Y is For Yuletide
Darkness had fallen upon the ever active city of Los Angeles; hours ago, in fact, because the shortest day of the year had just passed by. But even though it was Christmas Eve, the noise from the traffic on the 405 was just as loud as a normal workday as it washed over the parking lot of the small fire station in Carson, California. The man leaning against the hose rack, however, didn't notice the steady hum of two, four, and six wheel vehicles rolling across pavement; he hadn't looked up and realized the stars were visible for once in the usually light polluted night sky. His attention wasn't even on the hose he was drawing through his hands in a distracted manner. A cool breeze wafted gently through, ruffling his dark hair and stirring up several long fallen leaves. He didn't acknowledge that or the approach of footsteps. It wasn't until a hand was laid gently on his shoulder and a soft voice asked a question; only then did he pull himself out of troubled thoughts and stare blankly at the blue jacketed fireman in front of him.
"Did I know him? Yeah, I knew him, not close…..but enough, just enough…" he stopped when his partner nodded in complete understanding. "Did you?"
"No, not really. Talked to him a few times, shop talk, that kind of thing, but I didn't really "know him."
This time the other man ducked his head in comprehension and finally released his hold on the drying hose. He sucked in a breath of chilly air and gazed up, staring at the sky as if it could give him the answers to the questions swirling through his head. "He wasn't married; his parents are on their way here from somewhere up by Sacramento. I'm glad he wasn't, married I mean, and no children either, so at least they don't have to tell some little kids that their dad died on Christmas Eve."
"Yeah, that would be bad, really bad. It's bad enough any other day of the year, but today or tomorrow, yeah…"
There was an uncomfortable silence, as each man contemplated the job they loved and the risks that came with it. It had only been hours before that they had lost one of their own, trying to fight a fiery creature that did not want to be tamed, let alone vanquished. They themselves had not remained unscathed from the monster's fury. It was clearly evidenced in the red, tightening skin slathered with silver cream on the older man's wrists and the tips of his ears where the beast's tongue had slithered in malicious delight; it could also be heard in the other's raspy voice and seen in the squinty eyed, careful movements of the dark head. But in the end they had tamed and then destroyed the life stealing force, or had at least forced it back into its cave before it sprang up somewhere else.
"What kind of fools are we, Roy? How can we come to work every day, with smiles on our faces, knowing that we might go home in a bag?" Johnny demanded, swinging his arm and bumping the hoses. He grabbed at one of the swaying hoses, his quiet contemplation now turning to anger.
Roy didn't reply, but watched him twist the stained line for a moment, knowing that the rage would soon burn down and the smoldering embers would spark into frustration, sorrow, and probably even guilt. He knew, because he had just experienced the whole range of emotions within the privacy of the dorm. Lying on his bed, arms pretzeled behind his head, he had witnessed the whole event parade before his tightly shut eyes. What could we have done different? Could we have been faster? Why him, and not me? Does he have a wife and children? And on and on the questions had flown, until everything had just leeched out, leaving him drained and not any wiser.
He waited until the frantically moving hands slowed and became inert, still holding on but now with need, not fierce ire. He waited until the dark lashes lowered over eyes that glistened slightly with sadness, and then watched as they fluttered back up, steely resolve replacing the minute display of grief. He waited as the hard lines of his features twisted in various displays of raw emotion and then slowly settled into the tired, but easily recognizable face of his friend and partner.
"We're the worst kind of fools, Johnny, fools that care. If there's the slightest chance that we can save someone, or stop destruction, or just slap a band – aid on a child's teddy bear to see him smile, then that's where we're gonna be. It's who we are, what we do, and, well, if it just happens that most of the time we love our job, than I guess that's just an added bonus."
"Plus the fact that we get paid to do it," Gage added flatly, but his lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. He looked back up at the sky, noticing for the first time the thousands of lights twinkling back at him. Roy followed his gaze, his eyes searching for the North Star, an old habit reborn now that his son was involved in Indian Guides. Plus the fact that it was Christmas after all…
Silence enveloped them once again, but this time it was an easier peace. The quiet continued as the curly haired lineman appeared at their side, his head tilting back to search the night for whatever it was that held his crewmates' interest. He folded his arms tight against his chest and frowned.
"Say," he interrupted, his voice thoughtful and quiet. "I wonder if good old Bob is up there in the firehouse in the sky, telling those tales of his about that junker he called a racecar?"
DeSoto shifted to look at Chet, his mouth opening to admonish him about his lack of sensitivity; his partner's snort of disbelief left him mute. He turned and looked at John, who was still staring at the stars but had relaxed his rigid stance and was leaning back against the metal leg of the tower once again.
"Nah, Chet, you know Finch is up there boring those fellows with that yarn of his about seeing the Loch Ness monster up there in the Angeles National Forest…"
"No way, John, you know how many times Bob has spun that story about those Dalmatians putting that fire out? I'm sure that's the tale he's going on about….."
It was Marco's voice that added the last theory. Mike had drifted out to the parking lot behind Lopez, but was shaking his head at the Hispanic man's contribution.
"Not a chance, Marco. Bob Finch's favorite story revolved around that wildfire that ran through the nudist camp up in Topanga Canyon." There were groans of agreement at Stoker's contribution, and then several sighs as they realized that the tales spun by their fallen brother had ceased for good that afternoon.
Roy looked around at the five men grouped together. They had been standing slightly apart but now they had drifted together, standing shoulder to shoulder and projecting solidarity. He looked at each man in turn; apparently except for himself they had all known Finch from Station 14.
"Maybe someone should write those stories down…." He suggested softly. Scuffling of boots, both rubber and leather, met his comment and it was finally Gage who voiced the group opinion.
"Nah, it was all in the telling; Bob could just tell a good story. It's just not the same, ya know?"
"Guess not," Roy admitted, wishing that he had known the man better. He was glad, though, that Chet had started the dialogue flowing. His partner seemed to have calmed down and every man there appeared to be working the tragedy through their minds, and dealing with it in their own way. It would take time, maybe a lot of time for a few of them, but eventually the nightmares would fade. They would never forget, no, not ever, but hopefully the horror would eventually turn to pleasant thoughts of the man that Bob Finch had been.
The final man of their shift traipsed across the parking lot, rubbing his hands together. He paused briefly, seeing his men huddled together. A few had their heads bent, the rest were looking up. He tilted his long neck back and peered at the light display; a tight smile briefly touched his lips.
The half circle parted when he moved forward and immediately closed ranks, welcoming their captain. He cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen, my wife just stopped by and dropped off sandwiches, cookies, hot chocolate, and eggnog. So if you want to partake of the food before we hit the bunks…"
Murmured thanks met his announcement and the circle of firefighters slowly disintegrated as each man broke away and headed for the opened door and the beckoning light of the apparatus bay. Johnny hauled himself upright and shuffled past his partner, his tread heavy but his head up. Several steps past the motionless DeSoto he glanced back, and simply nodded. Roy swallowed hard, and met the steady gaze with his own nod of understanding. Yes, they might not get much sleep tonight, but they would work through this, separately yet together.
Both Roy and Captain Stanley smiled as the voices of Gage and Kelly floated back to them. Apparently Chet was employing his own method of therapy, both on himself and the younger medic.
"Man, I love eggnog!"
"Gage, you love anything that has to do with milk….."
They didn't hear the rest of Chet's sentence as he moved into the sanctuary of the garage ahead of Johnny but both men could fill in the blanks, knowing the sometimes vivid imagination of Chet Kelly. They clearly heard the indignant squawk and the answering retort.
"Do not! I don't like goat's milk, for instance, yuck! And goat cheese, that's even worse! Do you know..." his voice melted away, and the captain turned to Roy, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"You okay pal?"
"In time, Cap, in time. The world just keeps turning, doesn't it? No matter what happens."
"That it does, Roy, that it does."
They started towards the bay, Hank with his hands in his pockets. Roy motioned towards the station. "So, how long did it take for Mrs. Stanley to hear the news? Does the captains' wives grapevine move faster than the lowly fireman's?"
The captain snorted, catching the hint of humor in his paramedic's voice. "It was pretty fast. She knew before I called her. She was already planning to drop off some refreshments for you guys; she just added a bit more."
"Like Johnny's eggnog…"
"Like Johnny's eggnog," Hank agreed. "Did you call JoAnne?
"Yeah, one of the first things I did when we got back. I guess that's one of the ways I push through this." DeSoto motioned his hand towards the low murmur of voices drifting out from the day room, indicating with that brief wave that they were all dealing with the loss of life in their own manner. Hank Stanley looked at him.
"Merry Christmas, Roy," he said softly.
"Merry Christmas, Cap," Roy replied. They pushed open the door and joined the rest of their shiftmates.
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To all the first responders working this holiday season, and every day beyond – Thank You!
The usual disclaimer - the guys don't belong to me, just borrowing!
Thanks for reading!