"Flip" Part 2
Philip tried desperately to blink the sweat out of his eyes and regulate his breathing the way he'd been taught. At least the air that pressurized the mask on his face was cool, but there was no way he could wipe away the sweat that still managed to form. `Welcome to the world of SCBA (Self Contained Breathing Apparatus),' Bill had told them when they started this day-long structural search-and-rescue class. He smiled grimly as he continued advancing on his hands and knees, one hand stroking the wall of the abandoned house they were using, the other feeling the floor in front of him. He couldn't see either one - his mask had been blacked out for this exercise. He almost laughed. He was getting better at extending his air supply. The air bottle on his back was rated at thirty minutes; he'd sucked the first bottle dry in ten! Bill had laughed at him and told him he'd need an ice pick to clear the regulator, but the understanding in that laugh had helped Philip relax and make it easier to breathe in the confining full face mask.
"I said 'Talk to each other!'" Philip almost yelped when the unseen boot to his backside brought him back to the here and now. "Peter, Flip just passed a window! Did you know about it?"
"No!" Peter answered, his voice barely audible behind his mask. He was Philip's partner on this exersise.
"No," Bill echoed, looking at the two boys, their breathing loudly sounding like Darth Vader in stereo. "Flip!" he softened his voice, "Philip, you have got to remember to communicate with your partner! If you get into trouble, Peter has to know where he is and the fastest way to get both of you out! Do you understand?"
"Y..., yes sir!" Philip almost had to yell to make himself heard. The mask he was using was old and didn't have any of the new `speaking' devices.
"Good! Now keep going!" Bill and the other instructors smiled. Sometimes all it took was a gentle reminder, sometimes a quick kick in the ass, but the kid would get the hang of this soon enough. "Remember, on the fire ground, you and your partner are `married' to each other. You're responsible for each other, keep each other out of trouble! You never leave each other except for the situations I told you about!"
Philip continued to advance along the wall, but this time he kept up a running dialogue of his activities and remembered to listen to Peter's answers. His right hand suddenly fell on something different. It was hard to tell through the heavy glove, but he soon realized he had the inside of someone's upper thigh. "I found a victim!" he announced to Peter.
"Hey! Be careful of what you're grabbing!" he heard Jeff's voice and the smattering of laughter in the room.
"No coaching from the victim!" Bill couldn't help but laugh himself as he saw Philip's hand recoil suddenly. "OK, show us how you're going to drag his butt out'a here."
Philip was glad he had no skin showing. He was sure that even if it was just his ankle, it would be glowing bright red.
With a few `hey, watch your knees' complaints from their victim, the two quickly got themselves rearranged to put Jeff between them so they each had an arm underneath one of the victim's. They then were able to drag Jeff back the way they'd come.
"You two clowns!" Jeff was almost dancing around as he tried to adjust his crotch and looked at the, now revealed, faces of his rescuers'. "Thank God he gave me two, cause I think you tried to leave one of them behind with your knees."
Philip blushed again, until he saw Jeff's face break into a grin and knew that he was playing with the two of them. "Yeah, well, we just wanted to make sure we didn't damage anything you'd ever use!"
Jeff, Peter, and the others stopped and looked at Philip. He'd made a joke! The quiet, serious one had made a joke! Jeff absently continued to rub his balls through his jeans; actually, Peter had racked him pretty good while they were getting him ready. He smiled evilly back at Flip, thinking of his comeback. So Flip actually made a joke. Why couldn't he let anyone in school see him like this? He seemed so `normal' here. Why not all the time? It was time for him and Peter to compare notes, see what they'd found out about the kid.
He pointed his finger at Philip, "Just remember, jackass, our turn is right after Terry and Sean. You're going to be my victim this time!" He continued to smile, "And don't try to get out of it. Peter was victim last time and I thought I'd get a hernia dragging his heavy ass!" Jeff ducked away as Peter's huge paw made a playful grab for the back of his neck. "This time I want the lightweight!"
Philip wearily pulled his heavy coat off and slipped his arms through the suspenders. The cool air came as a welcome relief. He didn't think he could ever sweat as much as he did in his gear. His soaked shirt clung to him like a wrinkled second skin. He took a moment to fluff it up to allow more access for the air, and lifted the SCBA by the straps so he could get the bottle refilled. He could still feel the others looking at him as he walked away. 'Why didn't he just shut up?' he thought to himself. He felt he'd slipped badly. He liked Jeff and the others, they were fun to be around, but it was just too dangerous to let them get close.
The sudden wave of loneliness almost staggered him. He so wanted to be able to drop his guard sometimes, to accept what he felt for what it was, but the others would hate him for it. He could lose everything: school friends, the other firefighters, not to mention his mom, everything he loved or was in love with. He let out the sigh he'd been holding in and visibly squared his shoulders. The feeling passed quickly as he proceeded with what he needed to get done. The thought of what Peter's reaction to their being `married' would be almost brought a smile to his face.
His chores done, Philip quietly relaxed in his stocking feet on the tarp they had laid out for that purpose. His shirt and sweatpants were finally drying out. Terry and Sean had just entered. He closed his eyes and saw them in his mind's eye doing what he'd just done.
"Well? How do you think we did?" Peter collapsed next to him. "How much air did you have left?"
"About fifteen hundred pounds." Philip wished that Peter wasn't blocking the meager breeze. "I think we did OK, but Bill was right; we need to have a better plan before we go in."
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Peter was wistful as each replayed what they'd done. He squirmed around uncomfortably a little. "I should've worn boxers. My underwear has been riding my ass all day."
"That's why I don't wear any," Philip started. Had he just said what he thought he did? Oh God!' he thought, kicking himself mentally. What the fuck did I do?' It was so hard to stay on guard around here. You had to trust the guys you were risking your life with. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything."
Peter just laughed, "That's OK! I think I'm going to climb in the truck and shed mine. That's a good idea." He stood quickly, then stopped. "Hey, you ready, `victim'? Terry and Sean are done. Just remember, all you have to do is just lie there. Oh, and protect your nuts."
Philip lay protectively, eyes closed, face down on the floor of the dark room. He couldn't help but giggle a little as he heard the searchers make their way. He almost laughed each time he heard the loud thuds that announced Jeff had unexpectedly found another wall with his helmet. He could hear their breathing and muffled voices as they got closer. Jeff sounded pissed that he hadn't found him yet.
Philip suddenly laughed and squirmed as he felt a gloved hand trail down the side of his ribs to his waist.
"I found a victim!" Jeff was pleased, "and he's ticklish!"
"Hey!" Philip slid forward as the glove grabbed his cheek playfully, shoving his sweats into the crack in between.
"OK! OK! Get him out!" Bill had seen some `revenge' coming, but knew that training had to be fun as well as educational. "You can fuck him later!"
"Only if he needs mouth to mouth!" Jeff responded as the two positioned Philip between them. "Right, Flip?"
"Whatever!" Philip's exasperated reply filled the room. He relaxed for a moment as they grabbed him under his arms and started to drag him out. He sucked in his breath suddenly as his sweats slipped. He barely managed to hook a finger in the waistband and looked down to see the trailing ends of the drawstring. "Wait! Stop!"
"Come on, hurry up!" Bill was yelling. Terry and Jeff weren't stopping! This was supposed to be a realistic exercise. Besides, the faster they got Flip outside, the faster they could get out of their gear.
Philip jammed his heels against the floor and arched his back as he felt the rough wood against his bare backside, his sweats bunched around his upper thighs. Thankfully, he held his arch until they reached the door and his finger stayed hooked.
"You fuckin bastards!" Philip quickly slid his pants back over his skin, the pain in his buttocks unmistakable. At least, no one had seen him like that.
"What?" Jeff and Terry looked confused. "What did we do?"
"You know!" Philip shoved Jeff back as he stormed off the porch.
"Hey!..." Bill was alarmed by what he saw. "...Everybody go to their corner! Philip! See me at the engine."
"Flip! Do you want to stay in this department?" Bill was flushed with anger. "You ever hit another member or do what you did again in public, I'll bounce your ass out'a here so fast it'll make your head spin!"
"Yes, sir." Philip whispered. He'd really screwed up this time. His temper had reared its ugly head again and had shattered the team. "I..., I'm sorry. I just got angry when I couldn't pull my pants up."
"That's what got you upset?" Bill asked incredulously. "Listen, Philip. You could have reacted to that a hundred different ways. Most of us would have just laughed it off, you decided to get angry. I don't want to know why." He saw the hesitant look he received from the boy. "If you have a problem with anyone in the department, come see me and we'll work something out. For now you're going to apologize to everybody here who saw that display and then I'm going to make arrangements for you to spend some time volunteering at the Shriner's Hospital in Galveston. I think you need to gain some perspective about what is serious and what isn't."
Bill hoped that would work to calm Flip's reactions down. Nothing on a fire scene ever went as planned. The boy would be dangerous if he lost his head on one, and he wasn't going to go to the boy's funeral if he could help it. Let him see what the burned and crippled children had to put up with every day of their lives. Let him see what was really something to get angry about, what their true `enemy' did.
Philip slowly walked to the ambulance and medics who'd been practicing their rehab drill that day. He was so ashamed when he'd apologized to everybody. He had been so stupid to let his temper take over. Everybody had said it was nothing and to forget it, but he knew he never would. He felt his confidence slipping away. How could anyone trust him if he couldn't trust himself? He'd even started to tell Bill he was resigning, but the look he received from him while he was apologizing kept him from doing it. The old man's understanding eyes seemed to bore through to his soul.
"Hey, hot stuff. How's it going?" Philip recognized the medic from that first run weeks ago. "Thought you'd like to know, that kid you helped me with is still alive. He's at Shriner's, getting fitted for a new leg. So, what can we do for you?"
Philip felt his spirits lift immediately. No matter what else happened, he had helped somebody and he had a chance to maybe see him, help him, again. He brought himself back to the reason he was over there. "Can you remove splinters?"
Philip smelled the deep salt air as he exited the old silver gray Toyota sedan his mom had turned over to him for his birthday; she'd gotten herself a new Volvo in the exchange. He slowly walked toward the large brick-covered building. He hated the idea of anything to do with hospitals, but he'd agreed to Bill's order. He didn't know what he would learn here, but it was an order. He didn't know if he was obligated to obey when he was off duty like this. But then, with a volunteer department, who knew when off duty' was or even what it meant? Theoretically, the members could be on twenty-four-hour call seven days a week; hell, some of the stay-at-home wives were on that type of schedule. Of course, if he decided to respond, it would take him two hours to get there, so he figured he was officially off duty'.
He was amazed by what he saw inside as he deposited his backpack in a locker area. (He wasn't taking any chances this time and brought a couple of changes of clothes). None of the walls were white! They were different colors and covered with artwork. This place was nothing like he expected. He listened to the physical therapist he'd been attached to as she described what he would be doing to help. Then he met their first patient and learned a lesson in how others met their problems. The child was covered from head to toe in a tan `Skin Stretcher', as the therapist explained. The natural grin on the kid's face he'd remember forever.
They finally approached the last room of the day. Philip was more nervous with this one than he'd been with the others. He quickly glanced at the name on the door. Gabriel Martin Miller, that was the one they were looking for.
"Marty? Are you ready?" the therapist called out to the empty room.
"Yeah, give me a minute!" a youthful voice answered from the closed bathroom.
Philip looked at the few cards and such scattered around the room. Gabriel - no, Marty - was the boy he'd helped that night that seemed so long ago. He was a little surprised that there weren't more decorations and cards from his friends and schoolmates, but guessed they had been left at the original hospital where he'd been taken.
The boy, when he crutched his way out of the bathroom, caused Philip to inhale suddenly. He looked so much younger than he had in the back of the ambulance, but it was the same kid, straight black hair over his ears, pale skinny frame, but strong looking arms emerged from his shirt. Philip couldn't help but stare at the kid's legs, though. They were obviously muscular, matching his arms, and dusted with black hairs. What he couldn't tear his eyes away from was the way the kid's left leg just stopped a few inches below his knee. The stump was encased in a plastic-and-Velcro stump shaper. The therapist had explained it all to Philip, but he couldn't help himself. He found himself wondering what had happened that night to put this beautiful and obviously athletic boy in this position.
"What are you staring at?" Marty began with some heat in his voice. "Never seen somebody hit by a train before?"
"Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to." Philip felt his color returning. "And yeah, I've seen it. I was there with the fire department that night. I rode with you to the hospital."
"You should have left me there to die!" Marty felt his bitterness rise. "It would have been better if you had!"
"Marty!" the therapist interjected forcefully. "Enough of that! Now get in the chair!" She indicated the wheelchair they'd brought with them. "I don't want any arguments."
"Yes, ma'am. You won't get an argument from me." Philip saw a slight twinkle in Marty's deep black eyes as he leaned back into the chair. "It wouldn't be much of an argument; I don't have a leg to stand on!"
"Oh, Marty," the therapist smiled down at her patient. "So tell me, what have you been up to on my day off?"
"Well, ..." Marty had been waiting for this one, "...about five ten on one side and five foot on the other!"
She just laughed, ruffled the black hair unmercifully, until it stuck out in all directions, as she walked alongside the chair as Philip pushed.
Philip pushed in silence. Why was he so anxious to learn more about this kid? He never let himself get close to anyone, but he couldn't help it. There was something, maybe it was the fact that Marty didn't go to his school (well he didn't think so, anyway). Maybe it was that they were so far from home, or was it that Marty was the first person he'd met in a long time who didn't want to be his friend? Someone who obviously didn't want to get to know him better. Hell, Marty acted like it was his fault he was here. Maybe that's what made Marty safe for him to know. He visibly shrugged his shoulders as they proceeded. He'd try again.
"So, how old are you?" Philip asked what he thought would be a safe question.
"What the fuck do you care?" Marty snapped again. "Like it matters."
"Marty!" the therapist jumped in. She wasn't about to treat the kid any different than she would a `whole' person. She was also very old-fashioned. "You've lost your foot, not your manners! Don't think I won't swat your behind if I need to, so be nice!"
"Fifteen!" Marty looked over his shoulder, his eyes a burning challenge. "May I please be left alone now?"
`Fifteen?' Philip thought to himself as they arrived at PT. That opened up so many questions. The legal age to drive was sixteen; why was Marty driving and why didn't he use his first name? A thousand other questions went unasked. He had to leave for home now that his shift was over, but he'd be back tomorrow. He hoped that they'd have more time to talk.
As he left the hospital, he continued to puzzle over his reaction to Marty. Why hadn't his built-in walls thrown themselves up? He shook his head; of course, he'd asked all the questions. Gabriel Martin Miller hadn't asked him a thing yet!
"Welcome back, Flip!" Bill smiled at Philip as he entered the station. He was alone and reading the latest course catalogue from the Fire Training School in College Station. "How was your day?"
"It was interesting," Philip replied. "I learned a lot."
"Good." Bill was overjoyed to see Flip deep in thought. "I wanted you to see and remember what can happen, why we're here. You're a smart kid. Too smart to let your temper keep you from thinking things through." Bill had taught a number of classes, but nothing beat a one on one. "As long as you think, you'll be ten times safer out there. I don't want fearless firefighters. Anyone tells you that they don't fear fire is a dead fool. A good firefighter is the one who uses his training to think his way through the fear." He looked on, pleased. Philip was soaking it all up like a sponge. "As for your relationship with the other members, I have two rules: One, don't sweat the small shit. And two, it's all small shit! You don't have to like them, but you do have to respect them for doing the same job!" He grinned at the boy, "Well, I think that's enough of my preaching for now."
"Yes, sir." Philip answered. He could easily listen to the old man `preach' for hours about the "Brotherhood" as they called it. He also felt himself relax. The old man had accepted him back. He still had his place in the department.
Philip bolted upright as Bill's pager tripped. He and the old man listened intently as different tones kept sounding over the air.
"Get your gear on and remember what I told you. Think!" Bill barked before the announcement came.
Philip raced to his cubicle and kicked his sneakers into it.
"Department nine! Engine ninety four, engine ninety two, engine ninety one, tanker ninety four, tanker ninety one, cascade ninety one, ambulance eighty six, number nine. A structure fire. 20113 Blackstone at Pardee!"
Philip finished dressing and jogged towards the engine. He felt the familiar knots in his stomach double their somersaults. He hadn't been able to make many runs since that first one. He only got the car recently and was too slow on his bike to make the truck in time.
"Department nine, you have a working fire. S.O.(Sheriff Officer) on location," the disembodied voice calmly droned.
Philip shook his body as another wave of adrenaline surged through his blood. This was for real! It wasn't a training fire that they set themselves and then put out. `OK, think.' He forced himself to calm down and move with deliberate action.
"Flip, get in the front!" Bill was already sitting in the driver's seat. "I don't know if anyone else is around tonight."
"Where is everybody?" Philip jumped into the front where indicated.
"Just the curse of a volunteer department!" Bill shrugged his shoulders as they waited for the three minute cutoff. "Everybody wants to party on the same nights. I was kind of surprised you aren't at the school with your friends, dancing." He looked at his watch. "OK, that's it. It's just us!"
"So, Jeff, how long have you known Philip?" Mrs. Nevins looked at the two well dressed boys sitting politely on her couch. "He's never invited any of his friends over before."
"I guess we've known him for a couple of years now." Jeff looked at Peter before continuing. "We just dropped by to change his mind about going to the dance tonight."
"I'm afraid you'd have to throw him in the trunk of your car to get him to a dance." She smiled wistfully. "He never even told me there was a dance."
"Yeah, well..." Jeff shifted uncomfortably, "...if he already has plans or a date, we understand."
"A date?" She raised her eyebrows a little. "I'm afraid you'd know more about that than I would. He doesn't tell me anything."
"He doesn't date anyone from school." Peter jumped into the conversation. "He says he doesn't want to date the girls he works with all the time. We thought maybe he was dating outside of school and we wanted to invite both of them."
"No, I don't think he is going out with anyone." She swallowed hard, not wanting to invade her son's privacy, but these were his friends. "All I know is that he does his homework, watches TV, or plays on our computer, and works out a lot."
She got a faraway look in her eyes. She'd been embarrassed when she'd accidentally walked in on her sleeping son and found him naked on the bed. She never said anything, she didn't want to embarrass him, but her experienced coach's eye had been impressed with the results of his work-outs. "It's like he's worked so hard to build a wonderful gift, but won't try to find someone special to share it with. And I'm not just talking about his body." She saw the shocked look from the others and dissembled quickly. "Don't think I haven't seen all the whispers and giggles from the packs of girls we encounter when I manage to drag him to the mall on an errand."
"Can I get either of you another Coke?" She looked at the wall clock. Flip, she smiled at her son's nickname they had given him, should have been home by now.
"No, thank you," they both chimed together.
"May I use the joh... I mean restroom?" Peter stood and winced internally, still on his best behavior.
"Of course. It's just down that hall." She turned her head to hide her smile. These two were trying so hard to be `proper' and it fit them as well as a dress on an elephant. "Oh, and Peter, in the future you don't have to ask. You and Jeff are always welcome here."
Peter quickly strode down the hall, bypassing the open bathroom door. He tried the first closed door and glanced inside. The bedroom was small and spotless. It had to be a guest room; no one had been in there for a long time. Quietly closing the door, he moved to the end of the hall and tried the door there. Jeff had been dead set against what he was doing, so he'd lied and said he wouldn't.
He looked around the room as he pushed the door aside. Nothing looked out of the ordinary to him: bed unmade, dirty clothes in a heap in the corner of the room, and a half built F-14 model on the desk (Well, that at least was something they didn't know.). He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know what he'd find, but all this was just like everybody else. Even the smell was `typical'.
He was about to shut the door when he saw a framed photograph of two boys. One looked like Flip, but he had to turn it over to be sure. Both of the boys in the image were standing on their hands, just wearing swim trunks and huge grins. Flip had to be eleven or twelve, the other boy a couple of years older. Peter fought down a twinge of envy; Flip looked cute at that age. Peter had always been large, culminating in his current two hundred seventy pound lineman's bulk. `Oh well, at least he carried his size well'. He didn't look fat, just big. His girlfriend didn't complain anyway.
He turned the photo to try to make out the writing in the dim light that filtered from the open door. `Friends forever! Mike." was scrawled across the bottom. He quickly replaced the photo and exited the room when he heard the faint sirens in the distance.
"Think!" Philip emphasized under his breath as he finished struggling into the airpack (SCBA), nestled in the seat, and felt with his hands to make sure there wasn't any bare skin showing through his armor. He looked up through the windshield at the glow and smoke they were approaching. 'Oh God, Oh God,' kept repeating over and over in his mind.
"Flip! When we get on scene, pull the two hundred foot crosslay!" Philip let Bill's calm voice settle him down. "Remember when I talked about `special circumstance'? This is one of them!" He took a deep breath of his own and stole a quick glance at the rookie in the seat next to him. "I want you to start a primary search while I get the truck set and finish dressing. I'll follow the hose in and join you as soon as I can!"
Bill hated having to do it this way, but he felt they didn't have a choice. Besides, the next engine was only five minutes behind them and they would take over his usual duties of monitoring the pump and water supply.
"My baby's in there!" was all the two heard as they emerged from the engine.
Philip was surprised at how clear his mind was as he dragged the rest of the inch-and-three-quarter attack line toward the front door of the trailer home. One end of the trailer had already collapsed in a sea of flame and smoke.
He calmly checked the settings on the nozzle in his hands and watched as the heavy stream of water emerged, pushing him back with 100 PSI of force. He quickly shut it down and proceeded on all fours through the door. The heat from the wall of flames over his head was incredible. His shoulders, where the airpack straps pressed his gear tightly against his skin, began to ache. The whole room was bathed in bright yellow light. It didn't even flicker like he'd expected.
The sparse living room appeared empty; the cushions were starting to smoke as well. He needed to move on, but another intense wave of heat forced him instinctively to his belly. He was crazy to be here!' he thought to himself quickly. Even the roaches had sense enough to leave!' He also felt his stubbornness make itself known. He couldn't let the devil win. Not this time!
He pointed the nozzle up and began firing quick bursts of water at the flames like he'd been taught; the flames lessened momentarily. He continued to try to push them back and keep the worst of the heat high over his head. In his inexperience, he momentarily lost his coordination and forgot to shut the nozzle down as the water traced a figure eight pattern across the ceiling.
The room instantly went dark as the water and flame converted to steam and snuffed the fire in that part of the trailer suddenly.
"Fuck!" Philip yelled in frustration as over a thousand degrees descended with the steam to the floor where he lay.
End of pt 2
My thanks to ED for his editorial assistance with this story.
I hope some of the firefighting terms I've used aren't too confusing. I've been doing it for over ten years and have to stop every now and then to think of a clearer way to put some things. Anyway, let me know what you think of the story so far.
Thanks. Willy B.
P.S. You can find the other two stories I'm currently writing under "Mile High" in the High school' section and "Flak Bait" in the Historical'.