by Naomi Niles
“You don’t. There are no guarantees: not for the victims and not for the firefighters who come to help. Life never goes on the same, the memories ensure that. But life does go on; it does go on for everyone involved. It just becomes the new norm.”
“You make it sound so easy, almost logical.”
I had seen this before. Firefighters, like doctors and those who worked with people in trauma, eventually learned to form a sort of protective scab over what they saw and dealt with each day. There were stages to it, just like grieving. Sean was in stage one; this was anger. Anger at lost lives, the cold and careless disregard that life showed. Yes, he was outraged and disappointed and felt useless in the face of this overwhelming tragedy. His anger was not directed at me, but at the fates that had conspired to bring this night about. “There is no way in hell that I am minimizing what you have just seen, Sean. This is going to kick the crap out of you and you’re not going to get over it by tomorrow morning, or next week, or even next year. What you’ve been through tonight is going to be part of the fabric of your life forever. This is when it hits home that the career you’ve chosen will be a constant series of tragedies. There is never anything good that comes from the fire. There is no such thing as a positive outcome.”
“I thought I could take it,” he began to sputter aimlessly. “We had fires in the little town where I came from. There was a house fire now and then, but it was different somehow. People were more hearty there, more willing to help one another. When someone has a loss, the others gathered together and made them whole again, at least as whole as was possible. What I saw tonight were vultures sitting on a telephone line, bickering and shoving for better vantage point. Here came these surviving family members, staggering from that holocaust and the vultures just stared. I even heard a pair of them making a bet as to who ultimately had survived. I wanted to kick the crap out of them.”
I wrapped my arm beneath his and lay my head against his shoulder. “I know, Sean. I’ve lived in New York City my entire life, but I know the cold a city like this feels. They’re not bad people; there’s just too many of them. They live on top of one another without lawns or lakes or pastures with grazing cows. Their lives are nuclear, often no further than the block upon which they live. Native New Yorkers celebrate their independence from the rest of the country. They mock your Midwest with a superior attitude. It’s human nature to celebrate that which you have and to mock that which you don’t. You’re getting hit in the gut with all of this at the same time.” He nodded. I picked up the fork and handed it to him. “Eat something. I know you’re not hungry, but you’re sort of in shock yourself. You need some food in your stomach and then you need to get some sleep. I don’t need to tell you this isn’t the first or the last time this is going to happen. We can talk more about this tomorrow, but for tonight, you need food and rest.”
He took the fork with an almost mechanical movement and began to eat. He didn’t argue, didn’t turn to try to override my motherly instructions. I knew he was in a bad place. He pushed the plate away after a few bites and then just sat there. Unmoving.
“Shawn, don’t sleep downstairs tonight. Stay here with me.”
Sean never said a word. He stood up and headed toward my bedroom, peeling off his clothes as he walked. I quickly shut off the lights and locked the door and followed him inside. There he was, lying naked in my bed, turned to one side in a sort of fetal position. I turned off the lamp and slid under the covers beside him, putting my arm over him and laying my cheek against his back. He was shivering, but I knew it wasn’t blankets that he needed. He needed rest. He needed time.
He needed me.
* * *
Sean had already left when I awakened the next morning. My hand passed over the space where he had slept, seeking comfort from it. It was cold and somehow I knew that his life had changed forever. By the time I got down to the fire station, the trucks were out on another call. Dad was in his office. I went in.
“I heard what happened last night. It was rough, wasn’t it?”
Dad nodded. “It’s always rough, Gwyne.”
That was how Dad had learned to handle this. He became brusque, a man of few words. He insulated himself because he knew there was not enough of himself to go around. I had seen Mom hurt by his attitude. I’m not sure she ever realized what he went through on a daily basis. Even though he was hardened by war, human misery was a relentless reality of his firefighting life.
“Give me something productive to do, Dad.”
He looked up at me, a vulnerable look on his face. “I know I never say it, Gwyne, but honey, I love you.”
“Oh, Dad…” I circled his desk and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. “You know I love you, too.” He nodded, patting the back of my hand.
His unexpected and brief display of emotion had now left the room. “Go downstairs and straighten up the bays,” he told me. “The trucks will be back soon. Most of the guys are still exhausted from last night. Just stay out of the way, but help them however you can.”
I nodded, gave him one last, quick hug, and went downstairs to do as he asked. The trucks returned within a half hour. I had brewed fresh coffee and made sandwiches. I’d swept the kitchen and washed up the dishes in the sink. I made sure there were no hoses or misplaced equipment cluttering the bays. It was as though I were cleaning house, waiting for my soldiers to return home. I felt oddly useful.
They climbed off the trucks, pulling off their gear and mechanically replacing it on the hooks and in the lockers where they were kept. I could see that the tragedy from the night before had affected everyone. There was the normal undercurrent of orders as Dad directed the men through the stages of preparing for their next call. The conversation was normal, but the atmosphere was not. There were a few smiles, most of them smiles of kindness and understanding toward one another. There was a lot of back patting, the comforting motion that men seem to be able to offer and receive without compromising their masculine façades.
The sandwiches and coffee disappeared quickly. The increased humidity from the shower room drifted throughout the building, somehow making it feel warmer in the early winter morning. Slowly, and only with intent, the hubbub that was a firehouse returned to its normal alarm status.
I saw Sean the moment he climbed from the truck. He looked at me briefly and managed a sort of half smile, but said nothing. I understood. I didn’t interfere; I knew he needed time and space. When I caught up with him later he was sitting with a sandwich and a half cup of coffee before him. “Hi. I’m guessing we won’t be training today?”
He shook his head. “Not today, Gwyne. I’m needed here.”
“Of course. I’m going to head back to my apartment and do some writing. There suddenly seems to be a lot say.” He nodded and gave me sort of a half salute with his hand. Both of us had to keep in mind that no one knew we shared quarters; that would be devastating, to both of us. So I had to make a marked effort not to share with him. There could be no familiarity aside from the fact that he was training me and I was his boss’s daughter.
When I got back to the apartment, I dressed in sweats and thick socks. I took my laptop to the sofa and sat cross-legged with it balanced on my knees. It was dark before I looked up and realized that I had been writing for five, solid hours. I looked back over what I had written and realized this was more of a book than a series of reports or commentaries, or whatever it was you called such a thing. I reread my work and I felt my own pain. Living next door to misery had been an ever-present factor in my young life. I had learned to accept tragedy as other children accepted a pan filled with fresh, chocolate chip cookies when they arrived home from school. It had been my norm. As I reread, I realized I was going to have to find a direction for all of this. This couldn’t appear to be my personal memoir; that would be selfish and defy the purpose of the work I was trying to accomplish. I knew I needed to look at these things from the survivor’s point of view, and from that of the onlooker. M
y goal would be to bring those two worlds together. It wasn’t going to be an easy job because it was contrary to normal human behavior. I heard the door downstairs and knew Sean was back. He knew where I was. When and if he wanted me, he would come upstairs.
I was hardly surprised when he did just that minutes later. There was a light tap at my door and I called to him to come in. His face was still somber and I knew he had something to get off his chest.
“Sit down. Can I get you something to eat?”
“No, thank you. I grabbed something on the way back. Gwyne, we need to talk.”
“I know.”
“Ever since I was a little boy, I wanted to be a firefighter. The little town I come from could only afford a volunteer crew. When I was old enough, I applied and was accepted at the local station. They taught me everything I needed to know, at least for that little town. It made me feel valued, Gwyne, and gave purpose to my life. I knew it was what I wanted to do. I wanted to do it in the biggest way possible, and that’s why I’m here.” I was watching his face as he talked and saw a myriad of emotions pass. He looked up at me then, straight in the eye. “We can’t let this thing between us go on.”
Although his words hit me in the gut, I had to admit they weren’t totally unexpected. I knew what he was saying. It had nothing to do with him or me; it had everything to do with what we had chosen for our lives. If we were discovered, there would be hell to pay. Most likely, Dad would fire him. I would be absolutely barred from the firehouse and would have to go back to writing about commission meetings and little Johnny’s big home run at the Little League game. I needed to do more with my life than that. So did Sean.
“I know. I knew what you were going to say before you even said it.”
“Gwyne, it wouldn’t take very much for me to fall in love with you. But there’s too much at stake here, and apparently you know it as well as I do. So I’m going to stay through the end of the month, until I get my first paycheck, and then I’m moving out.”
I nodded, the pain wrapping itself around my heart, and as much as I wanted argue with him, to argue with the fates that it put us in this position, I knew I couldn’t. He was right. We both knew it. I nodded and leaned forward to give them a hug.
“It’s okay. I think you know how I feel; I think we both know how one another feels,” I told him. “I really didn’t see this coming, to tell you the truth. No, I’m lying. I simply adored you from the first moment I saw you. Everything that led up to this moment has been my dream come true. I was in a position to make it happen, so I did just that. I won’t be ashamed of it.”
Sean grinned. “Yeah, I knew it then, too. When you popped out of your car, your mouth running on, trying to convince me to keep things on the lowdown, I knew I was hooked. You had spunk, you are cute as hell, and you needed protection from yourself. I don’t know, Gwyne, maybe there’s a way out of this someday. But right now, neither one of us are in a position to see it. I need some space from you, some perspective. This doesn’t affect how I feel about you; it only removes a bit of the danger of discovery. That would be the end of both of us.”
“You’re right, as usual. From now on, it’s business as usual, right?
“Right.” He got up to leave. I stopped him as he reached the door.
“Sean?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m in love with you.” I had actually just said the words.
“I know. Me, too.” With that, Sean left that very special part of my life that was us.
Chapter 9
Our life had become very awkward. Although he wasn’t leaving for a couple of weeks, Sean evidently thought it prudent to keep things on a very impersonal level. Instead of watching television with me, he worked in the downstairs area, putting up walls and drawing up plans for plumbing and electric to be submitted for permits. These were things I couldn’t do, things we had agreed he would do. Was he doing this out of a sense of obligation to our bargain, or out of guilt for breaking up with me? I sincerely hoped it wasn’t guilt, because there was none; we had both taken part consensually in what had gone on between us.
Payday for him came and I rose early to see his things stacked by the door. As I stepped out of my apartment to see where he was, he surprised me by emerging from the shadows to my right – at the top of the staircase. I startled a bit. “Oh!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you; I shouldn’t have stopped before tapping on your door.” He was apologetic.
“What made you stop?”
He threw his hands outward and shrugged. “This just doesn’t feel right.”
“Come in,” I invited him, standing back to let him pass. I was wearing my sleepshirt and the bay was cold; there were goosebumps on my legs and arms. Sean looked at me with instant sympathy and then caught a glance at my nipples, stiffened by the chill. An unexplainable look came over his face. If I could assign it anything, it would have been a mixture of desire and regret.
I quickly flipped on the coffee maker and brewed two cups, handing one to him as he waited on the sofa. Sitting next to him, I folded my legs beneath myself and took a sip. “So, want to tell me what you’re feeling?”
Sighing, Sean leaned back and looked to the ceiling, his eyes searching for the right words. “I don’t know what to say. This has a bad feel to it; this leaving you. First of all, you took me in when you didn’t have to and then, well, I’m not immune to you, let’s say. It feels like I took advantage of you; like I’ve put you last on the priority list.”
“We both knew what we were doing and we’ve both agreed that it’s too dangerous for you to stay here. We know what’s at stake.”
“Oh, it’s more than that. Hell, I don’t know how to tell you all this, and maybe I shouldn’t be….”
“What is it?” I was on alert. What on Earth was he hiding? I asked myself.
Sean stood up and paced before the window, looking out over the city. “There’s more than what meets the eye with me. You have to keep this to yourself, though. You tell your dad and I’m cooked.” He looked over his shoulder at me for confirmation. I nodded. “All right, so I’m here in New York City and you know, I came to be a firefighter. But it’s not as simple as that.”
He paced two more paths and then turned to look at me. “There was trouble back home. In my senior year of high school, a new kid moved to town. He didn’t fit in very well; wasn’t the white, corn-fed farm kid the rest of us were. The guys shut him out and the girls wouldn’t even look at him. I ran into him one night at the movie theatre in town. He was doing custodial work. I was waiting in line to get into the theatre and there he was. His name was Damian. I couldn’t not see him, so I nodded. I mean, the guy looked right at me and was just five feet from where I was. He nodded back. Before I knew it, I’d stuck out my hand and told him my name. He hesitated before taking my hand, wiping his own off on his pants before he shook mine. He didn’t say much; just nodded. His skin was that really dark, blue-black color and his eyes were darker than brown. In another place, he’d have been considered a decent-looking guy, but not in rural Iowa.
“I tried to talk to him, but he barely answered. Must have been a manager coming because he looked around and then acted like he’d been caught and instantly moved on. I didn’t give it much thought. After the movie, I was headed home and spotted him walking alongside the road. I offered him a ride, and he seemed grateful to get it. I got it out of him that he’d just been fired. Seems like management chose to fire him, using the excuse that he’d been late coming in during his probationary period. He didn’t say it, but I got the gist that they couldn’t refuse to hire him because of the law, but as soon as he tripped, even the tiniest bit, they used it as an excuse to get rid of him. I really felt for him.
“We talked and I got enough out of him to understand that he was a native of Jamaica. His family emigrated to New York City: two younger sisters and his mother. He didn’t have a dad. One night their apartment building caught fire. He’d bee
n out on the street when it happened. His family didn’t make it. He went a little nuts over it, ended up in a boys’ home. A family in my town, the Henley’s, adopted him—part of a Christian-based program.”
I was trying to keep up with his story while my reporter’s mind was delving deep to figure out how this was all going to pan out. He continued to talk.
“He was just marking time until he was eighteen and free to be on his own. Trying to earn a few bucks to put away. Really a fish out of water. Before we got to the Henley’s, I saw a couple of guys from my football team standing on a corner, talking. I stopped and rolled the window down to ask them about something. They spotted Damian and wandered over to my truck, talkin’ some shit to him. I told them to shut up and left, dropping Damian off. I didn’t see Damian at school and stopped at the Henley’s on my way home. They weren’t home, but a neighbor raking his leaves walked over to check me out. Seems that a couple of guys had jumped him on his way to school that morning and things got rough. Damian got slashed pretty bad and was in the hospital. I headed down there and the Henley’s were standing in the hallway of the ER, a shocked look on their faces. Turns out Damian got slashed in the throat and lost a lot of blood. Docs did what they could, but he didn’t make it.”
He halted at this point, the memory making his throat raw with emotion. He cleared his throat and stared over the skyline. “I got him killed. I knew better, to tell you the truth. I knew the boys who did it and they were mean bastards. I went after them that night. They were still in police custody, so I blew up their car as it sat in their driveway. The explosion took out some windows and yeah, you can guess I got into trouble.