I don’t know what my deal is. I don’t feel like doing much to be honest.
Except maybe taking a nap.
And of course, that other thing. A little hair of the dog.
The next thing I know I’m in the bathroom looking at my shaking left hand. It’s coming on. Dread has taken hold of me once again. I hate this feeling.
The metal flask I’m holding with my right hand is filled to the brim with vodka. I had it hidden in the back of the closet, tucked behind some cleaning supplies that no one ever touches.
I take a sip. Sweet nectar. I lift the flask to my lips again and close my eyes.
A ferociousknock on the door startles me, causing some vodka to go down the wrong pipe. Half choking, I screw the cap back on the flask, my fingers working quickly and nervously.
“Yo, Harp. You can powder your asshole later. Let’s roll!” Joey says.
“Just a sec.”
I take a deep breath, trying in vain to slow my heart rate. Apparently Buddhist monks can do that—slow their hearts at will. But tranquility ain’t exactly my forte.
Another loud knock. I’m surprised the door hasn’t come off its hinges.
“Let’s go, Harp!” Jax says.
He’s not one to yell at me. In fact, I used to think—still do—that he was scared of me. But he’s definitely yelling now.
I put the empty flask at the back of the closet behind a box of borax that looks like it was purchased in the 80s.
Jax gives the door one final thump and storms away, giving me a second to get my shit together.
* * *
We’rein the truck now, and my nerves have calmed down. I just need to keep my cool so no one will notice I’m a little tipsy. I should’ve eaten more breakfast.
By the time we arrive at the scene, the blaze has turned the building charcoal black. It’s in worse shape than I thought.
Any experienced fireman will tell you every fire’s got its own personality. So how would I describe the one I’m looking at right now?
Well, it looks to be cut from the same cloth as my father. In other words, we’ve got a real nasty and unpredictable son of a bitch on our hands.
Climbing a ladder fifty feet above the pavement under the influence is a bad idea.
We’re coming up on the fifth floor now. Joey’s right behind me. I’m trying not to look down as vertigo hits me hard. It’s like I can directly sense the space between me and the ground. It’s no longer an abstract thing. It’s reaching up at me, trying to pull me right off the ladder. I struggle to get my bearings, but I keep climbing.
A powerful gust of wind whips at us, which gives me a sudden sensation that the ladder is sliding to the right. As if by reflex, I lean hard to the left.
“Jesus!” Joey’s voice comes from below. “Steady as she goes!”
“Sorry about that, Joe,” I say, my blood full of adrenaline.
I make it onto the roof in one piece. There are clusters of firefighters all over the place. One group cuts holes on the Charlie side. We have to create ventilation. The growl of the chainsaw is music to my ears. Smoke is starting to seep through where the chainsaw has sliced the plywood.
I don’t feel as scared as I know I should be. I actually feel oddly calm. Maybe I should get liquored up before every fire. Just kidding. Today was an emergency. I really felt like I was dying back at the station.
Dennis is shouting over the wind, addressing me and Joey. He’s telling us to follow him. We’re gonna check the Bravo side of the roof for structural instabilities.
We shuffle along, carefully thumping at the roof with our trash hooks as we go. I pray we don’t punch a hole.
“Try to look pretty fellas, you’re on camera,” Dennis says, pointing to his helmet where he’s got one mounted.
