Fire!
So late, so quiet.
The 24-hour clock reads 0317.
Three stamping time clocks
acknowledge each minute out of unison. Otherwise, silence. Suddenly the
alarm cuts and jump - starts my
heart. I grab the line.
“Fire Department Emergency.” So firm, so
sure, yet my insides turn.
This new world I have so recklessly taken on
overwhelms me with its
seriousness. With
each ring, I feel responsible for someone’s life. I fumble the
hot potato from hand to hand
until I am able to pass it onto firefighters
dragged from their dreams to those
in need.
The intensity of the frightened woman’s voice shakes
me to my core.
“Help me, please! Oh God! Oh God!”
“Do you have a fire?” I struggle to
suppress my fear.
“Yes, yes. Oh God please help!” she screams
over me.
“What’s your address?”
Click - I have lost her. My pulse races. It’s late.
Everyone must be sleeping -
children perhaps. My partner grabs the printout. We got an address!
I send out the alarm:
“Pump 1, Tower 1, Pump 10, Rescue 6, 5-8, residential structure fire.”
My throat tightens. I gasp for much needed air and continue.
“8200 128 Street.” I provide tac
assignments, grid numbers, hydrant
locations to the sleepy-eyed
firefighters. I pass the hot
potato. Now I sit and
wait, count and
hope. Each second is an hour.
“Pump 1, on scene.” The radio spits
at me. Thank God they’ve arrived.
“Two storey house, fully involved.
Tower 1 start search and rescue.
Pump
10, catch that
hydrant.”
Time passes and I hear nothing. Then,
“Dispatch,
Pump 1. We report three rescued
victims. Smoke inhalation.
Are ambulances responding?”
Fifteen minutes later, the fire is knocked down. My heartbeat slows.
I unclench my fists. We didn’t lose anyone.
I’ve been part of this scary world for only three
short weeks. My first fire
is now behind
me. They say it gets easier, but right
now that’s hard
to believe. Feeling so
alone and afraid in this new world.
I remind myself it’s all for the good.
I walk the room, then return to my console to wait for
the next one.
My partner, who’s had 15
years of this, tosses her pen forward and
falls back into her chair. She stares vacantly at me for a moment.
“I thought we were going to lose someone.” She
mutters.
And I see the relief on her
face.
Perhaps it never does get easier.
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