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The Beast
by: CLR
"Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances." –Unknown
I stand looking through the rubble…not sure where to begin. I'm a fireman….you'd think I'd know what to do, but I don't.
I realize now that we slay the beast and then leave. We aren't around for the aftermath. We don't experience the anguish and frustration…the feeling of utter helplessness…the feeling of life spinning out of control—until now that is.
You can imagine my surprise when the tones went off and the address given was my own. Cap and Roy exchanged a glance and I knew that Roy had received a directive…keep an eye on Johnny. As the distance to my ranch diminished, thoughts tumbled through my head …'has it spread to the barn…are my horses okay…what could have started it?'
Life certainly has a sense of humor. It's bad enough when the paramedic becomes the patient…'which occurs way too frequently'…but now the fireman has become the fire victim.
The smoke can be clearly seen before we pull into the long gravel drive. Fortunately it's contained to just the house. Getting out of the squad and reaching for my turnout coat, I look at my house which is fully engulfed. Flames skitter along the porch as the windows blow out. My neighbor tells me he has moved my horses to his place as Cap calls in a second alarm. My brothers start pulling hoses as Cap barks orders, trying to keep everyone focused. There will be time for feelings later…right now, we have a job to do.
I take the lead aiming the hose at the front porch. Marco is backing me, his arm on my shoulder, supporting me in more ways than one. Anger mounts as I hold the hose…battling the beast as it tries to eat through my life.
As we focus on the front porch …I think of the many hours my brothers and I spend working on that porch…building, finishing and staining it…making it the welcoming haven I always envisioned. Flames dance along a rocking chair and I think of the many times Chris or Jenny sat in that chair… rocking and telling me stories. I think of the many hours spent with friends drinking beer or lemonade, telling tall tales or chit chatting the day away…relaxed and peaceful…content with life.
Sweat beading my brow…I lean sideways, lift my mask and lose the contents of my stomach. I glance at Roy and nod, then fit my mask back on and continue what I was doing.
The heat washes over me as I move closer and closer, determined to vanquish the beast. Sweat trickles slowly down my sides as I glance at my living room window. Flames pop out of the windowsill like some crazy patchwork picture frame. A step closer and I can see the sofa, little flickers of light dance along the arms. The quilt my grandmother made…one of the few mementos of my past…lays over the back of the sofa, blackened and charred. The way it smolders reminds me of the ceremonies of my childhood. Marco gently pulls me back, reminding me not to get too close.
I glance at the front door…wondering if I could make it inside to grab a few things. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Roy stiffen and faintly shake his head…he knows what I want to do.
A tap on my arm announces my replacement. I shake my head and continue forward. I can't take a break…as long as the beast remains…so will I. My stomach churns and bile coats the back of my throat again as the heat intensifies. The world has narrowed…there is nothing else…just me and the beast until the bitter end.
My uniform shirt is plastered to me underneath my turnout coat and my hair feels like I just got out of the shower. The battle is on and I will give no quarter. A small explosion heralds the death of my grill...'sorry girl.' No more parties or late night cookouts for you.
The lush, green yard I have so carefully cultivated has become a quagmire. Hoses snake back and forth coiling and twisting, creating a living obstacle course to traverse.
I step closer once again, trying to gain access. Chet's hand "inadvertently" slips and sprays water right in front of me. 'I know…I know…backup.'
Time seems to stop. There is only the here and now. The beast and I, but the beast is being stubborn…hisses and pops fill the air. My love of hardwood has prepared a feast that burns hot and bright. The beast turns my craftsmanship to its advantage.
A portion of the roof collapses and momentum takes me forward. As I close in, the water pressure in the hose drops. I sigh and move back.
A deadly dance ensues; one side gaining advantage, the next moment, being forced to retreat…back and forth…on and on it continues. Smoke writhes and curls around us defining then obscuring our vision. As it briefly clears, I can see inside…the pictures on the sofa table are melted piles of goo. My fury rages on unabated.
As darkness encroaches, light trucks are brought in. They stand as silent sentinels of the battle being waged.
Flames shoot out and something loud crashes inside. With renewed determination, I advance. My rage knows no bounds…I have become the beast…it's all encompassing. Another step forward and Cap is there. His mask just inches from mine. His eyes are filled with compassion, but also something else…determination. I give a small nod, acknowledging his directive…I grudgingly retreat.
I want to shout to the heavens of my rage. Just as the beast fights containment, so does my fury. My vision wavers, but not my determination…I shake my head to clear it and continue on. I will prevail.
The battle eventually wanes, as everyone knew it would. A burnt out shell is all that remains as the battalion chief assigns mop up detail.
The rage and adrenaline that have fueled me this day depart. As I turn to finally take a break, my knees buckle. My brothers are there instantly. I am hustled over to the triage area and Roy unmasks to take my vitals. I try to evade him but Cap gives me the look. As I sit docilely accepting my fate, Mike walks over with a bottle of water. I smile gratefully and take a long pull of the icy drink. It soothes my ragged throat. Roy looks at Cap and shakes his head—no trip to Rampart. I sigh and lean back against the squad, closing my eyes…I drift.
My eyes open to the alien landscape that was once my home. Scrubbing my hands through my hair I stand up and walk toward it. As I get closer, something crunches under my foot. I bend down and pick it up. It's a picture of Jenny, Chris and I taken at last year's fireman's picnic. The glass has shattered and the photo's edges are curled and blackened. I remember that day so clearly…it was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. Everyone had so much fun, eating and playing games until late into the evening. Looking at that picture I realize that the beast has not beaten me. It may destroy the physical manifestation of a memory, but as long as I remember…the memory is not lost. This realization gives me a little of the peace I thought I had lost.
Standing there coming to grips with this new reality, my friends surround me. Roy bumps his shoulder into mine as Chet starts talking about how much fun we are going to have being roommates. Marco interrupts and tells Chet that it would be better for me to stay with his family…they are so large they won't notice one more. Mike tries to convince them both that I'd rather stay at his beach house so we can surf. Cap rubs his hands together and tells me he already figured out how to rearrange the girls so I can have one of their rooms. Roy quietly chuckles as he shakes his head. He knows I'll stay with him, Joanne, and the kids…I have before.
I look over one last time to the charred remains as we pack up to go back to the station. I realize that before I know it my property will be bursting to capacity with off duty firemen helping me put my life back together…and this will be another memory not to be forgotten.
The end