Think carefully about what you wear to bed.

This is not intended as any kind of relationship advice, rather, it's meant as a gentle reminder that you might end up wearing that outfit outside in the middle of the night, in front of strangers and uniformed public safety workers.

Let me clarify this.

I had kind of an edgy night last night. Everything was still, with just the sound of the docklines creaking in the swell, but I felt unsettled. Sometimes, when that happens, I sing that Alice Cooper song, �Eighteen� with the word �Edgy� instead. Like this:

I�m edgy! And I don�t know what I want.
Edgy! La la la la la la!

I don�t really know the lyrics, which limits my potential for self-expression, but damn it, I am EDGY!

I skipped my habitual three-mile walk, out of edginess and free-floating anxiety that perhaps a crazed murderer had memorized my walking schedule and was waiting, hidden in the dunes, to abduct me. When I went to bed, I locked the boat from the inside, which is in itself unusual. I just didn�t feel right.

A few hours later, I awoke from a deep sleep, unable to identify what had roused me. My sleepy brain perceived the smell of smoke, that I couldn't trace, even after opening the hatch in the aft cabin. I turned on the light and the television, and picked up a book to read. In cases of hyperawareness, I find it�s best to bombard the senses with stimulus.

Half an hour later, I heard what sounded like a gunshot at close range. I turned down Helen Mirren as The Queen and listened. There was another gunshot, and then, as I turned out the light (to fool the gang I imagined outside into thinking I wasn�t home), another. Moments later, a resounding BOOM like cannonfire rang out. I didn�t think that gangs in our area were so heavily armed, so I ran to the window to see what was the matter. Through the port, I could see a wall of flame licking the night sky. The sailboat across the fairway from me, a distance of 100 feet or so, was engulfed in flame, sending up billows of black smoke. There was no one on the dock, no one in sight.

The 911 operator answered my call immediately, and I blurted out, �Fire in the harbor!� He acknowledged that they had fire engines on the way, and I hung up. Then I took a picture with my cameraphone (see illustration).

ILLUSTRATION

I threw on the shoes nearest me, (silver-beaded flip-flops, which coordinated nicely with my organic-cotton yoga bellbottoms--a gift from a friend--and t-shirt advertising the release of Al Perry�s CD �Always a Pleasure�) and ran outside. People had started to gather on the dock by my boat, which location afforded the clearest view of the flames. I ran for a garden hose and turned on the water, to flood the deck should the wind shift, and as I ran back to my boat, an explosion rang out, and flames shot up toward the surrounding boats. �Jesus Christ, they�re all going to go up,� I thought, and when everyone on the dock turned to stare at me, I realized I�d voiced my thought aloud.

We could finally hear sirens approaching, but I realized that the trucks were coming to the wrong side of the harbor�the fire was visible from our side, but separated from our docks by the fairway. I ran down the dock and up to the gate, where firefighters in yellow coats were just beginning to unfurl hoses. �Other side!� I yelled, gesturing toward the fire, �Other side!� It finally registered, and the trucks rushed away, leaving a length of hose on the pavement.

From the parking lot, I called the Keelhauler, shaking and torn between my desire to flee and my wish to protect the boat. He asked me if I�d checked on our neighbor, Jimmy, who lives alone. �Check on Dave, too,� said the Keelhauler. �In a crisis, you have to remember the people!� I hung up on him.

As I went back down the dock, I saw Dave approaching. �Hell of a night,� he commented, around his cigarette. Jimmy�s lights were on, but I knocked anyway, and he came out, nodding wryly at all the excitement.

As the fire crew made it down the correct dock, I headed back up to the parking lot. From there, I could see that two boats were on fire�a power boat burnt nearly to the waterline, and a larger sailboat. The flames were terrible, and periodically, something below decks would explode. I watched a constellation of blue sparks blossom as something electrical burned at the bow. In a tower of flame, the sailboat�s mast collapsed, crashing onto the deck and toppling into the water. Workers rushed to move adjacent boats out of harm�s way.

Finally, the fire crew began dousing the blaze, obscuring the ongoings in clouds of smoke. A Harbor Patrol boat arrived, manned by one worker, who stopped to pick up others before training a deck-mounted hose at the flames. The Keelhauler called back. �Did you hang up on me?� he asked, and I said yes. I gave him an update on what I could see from my vantage point out of range of shrapnel.

�They�re using foam,� I said, �or powder, or something.�

�Yeah,� said the Keelhauler.

�That�s because this is a Class C fire,� I said, self-importantly. Class C fires are electrical in nature. The Keelhauler took the bait.

�Actually, this is every class of fire: Class A, Class B, Class C and Class D.� I knew that, but the Keelhauler, for some reason, enjoys explaining what he terms �the most popular styles of fire� and so, to make up for hanging up on him, I decided to let him explain it again.

I watched the workers put the fire out, negotiating the docks in their bulky hazard suits, chopping through the hatchboards with an axe I could see silhouetted in the work lights. Having determined that no one was aboard, they had relaxed slightly. I could hear their voices in the still air. �You�re not going to Mexico with us?� one called. �Nah,� replied the other, navigating a rescue boat around a smoldering dinghy. On the sailboat, workers hacked open the deck and poured foam through the hole.

I stayed out on the dock until 4:30 AM, until the acrid smell of burnt plastic and wiring drove me back inside. My organic pants and Al Perry t-shirt did not protect me from the cold. Not knowing what had caused the fire�maybe it was a short in the wiring?--I was suddenly afraid to turn on my electric blanket. But it was freezing. And I�d been standing out on the dock for two hours. And at 4:40 AM, it was easy enough to stretch my imagination and believe that my actions had saved two�no, countless!�lives, what with the knocking and the running and yelling, and all. Doesn�t that earn me a little luck?

I turned the electric blanket up to 11 and fell sound asleep in the memory of smoke from a four-class fire.