Disclaimer:
I don't own this song or the rights to it. If you like it, great. Go buy the CD. It's from the CD Fresh Horses from Garth Brooks.
Me, Too
I should get up. I've been sitting on this curb for a while. How long exactly, I don't know. The cleanup crew keeps coming back to see if I've moved yet so they can sweep up the glass. I didn't even notice I almost sat on it. There are bits of it on the curb and the sidewalk. I keep thinking about what happened and am still in disbelief. It's all in a bit of haze, and I can't remember exactly how or when we got there. I remember getting the call and looking over at Bosco. He felt the same way I did. Dread. We didn't want to arrive on scene, because we knew it would be like this. Destruction, chaos, havok, you name it, it's here. People are still scrambling around, looking for a purpose. A moot effort but it makes them feel somewhat better that maybe they can still help. I see Bosco walking over to me in a trance. I realize we haven't touched base since we got here. We've been too busy trying to make a difference. I don't think we did. I don't remember coming across one person that could be saved or even had a fighting chance. I see the look on Bosco's face that I've seen before, and I know his account of the events that unfolded was the same as mine. I could scream, yell, pitch a fit, but what good would it do? I don't think I'd even have the energy anyway. That's why I'm still sitting here, unable to comprehend what just happened and unwilling to get up. I see Bosco shift his eyes down as he approaches, and midstep turns back around. It must disgust him to be around so much carnage and have either one of us unable to help anyone. You go into it thinking maybe you'll be able to, but the sad part is sometimes you can't. It reminds me of a song I heard once.
One hand
Reaches out
And pulls a lost soul from harm
While a thousand more go unspoken for
They say what good have you done
By saving just this one
It's like whispering a prayer
In the fury of a storm
The words are a mantra in my head, the lyrics forming a melody I can't get out of my mind. The words in the song depict the scene around me, and I look around at the images as if creating a video . I don't listen to a lot of country music. Fred hates it, but I like the lyrics. I'm a lyric person. If it has a good message, I'll listen. I keep singing the song to myself, off in my own little world. I start to whisper the words now. I go over the images in my mind of what has happened. I keep singing.
And I hear them saying you'll never change things
And no matter what you do it's still the same thing
But it's not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me
I look up and see Bosco coming over again. He's recruited Carlos. I wonder why. He's starting to speak to me but I can't make out what he's saying. I stop singing when I get to the chorus and pay attention to them. Bosco's pointing down in my direction and I follow his eyes to my right hand. I hadn't even noticed getting injured. Not all that bad, really, but it's imitating old faithful. No wonder why I thought it was cold sitting there on the curb. For the longest time, I couldn't figure it out. I thought it was the shade and wanted to get into the sun, but just couldn't muster up the strength to move. I didn't really want to, either. The view down here is a little obstructed and I didn't want to see what was on the other side of the SWAT van. I don't know how Bosco found me over here. I'm sure he asked one of the cleanup guys. Maybe they told him to make me move so they could do their jobs. I guess it would be okay if they cleaned up now. I wouldn't want anyone to get cut.
Carlos starts to clean my hand with a bottle of saline that I hadn't seen him bring. He pokes and prods, feeling for any shards of glass that may be embedded. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt. I can tell he's trying to be gentle. I can't remember any time where I've felt Carlos to be something other than a half-cocked paramedic. He certainly has changed my view of him. I wonder if he's just being that way because Bosco is here. Maybe I just have him pegged wrong. I look up through the glare at the sun and see Bosco standing there still. I can tell he's had a rough go of it, too. He looks to come away from the whole ordeal unscathed. How he does that, I'll never know. I don't even remember cutting my hand. Figures.
I see Carlos muttering words of comfort, telling me that something will only hurt for a second and will feel better soon. For the life of me, I don't understand what he's talking about. Apparently, something will hurt. I debate whether I should tell him I can't feel anything anyway and not to worry about hurting me with whatever he's going to do. I watch him work and decide to be silent. I don't really feel like talking right now anyway. I'm afraid if I open my mouth, I may start losing it and these pent up emotions I've so desperately tried to contain will come flooding out. I see the tip of the needle go in and wince. On any given day, that would probably hurt. I never could watch those trauma shows on television. I always wondered if there was a better way to "numb the site" without sticking a huge needle into the very thing that is causing you the most pain. I realize I've been squinting and closing my eyes, because Bosco is now sitting on my side with his hand on my shoulder. If I were in pain for real, it would be comforting. Right now, it's just one more thing that's going to send me over the edge. Soon the tears will fall and I will be helpless to stop them.
Carlos finishes up. He must have known I wouldn't want to go to the ER, so he stitched it up on the spot. It's mandatory for anyone involved in such an event to get checked out by the hospital. I'll go in later. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I can't bear to be around anymore hurt people. I look over and see Carlos getting his things together. He places a gentle hand on my knee, reassuringly. He and Bosco help me stand up. That's all it took. The world around me turned into this horrible scene. The very image I was trying to block out, hoping in some way that if I did I wouldn't be seeing it in my nightmares or when I close my eyes. Slowly I start to lose it, as the emotions build. I must have looked like a wreck, covered in glass and soot, and crying like a madwoman. I feel pressure on both elbows as Carlos and Bosco help me over to the squad. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to sit back down on my curb. I can't, though. There is paperwork to do. Phone calls to make. Interviews. Statements. I don't feel up to this. I want to go home. A reporter is walking toward us, notebook in hand. I see Bosco give a look that would be the equivalent of a silent death threat, and it does the job. The reporter hastily moves away. I feel myself being guided to the car. No one is talking, just walking. Carlos keeps glancing over at Bosco like I'm suddenly going to break all over the sidewalk in a million pieces. The tears are still freeflowing. I must be quite the sight. People we are passing by notice us and look away, giving us privacy. If they only knew what we saw while they were standing back at their safe distance.
It seems to be taking forever to get to the car. All I want to do is lay down and sleep. My partner opens the door and I get in. I can't feel any pain in my hand. I can't really feel anything now that it's numb. I fiddle with the seatbelt and see Carlos lean down to fasten it. I guess I was wrong about him after all. He doesn't look at me with pity, just understanding. He closes the door and waves. I sit there and stare out the window as the car pulls away from the site. Slowly the song starts to enter my head again and before I know it I'm whispering the words once more.
This heart
Still believes
The love and mercy still exist
While all the hatred rage and so many say
That love is all but pointless in madness such as this
It's like trying to stop a fire
With the moisture from a kiss
Through the reflection in the window I can see Bosco take his eyes off the road as he listens closely to the words. He never could stand country music, but today he is listening and why, I'm not so sure. He looks at the road and continues to drive. I think I've stopped crying. The wetness on my face has long since dried and all that is left are two distinct tracks through the grime covering my cheeks. We pull into the lot. There are officers talking near their cars and they continue on as Bosco helps me out of the car. They look over at us and turn back away to continue their conversation. I can tell they don't know what to say. I wouldn't know, either. The song in my head comes to an end as we walk down the hall and into the locker room. I don't want to face the others. I don't want to see the way they look at me. I feel myself stopping, as Bosco holds up one finger. He walks into the locker room and comes back out moments later. It's empty. The small gesture he showed me to ask the other officers to leave brings me to tears. As if I had any left. He leads me over to the bench and hesitates before opening my locker. I know he knows the combination. I think he's just unsure of how to go about dealing with me from here on. I let him off the hook, and start undressing. He looks releived as he himself starts to remove his uniform. Minutes go by and I'm sitting there staring off into space. I feel a hand touch mine and I look up to see Bosco in his civvies. I still have yet to put on my shoes. I see him kneel down and help me put mine on and tie them up. I hadn't thought of how I was going to tie them with one hand. I stand up and we leave the room. He doesn't ask if I want to clean up. I just want to go home. Everything else can wait, I hear him say.
We leave the precinct and step into the cool air. It is chilly enough that I feel myself starting to shiver a bit. I start to walk down the sidewalk and I hear steps behind me. It's Bosco. He is motioning for me to come with him. He doesn't want me to walk alone tonight. I don't want me to walk alone, either. We cross the street and he comes around to my side and opens the door for me. I would feel like an invalid normally, except now I don't know what I feel. He closes the door and climbs in on his side. He starts driving once again, only this time toward my apartment. He asks me a question and I realize I haven't spoken to him all night. Not once. He wants to know what the song is, and I feel my voice is steady enough to reply. I start to answer him, but decide on a different response. I sing. I just sing. The words flow once again, only louder this time.
And I hear them saying you'll never change things
And no matter what you do it's still the same thing
But it's not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me
I don't think Bosco has ever heard me sing before. I don't think about how bad I am, I just sing. The song comes to life and he listens as he drives. I can't tell if he likes the song or not. As I give him my own version of the song, I see tears forming in his eyes. I look away so I don't start to cry myself. Life stinks, and things happen that you can't prevent and you can't change. I know that when we go back to work we will have to do it all over again. We'll put the past behind us and try to save more lives. 'Cause if you save just one, then you know it's worth it. Today I couldn't help anyone. Tomorrow I might not be able to help anyone again, but someday I will. That's what keeps me going. I continue to sing steadier and stronger at each line.
As long as one heart still holds on
Then hope is never really gone
Bosco pulls to the curb and looks over at me, as I sing the last verse. I should feel embarassed, but I'm not. He stares at me and waits for me to finish.
I hear them saying
You'll never change things
And no matter what you do it's still the same thing
But it's not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world we know
Never changes me
What I do is so
This world will know
That it will not change me
He walks around and helps me out once more. We walk down the hall and up the stairs. He is silent for a while, as if unsure of what to say. He then speaks two simple words that, to me, mean so much.
"Me, too"
I don't own this song or the rights to it. If you like it, great. Go buy the CD. It's from the CD Fresh Horses from Garth Brooks.
Me, Too
I should get up. I've been sitting on this curb for a while. How long exactly, I don't know. The cleanup crew keeps coming back to see if I've moved yet so they can sweep up the glass. I didn't even notice I almost sat on it. There are bits of it on the curb and the sidewalk. I keep thinking about what happened and am still in disbelief. It's all in a bit of haze, and I can't remember exactly how or when we got there. I remember getting the call and looking over at Bosco. He felt the same way I did. Dread. We didn't want to arrive on scene, because we knew it would be like this. Destruction, chaos, havok, you name it, it's here. People are still scrambling around, looking for a purpose. A moot effort but it makes them feel somewhat better that maybe they can still help. I see Bosco walking over to me in a trance. I realize we haven't touched base since we got here. We've been too busy trying to make a difference. I don't think we did. I don't remember coming across one person that could be saved or even had a fighting chance. I see the look on Bosco's face that I've seen before, and I know his account of the events that unfolded was the same as mine. I could scream, yell, pitch a fit, but what good would it do? I don't think I'd even have the energy anyway. That's why I'm still sitting here, unable to comprehend what just happened and unwilling to get up. I see Bosco shift his eyes down as he approaches, and midstep turns back around. It must disgust him to be around so much carnage and have either one of us unable to help anyone. You go into it thinking maybe you'll be able to, but the sad part is sometimes you can't. It reminds me of a song I heard once.
One hand
Reaches out
And pulls a lost soul from harm
While a thousand more go unspoken for
They say what good have you done
By saving just this one
It's like whispering a prayer
In the fury of a storm
The words are a mantra in my head, the lyrics forming a melody I can't get out of my mind. The words in the song depict the scene around me, and I look around at the images as if creating a video . I don't listen to a lot of country music. Fred hates it, but I like the lyrics. I'm a lyric person. If it has a good message, I'll listen. I keep singing the song to myself, off in my own little world. I start to whisper the words now. I go over the images in my mind of what has happened. I keep singing.
And I hear them saying you'll never change things
And no matter what you do it's still the same thing
But it's not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me
I look up and see Bosco coming over again. He's recruited Carlos. I wonder why. He's starting to speak to me but I can't make out what he's saying. I stop singing when I get to the chorus and pay attention to them. Bosco's pointing down in my direction and I follow his eyes to my right hand. I hadn't even noticed getting injured. Not all that bad, really, but it's imitating old faithful. No wonder why I thought it was cold sitting there on the curb. For the longest time, I couldn't figure it out. I thought it was the shade and wanted to get into the sun, but just couldn't muster up the strength to move. I didn't really want to, either. The view down here is a little obstructed and I didn't want to see what was on the other side of the SWAT van. I don't know how Bosco found me over here. I'm sure he asked one of the cleanup guys. Maybe they told him to make me move so they could do their jobs. I guess it would be okay if they cleaned up now. I wouldn't want anyone to get cut.
Carlos starts to clean my hand with a bottle of saline that I hadn't seen him bring. He pokes and prods, feeling for any shards of glass that may be embedded. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt. I can tell he's trying to be gentle. I can't remember any time where I've felt Carlos to be something other than a half-cocked paramedic. He certainly has changed my view of him. I wonder if he's just being that way because Bosco is here. Maybe I just have him pegged wrong. I look up through the glare at the sun and see Bosco standing there still. I can tell he's had a rough go of it, too. He looks to come away from the whole ordeal unscathed. How he does that, I'll never know. I don't even remember cutting my hand. Figures.
I see Carlos muttering words of comfort, telling me that something will only hurt for a second and will feel better soon. For the life of me, I don't understand what he's talking about. Apparently, something will hurt. I debate whether I should tell him I can't feel anything anyway and not to worry about hurting me with whatever he's going to do. I watch him work and decide to be silent. I don't really feel like talking right now anyway. I'm afraid if I open my mouth, I may start losing it and these pent up emotions I've so desperately tried to contain will come flooding out. I see the tip of the needle go in and wince. On any given day, that would probably hurt. I never could watch those trauma shows on television. I always wondered if there was a better way to "numb the site" without sticking a huge needle into the very thing that is causing you the most pain. I realize I've been squinting and closing my eyes, because Bosco is now sitting on my side with his hand on my shoulder. If I were in pain for real, it would be comforting. Right now, it's just one more thing that's going to send me over the edge. Soon the tears will fall and I will be helpless to stop them.
Carlos finishes up. He must have known I wouldn't want to go to the ER, so he stitched it up on the spot. It's mandatory for anyone involved in such an event to get checked out by the hospital. I'll go in later. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I can't bear to be around anymore hurt people. I look over and see Carlos getting his things together. He places a gentle hand on my knee, reassuringly. He and Bosco help me stand up. That's all it took. The world around me turned into this horrible scene. The very image I was trying to block out, hoping in some way that if I did I wouldn't be seeing it in my nightmares or when I close my eyes. Slowly I start to lose it, as the emotions build. I must have looked like a wreck, covered in glass and soot, and crying like a madwoman. I feel pressure on both elbows as Carlos and Bosco help me over to the squad. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to sit back down on my curb. I can't, though. There is paperwork to do. Phone calls to make. Interviews. Statements. I don't feel up to this. I want to go home. A reporter is walking toward us, notebook in hand. I see Bosco give a look that would be the equivalent of a silent death threat, and it does the job. The reporter hastily moves away. I feel myself being guided to the car. No one is talking, just walking. Carlos keeps glancing over at Bosco like I'm suddenly going to break all over the sidewalk in a million pieces. The tears are still freeflowing. I must be quite the sight. People we are passing by notice us and look away, giving us privacy. If they only knew what we saw while they were standing back at their safe distance.
It seems to be taking forever to get to the car. All I want to do is lay down and sleep. My partner opens the door and I get in. I can't feel any pain in my hand. I can't really feel anything now that it's numb. I fiddle with the seatbelt and see Carlos lean down to fasten it. I guess I was wrong about him after all. He doesn't look at me with pity, just understanding. He closes the door and waves. I sit there and stare out the window as the car pulls away from the site. Slowly the song starts to enter my head again and before I know it I'm whispering the words once more.
This heart
Still believes
The love and mercy still exist
While all the hatred rage and so many say
That love is all but pointless in madness such as this
It's like trying to stop a fire
With the moisture from a kiss
Through the reflection in the window I can see Bosco take his eyes off the road as he listens closely to the words. He never could stand country music, but today he is listening and why, I'm not so sure. He looks at the road and continues to drive. I think I've stopped crying. The wetness on my face has long since dried and all that is left are two distinct tracks through the grime covering my cheeks. We pull into the lot. There are officers talking near their cars and they continue on as Bosco helps me out of the car. They look over at us and turn back away to continue their conversation. I can tell they don't know what to say. I wouldn't know, either. The song in my head comes to an end as we walk down the hall and into the locker room. I don't want to face the others. I don't want to see the way they look at me. I feel myself stopping, as Bosco holds up one finger. He walks into the locker room and comes back out moments later. It's empty. The small gesture he showed me to ask the other officers to leave brings me to tears. As if I had any left. He leads me over to the bench and hesitates before opening my locker. I know he knows the combination. I think he's just unsure of how to go about dealing with me from here on. I let him off the hook, and start undressing. He looks releived as he himself starts to remove his uniform. Minutes go by and I'm sitting there staring off into space. I feel a hand touch mine and I look up to see Bosco in his civvies. I still have yet to put on my shoes. I see him kneel down and help me put mine on and tie them up. I hadn't thought of how I was going to tie them with one hand. I stand up and we leave the room. He doesn't ask if I want to clean up. I just want to go home. Everything else can wait, I hear him say.
We leave the precinct and step into the cool air. It is chilly enough that I feel myself starting to shiver a bit. I start to walk down the sidewalk and I hear steps behind me. It's Bosco. He is motioning for me to come with him. He doesn't want me to walk alone tonight. I don't want me to walk alone, either. We cross the street and he comes around to my side and opens the door for me. I would feel like an invalid normally, except now I don't know what I feel. He closes the door and climbs in on his side. He starts driving once again, only this time toward my apartment. He asks me a question and I realize I haven't spoken to him all night. Not once. He wants to know what the song is, and I feel my voice is steady enough to reply. I start to answer him, but decide on a different response. I sing. I just sing. The words flow once again, only louder this time.
And I hear them saying you'll never change things
And no matter what you do it's still the same thing
But it's not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me
I don't think Bosco has ever heard me sing before. I don't think about how bad I am, I just sing. The song comes to life and he listens as he drives. I can't tell if he likes the song or not. As I give him my own version of the song, I see tears forming in his eyes. I look away so I don't start to cry myself. Life stinks, and things happen that you can't prevent and you can't change. I know that when we go back to work we will have to do it all over again. We'll put the past behind us and try to save more lives. 'Cause if you save just one, then you know it's worth it. Today I couldn't help anyone. Tomorrow I might not be able to help anyone again, but someday I will. That's what keeps me going. I continue to sing steadier and stronger at each line.
As long as one heart still holds on
Then hope is never really gone
Bosco pulls to the curb and looks over at me, as I sing the last verse. I should feel embarassed, but I'm not. He stares at me and waits for me to finish.
I hear them saying
You'll never change things
And no matter what you do it's still the same thing
But it's not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world we know
Never changes me
What I do is so
This world will know
That it will not change me
He walks around and helps me out once more. We walk down the hall and up the stairs. He is silent for a while, as if unsure of what to say. He then speaks two simple words that, to me, mean so much.
"Me, too"