“Seems fair,” he states, walking over and grabbing the hose to start rinsing.
“What about you? How’d it go with Clara?” I ask, realizing in the first twenty-four hours of working together, he hasn’t brought it up. Probably because we’ve been busy with calls, but still. That’s unlike him.
He sighs. “We decided to end it for good.”
I stop what I’m doing and turn my attention to him. “Sorry, man.”
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. His focus is on cleaning the suds off the truck, as if it’s the most consuming task he has. “It iswhat it is. You were right. The constant up and down is hard, and it’s not fair to either of us.”
I swallow hard, hating the hurt I hear in my friend’s voice. I feel even worse for not asking before now, but to be honest, we haven’t been alone since we started shift together. I’m grateful I didn’t ask in front of anyone else, especially now, after knowing they ended it again. Of course, they could be on once more next week, but I don’t think so. There’s something different, something heavier in his eyes. It feels final.
“Hey, if you ever need to get away for a night or two, my door is always open.”
He lifts an eyebrow and stares at me. “Like, on your lumpy-ass couch?”
I bark out a laugh. “I got a new couch about six months ago, but if you’re gonna complain, I recant my offer.”
“I just can’t believe you’re not offering to share your bed, man. You have a king. Some friend you are.”
I laugh, mostly because I know he’s joking.
At least I think he’s joking…
Just then, our razzing and teasing is halted by the blare of the alarm. We move everything aside, Gio making sure all the soap is washed off the rig before we run for our gear. The call is playing through the speaker, a multi-vehicle MVA with entrapment. EMS in route.
I try to push everything out of my mind, focusing on the job. An MVA, or motor-vehicle accident, with multiple vehicles and victims requires complete concentration. As a first responder, we see people on their worst days, and that’s why we train as hard as we do. I’m the light in their darkness, to help in their time of need.
Jumping into the truck, we take off out of the bay, two of our four trucks are en route to the scene of the accident. I finish securing my gear as reports start coming over the radio. Semi-truck and two vehicles, one on its roof and smoking. Passengers trapped and lifesaving measures already beginning at the scene.
As we arrive, my heart thumps hard in my chest and I do a few deep breathing exercises to calm myself. The moment the truck stops, we’re all out. Captain Howard starts barking orders, and we quickly fall in line and head for where we’re needed. Gio and I, along with Roger and Franci, move to the car wedged near the back axel of the semi-truck. I do everything I can not to focus on what’s directly before my eyes.
The woman in the mangled driver’s seat has her eyes closed, her breathing coming in sharp rasps. “Ma’am, can you hear me?” I ask, crouching down beside the car as my team works to free the other occupants.
“My babies. Save my babies,” she whispers.
I risk a glance looking into the back seat, and that’s when I see the two young boys trapped in the back. I do everything I can to stay focused on my job, to free the driver so she can be transported for urgent care, but my eyes bounce a few times to where her sons are motionless in the mangled mess of metal behind her.
I suck in a greedy breath of oxygen and double down my efforts to free the family. We use the Jaws of Life to cut into the wreckage, finally freeing the driver first, followed quickly by her two young sons. Paramedics jump in, doing everything they can to help the victims of the accident, and even as I walk away to gather our tools and return them to the truck, I see them. Their faces will forever be etched in the recesses of my brain.
All I can do now is pray they make it.
I haven’t slept hardly at all in the last forty-eight hours.
Certain things stick with you, and the accident two days ago was one of those things. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. Sometimes, it’s just fucking impossible to compartmentalize the bad we’ve witnessed and move on. Sometimes, things stick with you, and this is one of those times.
I’ve been home since this morning, and even with Mom trying to talk to me during my drive, my focus wasn’t there. She talked, but I barely listened. When she finally asked why, all I had to do was tell her there had been an accident and it was weighing heavily on my mind. I didn’t tell her the outcome because, frankly, saying those words out loud makes them real, and I wasn’t ready to deal with it.
I’m still not sure I am, but I know I need to.
I slip my feet into a pair of running shoes and angrily lace them closed. I’ve never been a huge fan of distance running, but cardio is an important part of my job, so I do it anyway. Usually, I run on one of the treadmills at the firehouse, but I need something extra tonight to help burn off this overwhelming pent-up anxiety and frustration.
When I step outside, it’s a bit chillier than it was this morning. The early May air is still crisp when the sun goes down, leaving a layer of goosebumps on my arms. But I don’t go in and grab a long-sleeved shirt. After a few minutes, I’ll be sweating my ass off, so while I might be cold now, I know it’ll be short-lived.
I stretch a bit in my front yard, grateful for the night sky overhead. There’s a streetlight across from my neighbor’s house, so it’s not direct light illuminating me. When I have my legs and back stretched out good, I take off at a slow jog with no destination in mind.
Running the streets of Cooper Town, I try to push all thoughts of work out of my head, but it’s impossible. Even when I get to the corner of Elm and Hobart, where I had my firstfender bender at seventeen, I don’t chuckle as I recall everything that happened that fateful night. I won’t go into all the details, but it might have involved a girl and her hand down the front of my pants. Came in a little too hot to the stop sign and rear-ended the car in front of me.
Try explaining that to the responding officer, who just so happens to be good friends with your parents…
