden for both of us. Knowing that Mother had to work longer hours than me, at another factory across town was the only push I needed to wear my best dress tonight and speak elegantly.

It was up to me to find a reasonable solution, since the man in whom I hoped would redeem us, succumbed to the effects of the prideful life. Father, one of the owners of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, positioned him as a manager of the sixth floor, and he took every small opportunity to ridicule me, as if I were a mere worker, instead of his only beloved sister.

Currently, he walked with slow strides across the room, leaning on his brown wooden cane as if he were one of the elites. His keys dangled from his white shirt, reminding each woman to think thrice before making the slightest mistake.

A knock interrupted his grudgeful watch over us when Mr. Gallagher, our father, came in with a similar wooden cane in one hand, and a cigarette in the other, to speak to him in an inaudible tone.

“Eyes on your own work Shannon, or else we’ll keep you a couple hours more. That shirt looks half from finished,” Niall said, looking directly at me, and earning a chuckle from Mr. Gallagher.

“Ladies, if you’ll excuse us,” said Father, dropping his cigarette into the bin outside on the hall as he made his way out, with Niall following close behind. Once again, as if there were not eighteen minutes left for clocking out, I heard the occasional click of the door.

The soft breeze from the swinging door vanished instantly in this hot and overcrowded room, reminding us we were never going to leave.

-----------

The manager’s absence did not interrupt the flow of the women’s work. As I looked up at the clock, eighteen minutes left, some of them seemed almost done with their shirtwaists. Unfortunately, none of them were able to add another completed piece to the factory’s collection.

A hint of smoke reached my nostrils, as another young woman cried out, “Fire! Fire!” pointing towards the door that was in flames.

There was a collective round of gasps and shrieks as the only possible method of escape left our fingers. I stood from my hunched position, looking around me as if another door would magically appear before me.

“Oh dear, what are we going to do?” asked a young girl, already drenched in tears.

A minute passed by as we panicked greatly, unsure of what to do, or where to go. Despite the fire that now reached inside the room, some woman tried banging on it, to get the attention of anyone who might be outside.

“Let’s all scream for help, maybe they’ll hear us.” I suggested, and soon enough all of us were screaming from the top of our frail lungs.

We continued to scream for almost a minute, but to no avail. In my fear, it seemed as if our noise made the fire spread quicker into the heated room.

“Does anyone have water?” Molinda asked, looking to see if anyone brought a jug of water with them.

“Yes, I have some.” cried Jackeline, throwing the small portion from her jug into the glowing flame.

A loud crackle fell from the ceiling; the water did nothing to help us. The flames just kept growing, at rapid speed as another minute passed us by, but time did nothing to solve the problem at hand.

“Over here!” cried out another woman, cranking open the window that led to the fire escape. Of course, why haven’t I thought of that before, I thought as I tried to squeeze myself in between the other women rushing towards the window.

Like a stampede of bulls, each one of us pushed the other trying to make our way towards the only escape possible. It took me a minute to finally reach the window, as I saw other women climbing down.

I heard shouts, the sounds of men, and when I looked down below, I noticed the firefighters have already made it to the scene of the crime, spraying water from their pipes down below.

“Help! Help!” screamed a woman next to me at the men of rescue.

“No help, just get down, quick, the fire is spreading” yelled another woman as she coughed, shoving me off the way to get to the escape.

I could not let her take my turn, another two minutes had passed, and I was stuck between the women pushing behind me and the woman taking slow steps down the ladder. However, none of us could head out because the most horrific thing occurred: the entire fire escape went crumbling down, as about a dozen women screamed before falling to their deaths.

Tears instantly streamed down my eyes, as I felt sick to my core. We were all doomed.

“No, no, no. Help!” yelled a woman, trying to get the attention of the men.

Soon enough, pushing past what we saw, we tried screaming at the firefighters to come and get us with their ladders.

“It does not reach!” We heard one of them yelling, plummeting our hopes once more.

I removed myself from the window, coughing as I tried going to the last place in the room that was not covered in fire. Hunching myself into a ball, I cried heavily unsure of what I could do. This was not how I wanted to end my life, and if it weren’t for the way them owners treated us, we might have fled through the doors. Though they locked us, making our escape inevitable.

I would probably never see my mother again, and who would help her with the rent, or take care of her whenever she felt depressed. Surely, Niall wouldn't do it; he did not even acknowledge her presence after leaving to live with Father.

Oh, it was too much, and covering my head with my hands and knees, I let myself cry loudly as the minutes passed me by with the fire coming closer to killing everyone.

----------

I wiped my eyes with the back of my trembling hands, as the smoke crept into my every breath and swallowing felt like needles. The screams around me blended into one long horrible sound, as women continued running and panicking. Stumbling towards the window, I could barely see through the smoke, but the bodies that pushed against me, I knew they were just as desperate to prefer jumping out than burning the rest of their hands and legs. Their thoughts wild and hazy, I understood them, I truly did. The heat that burned my back was the single reminder that I could not remain a minute more in this room.

I reached the ledge. The street below me was just as chaotic as it was up here. Men in black coats were running around, picking up the bodies, hoses spraying the water, coming up inside the building, but they had something I lost; freedom. My legs shook violently and I had to grip the window frame to keep myself upright. The tears kept flowing down my pale skin as I saw Molinda jump with a screech.

“No! This is not how it’s supposed to end.” I whispered, thinking of Mother who might have told me to be brave. She would crumble if she lost me to the fire, but standing here with the fire burning my left leg, I could not imagine any other way out.

I placed one shaky leg onto the ledge, slowing myself on my way out. Someone behind me screamed at my name, before I lifted my other leg, if I recall correctly.

A faint call “Shannon” reached my ears, and I turned my head just enough to see the flames swallow the last corner of the room, before everything went black, then to nothing.

Those final seconds are forever engulfed in the destructing flames that almost took everything from me.

------

Now, as I sit in my chair, I know that Niall had pushed himself through the crowd below, shouting for a net, for anything so that I would not vanish like the others. I do not remember falling, but I was too frightened to remain strong in the last minutes of the fire.

However, days later, I will never forget Mother crying, as she sat on the chair next to me, and Niall, sitting beside her, holding her frail hands as his pride was forgotten amid the terrible events.

During the years that followed, I tried hard to understand how I managed to live while others could not. I am grateful that God protected me when I could not do it myself.

The fire took their voices, their lives, and their future, but it did not take mine. So, I write now, older, steadier, no longer the girl at the sewing machine but an activist who wishes to honor the lives that were lost. Those women and children who were forgotten in a crowded and hot room will be the victims that everyone remembers. Those eighteen minutes changed everything, but I will spend the rest of my life making sure that those minutes were not wasted in the fire.