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Soliloquy for a Friend

by: CLR

I sit and look at the broken body in front of me and sigh. I've been in this position—heck at times, in this very same room, way more than I'd like. I know that is not really a fair statement to make, because one time is more than I'd like; and it's definitely been more than one time. It's not my partner's fault. I know he likes being in this position even less than I do, but his passion and conviction, the essence of who he is, doom him to this fate.

My eyes travel across the slack and bruised features, memorizing them as if they were a roadmap to his suffering. I will him to show some sign of awareness, whether it is a groan or a hitch in his breath. Just something to assure me that he is still there. That he hasn't given up and finally slipped away; one of my worst fears come to life. But so far nothing…

…and so I wait. Caught with my friend juxtaposed, not really living and taking part in the world but, hopefully, not really dying either.

I shift in the uncomfortable plastic chair, willing my hip to stop its insistent twinge. As I continue to fidget, my mind wanders back over the last two years, to the meeting that left an indelible mark and changed the course of my soul…

When he first walked in I thought he was in the wrong place. He looked so young with that dark hair that flopped almost into his eyes and a half-grin that lit his face. His eyes sparked with enthusiasm and I figured he was here to apply to be a fireman when he graduated from high school. You can imagine my surprise when he not only sat down but started asking me hard questions to which I had no definitive answers. I was impressed that he'd obviously put forth a great deal of time and effort into researching the program, more so than any of the other candidates. That is when I truly looked into those eyes and recognized the youth and exuberance for what it truly was…a mask for the many layers that lurked beneath. We talked for quite a while and by the end I finally convinced him to join and had him sign on the dotted line. When he left, it felt as if all the colors in the room had suddenly dimmed and become less. The rest of the day my mind, at times, wandered back to that meeting. The energy and enthusiasm John exuded leeched into me and I felt a renewed determination to see the program succeed. When I went home that evening my wife commented on how 'chatty' I was about my day. I told her all about my chance meeting with John and she giggled at my description of him. Apparently I spoke so much about him, that by the end of the evening my wife made me promise to bring him home for dinner at the first opportunity.

It was several weeks until I could fulfill my promise to my wife. By that time we were deep into our paramedic training at Rampart. Once again, Johnny's keen intelligence and enthusiasm were shining through. He was not only top of his class, but at times he stood toe to toe with Dr. Brackett arguing and, sometimes begrudgingly, winning points of contention on policies and procedures. There were many times Dixie and I shook our heads at those two. They were like oil and vinegar, completely separate and different, but if we could find a way to mix the two they would create a wonderful flavor.

When Johnny arrived for dinner, he brought a bottle of my wife's favorite wine and a box of chocolates, thus beginning the process of wending his way into her heart. As Joanne finished up preparations in the kitchen, I led Johnny to the back deck to have a beer and relax. My daughter, Jennifer, who was a precocious toddler, was completely smitten when Johnny picked her up, gave a half-grin, a peck on the cheek and called her 'princess'. For the rest of the evening, she was not far from his side laughing and jibber jabbering as if he were the only person present. I introduced him next to my son, Chris, who is normally very reticent and shy. I was surprised when Chris instantly took a liking to Johnny and soon war whoops and squeals of surprise could be heard as they gamboled around the yard. I found myself drawn into the action and soon an all-out war ensued. By the time dinner was served, there were four laughing, pink cheeked individuals ready to devour their meal. Joanne lost a little more of her heart when Johnny's true appreciation of her culinary prowess was easily displayed by the three plates he ate. At the end of the meal, he stood up and gave her a big kiss on the cheek before taking his plate to the sink. We weren't aware of it at the time, but when Johnny left that evening, a piece of each of us went with him.

I was brought back to the present when a nurse came in to do a vitals check. She quickly took her readings and gave me a sympathetic look then left, continuing her duties elsewhere. I carefully looked over the various machines, making sure I hadn't missed anything. When I was assured that everything looked okay, I left my mind once again wander…

I thought back to the warehouse fire that brought us to this point. In some ways, I would've loved to be able to say that it was an extremely volatile scene. That the fire was raging out of control and Johnny got injured while performing some heroic and spectacular rescue of a young, pregnant woman or a small child or something along those lines. But the truth of the matter was that it was none of those things. It was just a well-controlled fire with no one who needed rescued. Cap sent Johnny and Marco up onto the catwalk to help with containment.

Unbeknownst to any of us, the owner of the building had, in an effort to cut costs, left various maintenance issues lapse. The screws that held the catwalk had, over the course of years, rusted and pulled away from the supporting beam. When Mike charged the hoses, the combined weight of Johnny, Marco, and the hose became too much. They plummeted fifteen feet before slamming onto the wet concrete floor, a jumble of limbs and metal pieces. Marco ended up with a broken leg and ankle, some bruising to his ribs and a tender shoulder. He was resting easily with the help of some MS two floors below; Chet at his side. Johnny being Johnny was a little more complicated. When he fell, the hose nozzle smacked against the concrete and rebounded up and into my partner's head. He now sported 25 stitches and a severe concussion, which I was still waiting for him to wake from. Johnny was a twin to Marco in that he also had a broken leg and ankle and bruised ribs. When he did wake, he was going to be one sore puppy. And unfortunately, with a severe head injury, he was not going to find the relief from pain that Marco had.

So I sit here with mixed emotions. Wanting desperately for Johnny to open those rich chocolate eyes, to let me know that he'll be okay. But dreading the moment when he does, aware of the ever present pain, all-consuming and powerful, that will accompany him over the next few days.

As I ponder over the next few days, my guilt begins to rise. If only Cap had sent me up onto the catwalk instead of Johnny. I shake my head, trying to squelch the feelings of horror and revulsion that I felt as I heard a low groan then watched them plummet, then splat onto the floor below. The sound of air rushing out of lungs and the snap of bones breaking as little high pitched tinkles of sound cascade around them as they were showered with pieces of metal and debris...

I pull myself back to the here and now and try to calm my breathing. I think about what my wonderful wife always says when I am feeling guilty for my partner being injured. She always looks me straight in the eye and says, 'Roy, sometimes what your mind knows and your heart tells you are two different things, but guilt isn't going to solve or change anything. You should concentrate on being there for your friend and helping him to get well. He needs your support and encouragement, not remorse.' As I think about her wise words, I relax somewhat as the guilt absolves. I focus on what is truly important…my partner, my brother, my friend.

Actually, there is no word that adequately reflects what Johnny and I are to each other. Some say we are two parts of one whole. Others say we are like a puzzle, two interlocking pieces that fit together. I've even heard it said that we are like two colors of fiber that a master weaver throws together to create a unique and bold new color, rich in vibrancy to add to the depth of the tapestry. I guess we are all of these things, and so much more. From the moment we first met, it has been this way. We're constantly being asked how we can hold whole conversations with one word or one look. We don't even think about it. It just is. It's funny because personality wise, we are polar opposites. I'm the calm, stable, reliable family guy; the one who is definitely grounded and down to earth. While Johnny is this crazy, capricious, bundle of energy that never stops and is always bouncing from one idea to the next, trying to solve the world's ills—one piece at a time. I guess when I look at it that way, it all makes perfect sense. I help to ground Johnny, to root him deep in the earth and give him sustenance while he allows me to soar, to glide along the current, my spirit touching the sky...

My reverie is broken when Dr. Brackett enters. He gives Johnny a quick onceover, telling me he could regain consciousness at any time. After making some notations in the chart, Brackett squeezes my shoulder and then departs.

I look at the traction device that holds Johnny leg at an uncomfortable looking angle to the bed and shudder. I know how much broken bones hurt and do not envy Johnny the pain and suffering he will go through in order to rehabilitate the leg to the point where he can once again work. But the ironic part is that he will suffer each and every moment with a blithe spirit and a smile on his face. He will do whatever it takes to do the job he loves.

We have spoken many times about Johnny's past. He lost both parents in a car accident when he was 7-years old and from that point on he was shuffled from one bad situation to the next. The pain and suffering he went through should not be experienced by anyone, let alone a small child. Strength of spirit, determination, and a deep compassion were forged early and by necessity. And while I wish I could go back and change all that for him, to give him a more 'normal' childhood. I know that those experiences have helped to craft the strong, independent spirit that is John Gage…

…cough…cough

I rise quickly and step to the bed. Johnny's eyelids are fluttering trying desperately to work. I hear a low moan and I call his name. As I reach for the call button, one of the most welcoming sites I have ever seen greets me. Rich brown eyes gaze at me confusedly as he half-moans, half-groans, 'Roy?' I smile and soothe him helping him focus until Dr. Brackett walks in. As I back away to the chair my soul soars in jubilation.

The end