She looks off into the distance, a sullen expression covering her pretty face.
Instinctively, I reach across the table for her hand, intertwining it with mine. She stares down at out clasped fingers and smiles.
“I went to college in Boston, and afterwards I didn’t want to leave. I started looking for jobs my senior year in my field by couldn’t find anything beyond a receptionist position. A friend who’d graduated a year ahead of me told me about this program that helped college graduates become teachers even though they hadn’t studied teaching in school. I looked into it, and they were going to be interviewing on my campus, so I applied. Next thing I know, a month after my college graduation, I’m taking the qualifying exam to become certified. I passed and then spent that summer training under teachers in my school district. That September I began my career. I had to continue with master’s level classes in teaching for my advanced degree in order to maintain my certification.”
“But you didn’t enjoy it,” I remark as I continue playing with her fingers in mine.
Before she can answer, our waitress comes to the table to take our drink orders. Janine orders a glass of red wine while I order one of the beers they have on tap.
“I enjoyed it at first. I taught second grade and the kids were great. But after a while it became …”
“Stagnant?”
“How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess. So now you’re working in advertisement?”
She nods as she moves her arms from the table so the waitress can place our drinks in front of us.
I reluctantly let her pull her hand away, but as soon as her hand lands back on the table I cover it with my own again. For some reason I need the connection of physical touch.
“What about you?”
I raise my eyebrows. “What about me?”
“What made you become a firefighter?”
“I had the skills, so it seemed like a natural choice.”
“Don’t give me that,” she laughs. “And you call me full of shit.”
I chuckle because she’s right. “I was never the type to work a typical nine to five.”
“You don’t say?”
I laugh at the sarcasm in her voice. “There’s a lot of overlap between being in the Army and being a firefighter.”
The waitress returns to take our orders. We order a number of different tapas to try between the two of us, including cured ham, grilled bread topped with capers and mushrooms, and fava beans in some type of aioli sauce.
“What’s the overlap between the Army and being a fire department?” she asks once our orders are taken.
“In the Army, because of my role in special forces, I had to know a wide range of information, even though I was assigned a specific role. There’s also the rank. It’s less structured in the fire department, but both the Army and department follow strict codes of rank and who is supposed to be in charge and whatnot. And then there’s the camaraderie.”
“I’ve always wondered if the television shows and movies portray the relationships between firefighters as true. They always seem so close.”
“It’s true. Every day we walk into hell and have to have one another’s back in total darkness. A bond develops out of that.”
“Like going to war with fellow soldiers.”
I nod. “Something like that.”
“So what made you leave the Army?”
“I wanted to put down roots, finally. After years of having to pick up and move or being deployed, I wanted to be in one place for a while.”
Her lips twist up in a funny way and a contemplative expression crosses her face. “I can understand that.”
I want to interrogate that more. The sincerity in her voice convinces me that there’s something deeper with her understanding.
