Station 1 / Ladder 3

I heard the sirens before I saw the trucks. The wailing, melancholy pitch like the mermaid's song of doom.

 Standing on the busy street corner, I squeezed my eyes shut tight and prepared for the approach. 

Loud clanging accosted my senses with the force of gale winds. The monotony of whining, like that of a neglected baby in her crib, sad and defeated from being unattended for far too long. A shiver went down my spine. 

The cacophony of noise-polluted music stirred up a familiar sweet sickening melody I hated to love. As their screams rang louder in my ears, signaling their arrival, I opened my eyes to witness the passing, just like a funeral procession. As usual, I looked inside the driver’s cabin to see faces, helmets, uniforms. Then the finale. I glanced up at the rear of the truck to watch the hook-and-ladder driver pass by. Perched high above the lower cabin, the seating resembled the old fashioned glass-encased phone booths. The firefighter has his own individual windshield, foot pedals, and steering wheel. 

Whenever I see that part of the fire engine, I automatically replay my father’s voice in my head, ”When you drive in that seat on the truck, everything is reversed. So to turn left you have to steer right. Right is left, left is right.”

There the speech ends. The truck is gone. So is my father. 

The mixture of memories swirls above me like smoke. I release my consciousness to accompany the truck as it races toward the burning building, and bring myself back to that night….

“WIDE AWAKE! WIDE AWAKE! BRRRRRRMMPP! BRRRRRRMMMPP!! WIDE AWAKE THIS IS A FOUR ALARM FIRE. STATION 1 LADDER 3! WIDE AWAKE.” The police radio scanner blared throughout rooms of our small city apartment. As a small child, I slept through their broadcast. But my mother, a young wife desperate to please her Brave Knight Firefighter, was quick on the response.

“Kim, Mary, Wake up! Get dressed! We’re going to see Daddy at the fire!” Then off she rushed to ready blankets, coffee, and whatever other provisions were needed to watch a building burn to the ground.

“I’m sleepy!” I rolled into my older sister’s warm body for comfort. Even though I had my own bed bunked above, I preferred to sleep beside her. I felt protected there, cozy and safe.

“C’mon Mary. I’ll help you get dressed,” said Kim, as she steadied my sleepy body. She put my clothes right over top of my pajamas, and that seemed silly to me so I giggled.

Our apartment was tiny but appeared not so, due to the very long, 25 foot  hallway. Shuffling through drowsy eyes, I finally made it to the front door.

“Carry me!” I grabbed my Mom’s pant leg. She frowned, then assessed the situation before us. Navigating the dark, narrow descent down our old  stairs with a tired child would slow her down.

“Ok, ok,” she positioned me on her hip and, step by step, we made our way out. By the time we reached the bottom, my body had slid almost to the floor. My mother didn’t notice, and I tried not to complain.

The cold, night air stung my nostrils. Luckily, we had a parking spot close to our building. The night street was barely recognizable without the rush of busy traffic, people, buses, and honking horns. The dark silence crept closer. I ran the last few steps to our car.

“Mary, get under the blanket with me!” Kim pulled me close as we sat side by side in the backseat of our yellow Volkswagen. I disappeared into her soft, big sister arms. Our old car did not have heat. Shivering, we sped through the deserted city streets toward the four-alarm blaze. Even though we knew the address, the blinking lights and screaming sirens revealed our destination long before our arrival.

Finally we pulled up to the scene. Scarcely awake, I rubbed sleep out of my eyes and got out of the car. Too bright white, blue, and red lights blinked maniacally. I felt dizzy and intoxicated. The flashing colors and loud explosions reminded me of fireworks. I smiled tentatively and reached for my sister’s hand. I tried to cover my ears from the deafening chaos. We pushed our way through the crowd, trying to keep up with our mother as she darted past first-responders. The screeching sounds from apparatus revving, fire blazing, and walls collapsing vibrated in my chest. We inched closer toward the fiery inferno. Heat radiated directly at me and my cheeks were instantly warmed. 

“Cover your mouth!” yelled my mother over her shoulder, “Or you’ll inhale the smoke.” I tried to use my scarf for protection but it kept slipping and getting tangled in my hair. Feeling overwhelmed, I suppressed tears. I didn’t want to be a baby. 

I put my hands over my face and coughed. My eyes began to water, but the heat from the building felt good. However, with my face covered and blocking the heat, I soon was shivering once again.

 “Move now!” The Captain shouted his orders over a megaphone. Police, ambulance, and scary strangers scrambled everywhere. 

“Step back, Ma’am,” commanded the officer at my mother.

“My husband is a fireman, you know!” She retorted. 

“Behind the line!” barked the officer.

Yellow plastic tape was tied to a standing piece of metal, the other end was out of my sight. A mobile barricade meant to keep us out.

“Let’s go! Quick!” my mother whispered.

Soon as the Captain was out of sight, my mother dragged us back to the other side of the caution tape.

We stood for what seemed like forever, trying to spy my father.

“Where Mommy, I can’t see!” 

She picked me up for a better look. 

“There!” her finger pointed to the third floor balcony pouring smoke and orange yellow flames. 

“But I can’t see him!” I whined, feeling exhausted from this unwelcome field trip. 

“No you can’t,” she absently replied. “But he’s there.” A few seconds later, a frigid wind gusted and mixed with fumes, quickly filling the air with the wonderful smell of acrid exhaust. 

“Coming through! Out of the way!” yelled the fire chief, dragging the heavy hose. Immediately the crowd opened up and a narrow space appeared,  as if by magic.

“Mary! Get over here!” Mommy grabbed my arm. The enormous water hose raced past my feet, five men hauling it over their shoulders. I watched the flat, brown, canvas slowly grow larger and fatter, lightly spitting icy moisture everywhere. 

“All clear!” yelled the men back at the hydrant.

Without warning, a blast of pressurized water raced from the hydrant.  Hundreds of gallons of cold water burst violently through the hose, searching for an escape at the end of the hole.  I was astonished to witness the once-flat creature now forming a round mysterious snake that laid calmly in the muddied dirt. I stared at this optical illusion for a few moments to comprehend the trick, then suddenly I heard a different, pulsing sound.

“It’s cold Mommy!!” A frozen spray of water pricked my cheeks. I felt as if I had been slapped in the face with frozen ice. I knew I wouldn’t be able to push down the tears this time.

“Here,” she thrust a blanket toward me and picked me up. Then she focused back on the emergency displayed before us. I was relieved my mother didn’t realize I was on the verge of crying. It would have made her mad at me.

“You’re getting heavy,” scolded Mommy. “You have to stand now.”

I slid down my mother’s hip, hitting the ground hard. I understood being held in my mother’s arms upset her, but standing on my own, there were many countless dangers. I had nowhere to go.

“Get back! Get back!” Frantic shouts from unseen workers echoed through the air. An urgency overtook me and I felt panicked.

Suddenly the crowd moved like the big ocean waves that tower my head at the beach. Turbulent currents that roll me over and topple me below the surface, stealing my breath.

The next thing I remember was tasting gravel. My hands stung and I lost my blanket. I was trapped in my own cloud of smoke and mist and confusion.

“Mommy! Where’d you go?!” I yelled into thick, dust-filled air. I was alone and abandoned and angry. Except there was no one there to point my anger toward. I wept bitterly. My terrified tears turned to rage toward my absent mother. I ran to an opening in the crowd, afraid I’d get stepped on, as the big people rushed around in panic.

“Mary! Are you ok? Get up! I’ll help you.” Kim put her two hands under my armpits and lifted me. 

“What happened? Why are you crying?” She seemed so upset I thought for a minute she was also hurt. I studied her face to determine if she was crying. 

Before I could think of a reason for my tears, she wiped her dirty mitten across my cheek, creating a mud streak. Mixing with the dirt on my face, I felt like my sister rubbed me with gritty sandpaper. But I didn’t care. 

“Here’s your blanket, come with me.” We huddled together and I remembered the story of the Little Match Girl my father was so fond of telling. That gave me a thought.

“Kim, do you think there could be two Little Match Girls?”

Her eyebrows scrunched together. 

“Well, maybe,” she answered. “We are little and that is a really big flame!” We looked at the burning house for a moment, saying nothing.

“Come over here.” Kim led me to an open spot on the sidewalk where we could sit and not be trampled by the frantic adults. We sat, hip to hip, sharing the blanket. It reminded me of watching a parade, and I smiled. 

I stayed there, my sister by my side, until the smoldering building was flattened to the ground. Eventually, Mommy came back. 

“There you are!” She declared, as if she discovered a missing item she’d be searching for, and one that was intentionally hiding from her.

“I saw your father!” she announced proudly. “C’mon. We’re going home now,” she declared.

Kim took my hand and went to find our yellow punch buggy.

 It was late and the night was wide awake and alive. I heard the last of the charred house come down with a loud crashing thud behind us. Radio walkie talkies shouted commands about investigations and victims and transports. Danger was everywhere, not only for the men wearing oxygen tanks and masks. 

“That was scary,” I said to Kim and shuddered.

“It was, but you’re safe now,” she replied.

I watched my mother hurry ahead of us, wondering if that was true.

I thought about the warm blanket in the car, and also our soft bed back at home. I squeezed my sister’s hand in mine. 

“You’re safe too, Kim,” I told her. 

“WHOOOOOSH!”

Wind from the passing truck threw my hair across my face, temporarily blinding my sight. I felt the concrete sidewalk hard beneath my feet. I remembered the truck that passed and grounded myself, present in the moment.

For a moment, my eyes remained closed, and I allowed the energy from the distant truck to overtake me. 

The city air whispered softly, “Go ahead.”  

I breathed in deeply. Cries of sirens and screams and children and heroes and fires were alive within and around me. I accepted them all. Tipping my head skyward, I embraced the full intensity of ubiquitous sunshine. Shining just for me. I brushed my hair to the side and absorbed the heat, allowing it to completely surround me. I leaned into it and let go,  sheltered by its warmth.

“Are you going across??” An impatient voice demanded from somewhere behind me. “The light is green!”

I glanced up at the traffic light, which was not blinking. Not flashing. Not screeching. Nothing burning. Nobody dying. Just green.

“Yeah,” I smiled, “I am.”