I tried hard to prove to them that I was worth something. I learned how to do things around the house at an early age. I kept my room spotless. They never gave me a shred of praise for anything I did. Straight A’s in school, the best ERA on the baseball team… nothing mattered. It was like beating myself against a brick wall. Nothing I did was good enough to get their attention. I remember the middle school science fair. I worked hard on the project that won the blue ribbon, and all my father could say was that my logic was faulty. I was only thirteen. Those words smashed every bit of pride I felt, and it took a long time to recover. Thinking about it still hurts. Maybe I never did recover.

The only bright spot in my life was Grandma Brice. She cared. She loved me. Whenever I was upset, I’d sneak out of the house, cross the alley and run the ten blocks to her house. That must have been where I built up the endurance to run long distance, because I did it a lot. Grandma was the most important person in my life, and if it hadn't been for her, I would've given up a long time ago.

I miss her. I used to talk to thin air, like she was still with me, hoping for an answer to my troubles. I gave that up a long time ago. I felt like an idiot talking to someone who wasn't there anymore. That's when I discovered writing. It's not the same, but it's something.

I was beginning to think that I'd spend the rest of my life alone, searching in vain for what I was missing. Then I found Calla. Or she found me. She’s the one. I’m more certain of it every day. But I still worry. I've never been in a relationship like this, and I'm not always sure what to expect. I don't want to do or say the wrong thing and drive her away.

I need to learn from her. I need to get rid of my insecurities, but it's hard when I see her with other people. It's especially hard when I see her with John Gage. They're so comfortable in their friendship with each other, but I don't think either one sees how that makes me feel.

Gage was discharged from the hospital a few days ago. His physical condition is still limiting his ability to do things, and he’ll need assistance for a while. Calla offered to help him on her days off. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but I’m not comfortable with that. They’ve been friends for some time, and I have no reason to ask her not to. Maybe I’m jealous. She even suggested that I help too. I’m not sure how Gage feels about that. I’m not sure how I feel about that. We’ll see. I'll take it one day at a time.

August 6th 11:00 PM

Dear John,

My broken ankle hasn't bothered me much, but the walking cast is hot and uncomfortable and makes it difficult for me to get around. I haven't been able raise my left arm or move my shoulder very much without being reminded not to. At least the cuts have all healed and the stitches from my forearm are gone. Chet told me there was blood everywhere from that.

The worst thing is that I can't move my upper body or even breathe without hurting. I got a double dose of trouble. Broken ribs and a dislocated sternum. That happened when Bob did CPR. When my heart stopped in the ambulance. I know a sore chest beats the alternative, but it still hurts a lot to take a deep breath. I've been doing those damn breathing exercises to keep my lungs clear. It hurts to do them. I hate doing them.

Face it, I'm doing good just to move sometimes. That's why all the volunteer help.

Callie came over about nine this morning and stayed all day. I wouldn’t mind if she came every day. It’s not that I don’t appreciate all the help everyone else is giving me, because I do. I do. It’s just that none of the guys look like she does. I had to keep reminding myself all day that we’re just friends, but there were times when that was pretty hard to do. Like when she tucked me in bed for a nap and kissed my forehead. You don’t see Roy or Chet doing that for me.

Wrong picture. Forget I said that.

Of course, every five minutes she’d say “Craig this” or “Craig that” and that certainly helped to remind me. I hope he knows how lucky he is. I still don’t get it though. What’s he got that I don’t? She always said I wasn’t her type, and after I got to know her a little better, I knew she was probably right. I kind of thought she and Brice might get along, since she’s a bit of a perfectionist, but I never imagined they’d fall in love. Matchmaking has never been a strong suit of mine. Just look at me. I’m the perfect example of what I’m talking about. Nothing but wrong matches. I can’t say that it hasn’t been fun looking though. Like that girl I met at the bowling alley a couple of months ago. We didn't have much in common and she couldn't bowl worth a damn, but she sure knew how to

Never mind. Can I help it if I like women?

It was great being around Callie today. Besides being beautiful, she’s smart and funny and a really good friend. She never gives me that “poor Johnny” look I seem to get from everyone else. SHE makes me feel better. I’m looking forward to the next time she comes over. I still wonder how Brice feels about all this. He seemed a little uncomfortable about the whole deal, but I don’t think he has anything to worry about. It'd be obvious to a blind man that she’s head over heels in love with the guy, and I’d certainly never do anything to get in the way of that. Not my style. And by the way, she’s not my type either.

Sometimes I think it would be kind of nice though. To have someone special. Someone to talk to when things get rough.

Someone to hold onto when the nightmares begin.

Johnny

7 August, 1945 hours

As Bob and I worked to save the young victim of a car accident, it happened. A puzzling, and most surprisingly, not unwelcome feeling. I looked beyond the cuts and the blood and the pain, and saw a vibrant little girl. Brightly wrapped presents and her stained yellow dress were evidence she was going to a party. It stirred something inside me. I had no idea where that feeling came from, but it was there. I touched her warm skin and felt a human being, not a victim. I put on my professional face and did my job, but this time there was a difference. Her name was Emily. A beautiful name for a beautiful child. I took as much comfort from calling her by name as she did hearing me say it.

Because of our efforts, Emily will live. The relief I felt was overwhelming, and the sense of satisfaction was greater than any I'd experienced in a long time.

It was a hard fall when I was brought down to earth again this afternoon. A diving accident. Lifeguards were doing CPR when we arrived on the scene. I knew there was no hope, but I couldn’t stop trying to get him back. When they called his time of death in the ER, I cried inside. It hurt to lose this one. His name was Stephen. He was my cousin.

I hadn’t seen him since he was little. I looked at his face once more before I left the room. He was so young. So much of life ahead, so much promise. It didn't seem fair.

His death was sudden and unexpected. No one had been able to pinpoint yet what went wrong. I know things happen that way sometimes. It was an accident. In the past I would've just brushed it off with that thought, but I'm beginning to look at things differently. I'm beginning to see my own mortality.

It’s that randomness of tragedy, the senselessness of it, that feeds my dreams. In a moment, life is gone, and you can’t prevent it from happening. That’s the fear that keeps me awake, and makes me think about what I'm doing with my life. It shook something up inside of me today, the contrasts of life and death that I never considered before. I never thought about tragedies happening to people who are just like me.

It all makes what happened to Gage and DeSoto even more personal. I think if I was in John's shoes right now, I might not want to remember it either.

I haven't spoken to my aunt in a long time. This won't be easy, but I feel I should be with her now. Maybe it's time I start to put the past behind me.

August 8th 7:30 PM

The guys were all here today to watch a pre-season football game and keep me company. We all thought it was a great idea, but it didn’t turn it out that way. They seemed nervous around me. At first I thought it was just because every time they’d start to talk about something at work, they felt bad because they know how much I miss it and want to get back to the station. Then something happened, and now I realize it was more than that.

I make them nervous. I even scared them a little, I think. Hell, I scared myself.

We were sitting in the living room watching the game, and Mike went and got a couple of six packs out of the refrigerator for us. The pull tab on Roy’s got stuck and when it came off, it sliced his finger just a little. He started kind of waving his hand around in the air, shaking it, saying he wasn’t hurt, but that it just stung. Someone laughed and said something about there not being any wasps in the room.

I'm not sure why, but I guess I freaked out over that. It must have had something to do with that day. The day of the accident. I don’t remember a thing about it. It’s just gone. All I know is what they’ve told me. Two kids drag racing ran a red light and hit us in the intersection. Brice and Belliveau pulled us out, and I woke up in the hospital two days later in a lot of pain. No one has said much about the details, and I haven’t asked. I don’t need to know the details. Roy and I are alive, and that’s all that matters.

I have no idea what happened today either. It was kind of like I blacked out, but not exactly, and when I came around again, everyone was looking at me with these real worried looks on their faces. Roy kept telling them that I was okay, but I don’t think they believed him. I don’t think he believed it. They all left at half-time. Everyone except Roy.

It was that baby sitter thing again.

He finally left about a half-hour ago when I told him I was tired and wanted to go to bed.

Roy said Brice is coming over tomorrow. Man, I don’t know if I’m up to having him around. A whole day of Brice. I don’t care if he’s changed or not. We have nothing in common to talk about. Except Callie, and I really don’t want to hear about that. Not now.

My head hurts again. I didn’t want to say anything to Roy. It was hard enough to get him to leave as it was. I’ll take something for the headache, but I’m not taking a sleeping pill again. If I can’t sleep without it, then I just won’t sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Lately it seems staying awake is better anyway.

9 August, 1035 hours

The sound of a crash shattered the quiet of John's apartment just as I had entered and I quickly located the source -- his bedroom. My presence startled him and he grappled with the sheets that entangled him. When I started to lend a hand, he snapped at me, telling me he was fine. I stood back and watched him, taking the moment to run a clinical eye over him; slightly diaphoretic, breathing a little too rapid and irregular, but overall he seemed fine. Fine for someone recovering from a near-fatal accident.

Since he seemed in some considerable physical discomfort, I asked him if he was indeed fine. He acted annoyed with the question, and settled back down underneath his covers. I was somewhat surprised with his response of, "I'll live," but I offered to get him some aspirin. When I returned, he seemed to be asleep again.

The cause of the crash was the phone and clock being knocked to the floor. I picked them up and put them back on the night stand. There were magazines strewn on the floor beside the bed, and as I gathered them to stack them into a pile, I discovered a notebook, opened with the spine facing up. As I plucked it off the floor, I saw it contained handwriting. John’s, I assumed. I caught a glimpse of a date, but didn’t read anything else. Who would have thought John Gage would keep a journal.

He appeared to be resting comfortably, so I closed the door and busied myself in the kitchen. Except for the brief argument that came from across the hall earlier, I've discovered it's a lot quieter here than at my complex, an environment very conducive to thinking -- whether you want to or not. I saw it all again.

Blood. Blood everywhere. I couldn't get it out of my mind. I thought I had put it behind me, but seeing John still with so many visible signs of what happened that night brought it all back. Blood splattered on the inside of the cab, blood pooled on the seat. People shouting outside, and there I was, in the middle of it. I remember the sick feeling crawling up from my stomach, burning in my throat. I need to let it go or I won't be able to do my job. I've always been able to tolerate the sight of blood, but now it conjures up the memories and makes me think. It could have been me.

 

August 9th 2:00 PM

This is hard. To write about the nightmare. I know I have to try if I'm ever going to find any answers. I know that. I haven't wanted to admit it to anyone, but I have to know what I saw that night. I have to know what comes next after I see the car. I need to know why it scares me when I sleep. I need to know why I don't remember when I'm awake.

The dream reminds me of developing film in a darkroom. I keep watching the image appear, but it's faint and fuzzy. I'm waiting for the picture to come into focus. The longer it takes me to see it clearly, the more worried I get. Worried I'll never see it. Worried if I do see it, what it is I'll see. And if I finally see what's behind all this, will that be the end of it? Or just the beginning?

I have to know. I don't want to know.

 

9 August, 1500 hours

Lunch was awkward. John and I have nothing in common, except our job. At a time like this, I didn't think he'd want to talk about work, so we had little to say to each other. John has lost weight and needs to eat, but he was quiet and picked at his food. It was hard for me to look at him without remembering the accident. I know John doesn't remember it and is having some problems because of that. I almost envy him. I wish I could forget it too.

Roy called and they talked for a while. I tried not to listen in, but I overheard John say something about driving just before he hung up. As soon as I made the comment, I realized I shouldn't have, but fortunately he didn't seem to pay any attention to it. With a soft-spoken thanks, he got up from the table and went back to his bedroom.

When I checked later to see if he needed anything, I entered the room without warning, and saw him sliding the journal under the pillow, a sheepish look on his face. Unsure whether I should say anything, I took a chance and asked him about it. He hesitated again, then admitted Captain Lewis suggested it, but he didn’t say why. Not wanting to pry, I didn't press him. I only asked if it helped, but he simply shrugged. I think he was embarrassed to be caught writing. I wonder what his reaction would be if he knew about my journal.

 

August 10th 9:00 AM

Brice was here yesterday. He knows about the nightmare. I didn’t ask him not to say anything about it to anyone, figuring if I did, he would for sure. Maybe this way, he’ll just forget it.

I wish I could.

When he asked me what was wrong, for a minute I almost felt like telling him. But I didn’t. I mean, he’s Brice. He’s got his life in such perfect order that he wouldn’t begin to understand someone like me or what I'm going through. Everything about me is a mess right now, and he’d probably just try to organize my thoughts into nice neat little piles like he did with the magazines. He wouldn’t have a clue to what I’m feeling.

I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore.

Roy called yesterday. I think he was checking up on me, and was surprised when Brice handed me the phone. He didn’t mention anything about what happened the other day, but I know he wanted to. We talked for a while about nothing in particular. I'm sure he's getting tired of hearing "Gage's Complaint of the Day." Just before he had to go, Roy told me he was going back to work next week. I think he thought it would upset me to know that, since I’m still a long way from being able to go back myself. I made a few jokes about it to try to make him feel better. Even suggested he brush up on his driving skills since it had been so long since he’d driven the squad. It was a bad joke and after I hung up, I was sorry I’d said anything. I don't want him to think I blame him for the accident and my injuries.

Brice was cleaning up the kitchen and overheard what I said to Roy about the driving thing. Then he made a comment that really bothered me, although I don’t think he meant anything by it. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was trying to make a joke too. It was about as dumb as mine though. He said -- at least I’ll never have to worry about Roy letting me drive the squad again.

It still really bugs me. I should have asked him what he meant.

I was writing a few things in here yesterday afternoon, and Brice saw me putting it away. I must've looked a little embarrassed when he asked me what it was. I told him that Captain Lewis suggested I write some thoughts down. He kind of looked like he wanted to say something about it, but changed his mind. I guess he probably thought this was a dumb thing for a grown man to be doing. I thought so too. At first. I’m not so sure anymore.

Joanne called last night after Brice left, and said she’d come by today with some groceries and take some of my laundry home, and have Roy bring it back the next time he comes over. Roy’s going back to work next week. I’m glad he’s okay. It’s going to be hard for him to get behind the wheel again though after what happened. You don’t forget something like that overnight. Roy was right. It does bother me.

Not that he’s going back to work. That I’m not.

I’m going to call Joanne and ask her not to come over. I really don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see anybody today. I know they all think they’re trying to help me, but they aren’t. They’re just making me feel worse. I don’t need anybody’s help. I can get along fine on my own from now on. I’m tired of trying to make everyone understand that. I’m tired of being tired.

I'm tired of hurting so damn much.

What the hell did Brice mean by that?

 

10 August, 0345 hours

Awakened by a disturbing dream over an hour ago, I’ve given up all hope of getting back to sleep. I tried closing my eyes but it kept replaying itself. I'm driving the squad and a car crosses the intersection just as I do. In the past, I've been able to shrug off this dream. Lately though, I’ve discovered that not even daytime is a refuge from the anxiety these dreams bring. I still get a knot in the pit of my stomach when we go on a run, especially at night.

Two shifts ago we had a near miss on a night run, and the front end of the engine almost wound up in the squad’s storage compartments. Belliveau was shaken and so was I, but we made it to the call and did our jobs. I should be over this by now, but it's on my mind constantly.

Calla and I are spending the day together tomorrow. I've decided to talk to her about it. With her help, I know I can put this behind me. I trust her and it's time for me to let her know that.

* * * * * * * *

12 August, 1840 hours

I could try to blame my actions yesterday on the heat, but I won’t. I was tired, but that’s not an excuse either. I still can’t believe what I said to Calla. I don't know what I was thinking.

I wanted to talk to her about the dreams and the things that were bothering me, but all she wanted to talk about was John Gage. Fed up with her questioning me about my day with him, I got surly and said something I shouldn’t have. I suggested to Calla that if she were so hung up on John, maybe she should just start going out with him. I said I wasn’t like him, always dating different women. I told her I’m a one-woman man, and I expected her to be a one-man woman. I can’t forget the look of shock and sadness on her face, as though I’d just slapped her. I said I was sorry, but the damage had already been done.

I’m afraid I really did it, I drove her away.

 

August 12th 10:00 PM

Callie came over today on her day off to take me to my doctor’s appointment. She chewed me out royally when she saw me. I guess I hadn't shaved or changed my clothes for a few days. I was complaining about everything. She yelled at me for feeling sorry for myself and told me if she ever saw me looking or acting like that again, she’d make sure I knew what it really meant to hurt. I believed her too. She’s just what I needed. Everyone else keeps walking on eggshells around me. Asking what’s wrong. Trying to get me to talk. Hell, if they don’t know what’s wrong by now, I’m not about to tell them.

I'm tired of doing exercises. I’m tired of being bored. I’m tired of not being left alone. I'm tired of saying I'm tired. I want to get better and go back to work. How hard is that to figure out?

I'm complaining again. I need to stop that. It's not like me.

After she quit yelling at me and I got cleaned up, the rest of the day got off to a great start. Callie is one of those people who makes you feel good just being around her. She treats me like she always did. Like a friend, not an invalid. After we left the doctor’s office, we bought some burgers and fries and cokes and went to the park to eat. It felt good to be outside in the sunshine again. Summer is already half over, and I'm missing it.

I miss a lot of things.

Callie made me laugh. Even laughing hurts but it was the best pain I’ve felt in a long time. She can be really funny. You know, she hardly mentioned Brice at all. I wonder why not. He’s all she could talk about when she was here last time. Maybe some of the newness of being in love has worn off. Maybe she’s not as much in love as she thought. I wasn’t about to ask her about it though. She didn’t ask me personal questions and I didn’t ask her any. It’s what helped make the day so great.

It was great. Until I saw the squad and the engine go by on a run. We were walking to her car when we heard the sirens. I remember seeing them go through the intersection, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the grass and Callie had one hand on my back and was taking my pulse with the other. I was having trouble breathing. She kept talking to me until I calmed down and stopped shaking. Then she helped me up and took me home. She sat on the side of the bed with me until I fell asleep. I remember feeling safer than I had in a long time with her there.

We had dinner after I woke up, but I was so worn out from the long day, I wanted to go right back to bed afterwards. She wouldn't let me. The drawback with her being a nurse is that she made sure I did my exercises right. No taking the easy way out. Walking my hand up the wall with a sore shoulder hurt like hell. It's still aching. And the breathing thing. I hate that. I do it three times a day, but I hate it. It shouldn't be so hard to take a deep breath after all this time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to get better.

Callie had to leave a little while ago. It’s so quiet. I don't like it. I wish she could have stayed.

I don’t want to be alone tonight.

* * * * * * * *

I saw his face.

I was driving.

* * * * * * * *

I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. I want the phone to stop ringing. I want everything to go away. I want his face to go away.

He was just a kid.

He knew he was going to die. He looked at me and knew he was going to die. And he did. Because I was driving. Not Roy. Because of the wasp sting.

It was my fault.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to be sick.

 

13 August, 0930 hours

Calla still isn’t speaking to me. I woke up more tired than when I went to sleep, with no desire to stick to my usual routine. I often spend my morning run thinking, but I didn’t want to think today. I went anyway.

I couldn’t stop dwelling on Calla. All she thinks about is John Gage, always worrying about him. She tells me they've never been anything except friends, but I wonder sometimes. I love her and I think she loves me. I thought people who loved each other were supposed to spend time together and concentrate on their relationship. When I’m with her, Calla is my main concern. When we’re apart, she’s first in my mind, unless I’m working. I know where my priorities are.

I thought I was hiding my emotions as well as always, so when Bob came to me yesterday and asked what was wrong, I was surprised. He was concerned, and I sensed he was sincere in his offer to lend a listening ear.

My fear of opening up again stopped me when I came close to giving in to the urge to tell him. Only Grandma ever listened. My parents either brushed me off or dismissed my feelings as unimportant. I couldn’t put myself through that again. I’ve never had a friend I could confide in, and as much as I'd like to have one now, I couldn't be sure he really wanted to help. He sounded like he did, but I’ve learned in life that people can express sincerity and not mean it.

I trusted Calla with my feelings, and now she's not speaking to me.

* * * * * * * *

14 August, 1630 hours

Bob is much more perceptive than I thought, and persistent. We spent the morning doing inspections, and during the drive between stops I caught him studying me. It was annoying and it made me nervous. When we broke for lunch, he finally asked me what was wrong. I told him it was nothing, I was tired. That look…I'd hurt him, and that in turn made me feel terrible. I know I have to stop doing that... alienating my co-workers. Especially Bob.

He really wants to listen and help, but I can't seem to talk to him. It's not that I don't trust him. Maybe it is, a little. I trust him with my life, so I should be able to trust him with my problems. The fact is, this situation is so complicated, I don't really think he can help me. It's not fair to drag him into this. I don't know how he feels about Gage. Bob might see Calla's side, and I'd be even more alone in this dilemma.

Bob suggested a sure-fire cure for miscommunication with a woman was a bouquet of roses. The bigger the disagreement, the bigger the bouquet. I hadn't thought of that. I was desperate and willing to try anything to get Calla to talk to me. I drew the line at delivering them to her at the hospital myself. I was afraid of being rejected in front of everyone. Bob looked pretty happy with himself on the way back to the station. If nothing else, at least I made his day. I hope he's right, and the flowers do their magic.

I wonder how he knew.

* * * * * * * *

14 August, 2200 hours

This may be the first night in a long time that I'll actually be able to sleep if we don't get toned out. It was a quiet night at the station, and I thought I was going to go crazy wondering what Calla thought about the flowers. I was about to try calling her, when the phone rang. I took the call in the dorm, and we were able to talk without interruption. I underestimated her. She understood everything, and promised that she'd be more attentive to our relationship. It eases my mind, and it feels good believing her. Maybe it's not as hopeless as I thought.

 

August 15 9:00 PM

For the first time in three days I’m alone. I feel like a prisoner in my own home. It finally occurred to me that I could get rid of everybody if I just told them what they wanted to hear. This time I knew what they wanted to hear. So I told them. The only one who didn’t buy it was Roy.

He went back to work this morning for the first time since the accident. He won’t be coming over tomorrow when he gets off shift because Callie's going to spend the day with me. It's just as well he doesn't come around for a while. I'm tired of arguing with him. I’m surprised that I’m alone tonight. Relieved. But surprised. Maybe I should just go check the couch to make sure someone isn’t sleeping there that I don’t know about. I wouldn't put it past them.

When I woke up from the dream, I remembered the day of the accident and everything about the accident. Up to the point where I lost consciousness anyway. Maybe I had amnesia from the head injury, maybe I just chose not to remember anything. It’s why they wanted me to talk about it. It’s why Captain Lewis wanted me to write this journal. But it wasn’t talking or writing that made me remember. It was the nightmares and things that triggered the flashbacks that finally forced me to face it.

I liked not remembering better.

I thought my remembering it would make them happy. It’s what they said they wanted from me. Now they want me to talk about my feelings. My anger, my guilt, my fear. Shit, if those are my feelings, I don’t see why I should share them with anyone. They’re mine. I’ll handle them any way I choose. And I choose not to talk about them with anybody.

Roy and I had another argument before he left last night. He said I was acting like a little kid. That’s how everyone's been treating me, so why shouldn't I act like one? Not that I have been. He said I lied to Captain Lewis and that I was lying to myself. I expected more from Roy. He doesn’t understand. It’s his fault I’m in this mess. He started to get in the driver's seat and I didn't let him. If he’d insisted on driving that night, none of this would have happened. We might have gone through that intersection thirty seconds sooner or thirty seconds later if he had. Even if we'd gone through just when we did, he would have known how to avoid the collision. He would have been able to get out of the way. Roy wouldn’t have almost been killed. That kid wouldn’t have been killed.

I’m the one who has to live with that on my conscience, not him.

Now I can't forget the look on that kid’s face. He didn’t see the squad until the last second. First, it was a look of total surprise, then one of fear. The kind of fear you have when you know you’re going to die and you have no control over it, and no time to change anything. I know that kind of fear. We live with it every day we’re on the job. Every time we fight a fire. Every time we rappel down a cliff. Every time we go through an intersection.

They told me he was only seventeen.

I needed a way to get his face out of my mind. The beer in the refrigerator helped for a while. Until Roy showed up. He said he got worried when I didn’t answer the phone and drove over to see if I was okay. I've never seen Roy that mad before. I wasn' t real happy with him either. He made some phone calls and then made a really big pot of coffee. I like coffee, but right then, I liked the beer more. He wanted me to eat something. I tried to tell him to leave me alone. I didn't want food. It won't stay down. Food won't make the kid's face go away. Roy wanted me to drink some coffee. I didn’t want caffeine and awareness. He wouldn't let me have what I wanted. I wanted alcohol and oblivion.

All I got instead was sick. And a killer headache. Puking your guts out when you’re still recovering from surgery and broken ribs and a dislocated sternum is not something you want to do if you can avoid it. I almost passed out from the pain. That wasn't my original plan. I wasn't supposed to pass out until I didn't feel anything anymore.

Roy kept telling me how stupid I was. Telling me that I should have known better. Just what I needed to hear at a time like that. If I hadn't been so sick, I would have told him where to stick it. I didn't ask him to come over. He's not my goddamned baby sitter.

I slept most of the afternoon that day. It was the first time I'd managed to get some uninterrupted sleep in weeks, maybe months, and I still woke up feeling like death warmed over. I admit adding a hangover to my long list of complaints wasn't the best idea I ever had. I just didn't need Roy reminding me of it every time I turned around.

He was still there when I got up. We were both a little calmer, but I didn't feel like talking. I can usually talk to him about anything. But not this. I can’t even look him in the face. Not when I'm sober. I almost got him killed. I almost made Joanne a widow and left Chris and Jennifer without a father.

How do you say I’m sorry for something like that?

I finally managed to eat something and went back to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I got up thinking I’d take a sleeping pill, but couldn’t find them. That pissed me off all over again. I couldn’t believe Roy would think I’d do anything so dumb that he thought he had to hide them from me. I haven’t spent these last eight weeks dealing with the pain, trying to recover from my injuries so I can get back to work, just to say the hell with it. How could he even begin to think I’d do that? I thought he knew me better than that.

He doesn't know that I know he took them. I didn’t say anything. I didn't feel like arguing again. Besides, what could I say when I discovered my best friend doesn’t trust me. Maybe I deserved that. After all, he may never trust me with his life again, so why should he trust me with my own?

I would never do that. Never.

* * * * * * * *

August 15 11:00 PM

I had to stop writing and rest for a while. My shoulder is aching from trying to keep the journal open with my left arm. I find myself leaning forward when I write and it hurts my chest to do that. There must be a better way. I just haven't found it yet.

Captain Stanley and Captain Lewis came by together yesterday. That’s when I figured out what they wanted. They wanted me to say I knew the accident wasn’t my fault. That I knew the kid’s death wasn’t my fault. That I knew nothing was my fault. I played along for a while so they’d feel good when I finally admitted they were right. None of it was my fault. It wasn’t hard to say. I did such a good job, I almost convinced myself. It was after they left that Roy and I got into the argument over that. He was really angry. We’ve argued about a lot of things before, but I’ve never seen him that upset with me. That’s how I know he blames me. He really does think it’s my fault.

He's right. It was my fault.

I was asleep again when he left. I’m glad I was. I don't know what I would have said. It should have been me going back to work today. It should have been me in the passenger seat that night. I don’t understand why things happened the way they did. I don’t understand why I have to deal with this. No one understands how hard this is. I don't need Roy to lecture me. If he can't see what it's doing to me, then I don't need him coming around any more.

It was Joanne's turn this morning to spend part of the day here. I mostly stayed in my bedroom while she did some cleaning and cooking. I ate lunch with her, but it was uncomfortable. We seemed like strangers. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was, but I couldn’t find a way. After she left to pick up the kids from school, my neighbor conveniently stopped in for a few hours. She’s a nice lady, but I didn’t want the company. She left and I finally had some peace and quiet.

I did normal things by myself tonight. I watched TV. I made some dinner. I did my exercises like I’m supposed to. I can take care of myself. My cast comes off in a few days, and then with about a month of physical therapy I should be able to go back to work too. I don’t know if it'll ever be the same though. What Brice said that day. About me not having to worry about Roy letting me drive again. He was right, except I may never want to drive again. I don’t know if I can without thinking about it every time I get behind the wheel.

I called Callie a while ago just to make sure she was still coming over tomorrow. I have an early doctor’s appointment she's taking me to, then she has the whole day free. She said we could do whatever I want. Now, there’s a girl I could get used to having around all the time. She’s the only one who still treats me like a friend, the only one who seems to understand that’s what I need right now.

She’s the only one who gives me peace from myself.

16 August, 0700 hours

Some days this job is harder than others. Last shift we responded to a bar fight, followed by a domestic violence call. I haven't heard yet if the woman is going to make it. I still don't understand why people think they can solve their problems with their fists. It all brings reminders of recent acts of violence that have hit so close to home -- the squad's accident, Sam's assault on Calla -- acts that have left their ugly, lasting impression on me.

Calla is spending the day with John today. No matter how hard I try, I can't help feeling a little jealous. I know there's nothing between them except friendship, and she only wants to help him. From what I hear, he's remembered the accident and is having a difficult time coping with it. Knowing how hard it's been for me to put it from my mind, I can only imagine what he's going through.

 

August 16 Midnight

I don't believe I did that. I've lost the only friend I had left.

Now who's going to catch me when I fall?

 

17 August, 0215 hours

I'll kill the bastard. So help me God, if Gage hurt her I'll make him wish he'd died in that accident.

 

August 17 4:00 AM

I've been lying awake for hours. That's nothing new. I've been feeling sorry for myself. That's not new either. And coughing. That just started last night. It must've been all that fresh air yesterday. My lungs couldn't take it. I can't believe how much it aches when I cough. It's been eight weeks since the accident and I'm still miserable. My shoulder, my ribs, my chest. Raising my arm hurts. Taking a deep breath is painful. And now the cough. It feels like it's ripping up my insides. I keep telling myself to hold on. I'm halfway there. Physically anyway.

I don't know what happened. The day started out so good. And ended so badly. I never meant to hurt Callie. I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much for me to handle. I was desperate. She was the only one I thought I could count on. And now she's gone.

I got my wish. I'm all alone.

* * * * * * * *

August 17 6:00 AM

Callie had asked what I wanted to do after my doctor's appointment yesterday morning. I only wanted two things. A long drive in her Mustang with the top down, and a few hours at the beach. Warm air, wind in my hair, warm sand, sunshine, the sound of the ocean. A pretty girl, a fast car. Freedom, fun.

All right, I wanted three things. I wanted my life back too.

She was only too happy to oblige with the drive and the beach. We drove up the Coast Highway and had lunch in Santa Barbara at a little Italian place across from the beach. Food hadn't tasted that good in months. After that, we went to the beach. I couldn't go in the water with the cast on, although I was tempted to. It's coming off in a couple of days anyway. Callie dragged me back from the water's edge more than once.

We sat on the blanket and talked most of the afternoon. She said she had talked to Roy and knew that I'd had a rough few days. She said if I wanted to tell her anything, I could. And if I didn't want to, she understood and wouldn't bring it up again. Part of me really wanted to talk to her. Part of me wanted to tell her how I'm feeling. Guilty, angry, confused. But not then. Not there. This was my day to get away from it all. For just a while. So we talked about all sorts of things and about nothing at all. Callie mentioned Brice a few times. Always with a smile in her eyes. I missed seeing it then, but I remember it now.

We stayed longer than we should've and ran into all sorts of traffic on the way home. I didn't mind. I didn't want the day to end. I didn't want to go home. I was tired and fell asleep in the car for a little while. It's been so long since I've done anything that a simple drive and a few hours at the beach wore me out. Five weeks in the hospital and three more at home. No wonder I'm going crazy.

We stopped for a late dinner before she took me home. I guess I didn't eat much and was pretty quiet during dinner. By the time we got to my place, I wasn't talking at all. I didn't have to explain anything to her. Callie understood. She offered to come in with me and stay awhile. We walked in the front door and it hit me all at once. Like it was lurking there in the dark, just waiting for me to come home. Waiting to remind me that my day at the beach hadn't solved anything. Waiting to remind me I couldn't have my life back yet. If ever.

That kid. That stupid kid took it all away. That stupid kid almost killed me. Not the one who died. The other one. The one who walked away with barely a scratch. One kid died, I almost died, Roy was hurt, and he walked away from it.

That stupid kid just walked away.

I kissed her.

I wanted to forget the last two months and make the pain and the nightmares go away for just one night. I wanted to remember what it felt like to be with a woman. I wanted to take her to bed and make love to her. I wanted to feel something good for a change. I wanted to feel alive again.

I didn't realize how rough I was getting. I wasn't thinking about her. I only knew what I wanted. I only knew what I needed. She didn't. When she pulled free and backed away from me, I saw the hurt and the anger written on her face. Callie left without saying a word. She just walked out the door.

I don't know what to do anymore.

I've never felt so alone.

 

17 August, 2100 hours

I wanted to watch him bleed.

Twelve hours later and I'm still so mad, I can hardly see straight. Even though Calla and I had a long talk earlier today, and she tried to make me understand what happened, I'm still furious. Every time I think about it, my hands shake and I can barely write, but I have to try now. I have to find a way to finally release the rage that's been bottled up inside me. Writing is the only way I know how to do that. When I called Calla from work last night and she told me what Gage had tried to do to her, something snapped. If writing about it doesn't help, I don't know what I might be capable of doing. I've never felt this way before and it scares me. And that makes me angrier.

He taunted me. He threw my anger right back in my face, then dismissed me. Gage didn't care. He wasn't listening to me. What I had to say wasn't important to him. He made me feel just like my parents used to. Worthless. Unimportant.

It's not only Gage and what he said to me. I'm angry with myself. I hate being angry. It's the ultimate loss of self-control. I hate losing control. I hate it. The more I think about it, the more angry I get at him for making me feel this way. The more angry I get at myself for letting him have control over my emotions, the more angry I get for giving him that satisfaction.

I'm glad Calla didn't see me at my worst this morning. I'm afraid of what she would have thought. Maybe that I'm no better than Gage. No better than Sam. A man who can't control his emotions, a man who tries to use someone else to make himself feel better. She doesn't need another man like that in her life. I'm glad she can't see me now.

Anger has made me do things I wouldn't normally do. It's made me say things I wouldn't normally say. All sense of reason and order are gone. Even writing about this doesn't make me feel any better. I came so close to hitting him. I'm still not sure why I didn't. He deserved it, but something inside just wouldn't let me do it. I tried instead to use words to fight him, but they failed. I failed.

Damn Gage for making me feel this way. The sonofabitch. I should have hit him.

 

August 17 10:00 PM

Go to hell. All of you. Roy, Callie. Everyone. Just go to hell. I don't need you. You said you wanted to help, but when I needed you most, you turned your backs on me and walked out the door.

You're no better than that kid. You just walked away and left me bleeding.

Brice. That asshole. He showed up here this morning looking like he wanted to kill me. But all he could do was stand there and call me a despicable bastard and accuse me of not caring about anyone else. I could tell he wanted to take a swing at me, but I figured by the time he got done analyzing the pros and cons of doing it, he probably wouldn't remember what he was so mad about. So I reminded him. Told him if he didn't have the balls to do what he came to do, then he should go home to his girlfriend, because she sure as hell wasn't my type. He left madder than he came. Without hitting me.

The sonofabitch.

I wanted him to hit me.

Roy showed up this afternoon. Everyone seems to think they can just walk in here unannounced and tell me what a jerk I am. He didn't even take the time to ask how I was feeling. I feel like shit. My cough is getting worse, and it hurts. Lord, it hurts. When he noticed it, all he asked was if I'm still doing my breathing exercises. I thanked him for his concern and told him to get out. He didn't of course. Not my good buddy, Roy. He wanted to know what I was thinking last night.

I couldn't believe it. It was bad enough she told Brice, but I don't understand why she felt she had to call Roy and tell him. What happened last night is between me and her and it's no one else's damn business. I thought she was my friend.

I have no friends anymore.

Roy waited until after I went to my bedroom to try to calm down, then went to the kitchen and took it on himself to take the rest of the beer out of the refrigerator and pour it down the kitchen sink. Chet just brought it over for me the other day and Roy poured it all out. First he thinks he has to hide the sleeping pills, then he decides I don't need the beer. My life isn't my own any more. First those kids, and now my friends. They've taken everything away. No one lets me make my own decisions. No one cares what I need. No one asks me what I want. What I want doesn't matter any more.

I don't matter any more.

When I saw what Roy did, it was my turn to ask him what the hell he was thinking. He was so goddamned condescending when he said he was just doing me a favor. He said I needed to eat, not drink. That really pissed me off. I don't remember appointing him my fucking guardian. It still pisses me off. I'll do what I want. Eating makes me sick. Drinking makes me forget. Drinking takes the pain away. Roy said he'd give me some time alone to cool off. He doesn't need to worry about it. I'm not going to cool off. He didn't even stick around long enough to give me the satisfaction of throwing him out.

Roy said he had to leave to pick up Chris. He said he'd be back later. He never came back.

I don't need him. I don't need any of them.

Callie deserted me. Brice had no right to talk to me like that. Roy had no right to come in here and do what he did. He had no right to tell me that wanting Callie was wrong. He had no right to tell me anything. He wasn't the one driving that night. He wasn't the one who killed that kid. He wasn't the one that almost killed me. I did all that by myself. I just didn't do it right.

I didn't finish the job.

 

18 August, 0630 hours

I’ve been awake all night, still trying to sort this out. I’m tired, physically and mentally drained. I'd like to sleep for a week. I'd like to go to sleep and forget everything; forget what he tried to do to Calla, forget what he did to me, forget the anger that just won't disappear.

When I came home yesterday, she was there waiting for me. I'd driven around for a while, trying to calm down before I saw her, but she could tell I was still upset. When I told her where I'd gone and why, she started to cry. At first I thought he had hurt her, and I wanted to go back and do what I hadn't been able to do the first time. Calla assured me she was fine, and that she felt terrible about everything that had happened. She felt it was her fault for not understanding what Gage was going through, and was sorry she had walked out on him. She felt sure he wouldn't have done anything if she had only stayed and tried to help. She had called DeSoto this morning, and told him what happened and asked him to make sure Gage was all right.

Calla felt even worse for telling me about it and setting things in motion that should never have happened. None of it was her fault, and yet she took the blame. I couldn't understand how she could be so forgiving toward the man. I couldn't understand why he did that to her. I felt more confused than ever. Somewhere along the line, I thought I was to blame too. Not for what Gage did, but for not protecting her from him.

I love Calla, and it stings to know I've let her down the same way I did when Sam assaulted her. I should have seen it coming. I should have insisted she stay away from him. Nothing's been right lately, and it’s all Gage’s fault. Ever since the accident, he’s been the source of my unhappiness, my bad dreams and sleepless nights.

I almost wished he’d died that night.

It shocked the hell out of me when I realized I said that out loud. Calla was speechless. I was afraid when she caught her breath, she’d walk out the door. Instead, she stayed and encouraged me to talk. It was a tremendous relief to have her listen to me. I told her how I resented her bond with Gage, and how I believed it threatened the one she and I had. Her talking about him all the time had raked on my nerves and I had been afraid she would see something in Gage to make her love him and leave me.

The more I talked, the more I realized how pathetic I sounded. I had to clarify why I felt these things. There was only one way to do that, and it was harder than anything I’d done lately, but I didn’t care. Saving our relationship was all that mattered.

I told Calla about my childhood and left nothing out. I relived the pain, the rejection, the loneliness, and the unsatisfied hunger for love. I never got bedtime stories, except when I stayed with Grandma. When I had a nightmare, I was left alone to cry in the dark. When I was sick, they took care of the necessities, but I had to find a way to comfort myself. They even made fun of me when I kept a teddy bear. Grandma bought it for times when I needed a snuggle and she wasn’t there. I was so ashamed, I hid the bear. When Mother found it, I had no choice but to throw it away or face more humiliation. To survive, I withdrew into myself and found it hard to trust genuine feelings of love. Not even Grandma could fix the damage.

I’d been without love for so long that working and trying to be perfect became poor substitutes for what I needed. Calla was like a beam of sunshine, her warmth seeping into my life. While I found myself gravitating toward her, a part of me couldn’t believe it was for real. I kept waiting for something to snatch away all the good things she gave me. I became so determined not to let that happen, that when I heard Gage made an advance on her, I snapped. For the first time in my life, I wanted to physically hurt someone, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't tell her how much I still wanted to do it even in the face of her explanation of the situation.

Calla didn’t say anything, just held my hand throughout. I saw the pain she felt for me written on her face. I felt guilty for putting it there. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. Now that she knew what I was capable of, or what I wasn't capable of, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had left. I'm a man hiding behind a confidence that in reality is as fragile as glass.

Before Calla left for the night, she took me into her arms and kissed me with a soft, warm, intense press of her lips that stirred up a yearning for more. I remembered how easily I had let my anger flare. It would have been just as effortless to run with my passion.

Not yet. But soon.

 

August 18 3:00 PM

I am so tired.

I'm not mad anymore. I don't have the strength to be mad. I don't care any more. I'm just tired. More tired than I've been in a long time, if that's possible. All I've wanted to do today is sleep. But I can't. There's too much noise. I'm having trouble breathing too. It hurts. I haven't been doing the exercises for a few days. They hurt. This hurts worse. Something's wrong. I should have told Roy when he called last night. I shouldn't have hung up on him, but I was still too mad to listen to him. I know he wants to help but he doesn't know how. I don't even know how to help myself.

There's no one to talk to now. Trying to write is hard, but I feel like this book is the only thing I have left to hold on to.

Captain Lewis came by early this morning. I didn't want to let him in, but I did anyway. He gave me that look again. Poor John Gage doesn't know what's good for him. I don't think I like him very much. He said Roy called him last night after I hung up on him for the third time. Roy only wanted to explain that Chris broke his arm at football practice and he couldn't come back here like he said he would. Captain Lewis said Roy was worried about me. He said everyone was worried about me. I don't believe that, but I didn't have any smart ass answers to give him this time.

I don't have any answers anymore. I don't even remember the questions.

We were sitting in the living room talking. No, he was talking, I wasn't listening. I don't know when he left. When I woke up, I was still sitting on the couch with a blanket over me.

I called Joanne about an hour ago. She said Chris is okay. He thinks it's cool to have a cast and can't wait for his friends to sign it. I can't wait to get rid of mine. Tomorrow, I think. I don't know for sure. I've lost track of time. Joanne was quiet for a long time, then she told me she misses me. She said the kids miss me. Roy misses me. I have news for her, I miss me too. It's been so long, I have a hard time remembering who I was. She said Captain Lewis had called and Roy was on his way over here to see me. I told her I didn't have any more beer for him to pour down the drain and hung up.

I don't feel good. My neighbors have been fighting all day. I wish they'd shut up. They haven't lived here very long and I've only met her once. I think her name is Susan. I've never had the pleasure of meeting him, only hearing his loud voice from across the hall. She told me he lost his job and spends a lot of time drinking and watching television while she works as a waitress at night. She seemed kind of nervous talking to me. Like she was afraid of him. I can't imagine living like that.

What am I talking about? I can't imagine living like this. I just want to go to sleep and make it all go away.

Man, it sounds like they're talking the fight out into the hallway. I should go see what's going on, but I don't want to get up. Maybe someone else

 

18 August, 2140 hours

Gage was a mess.

The ‘man down, police responding’ call came in and I immediately recognized the address as Gage’s apartment complex. I had no way of knowing who was involved, but part of me hoped it was him. Part of me hated myself for thinking that. We pushed through the small crowd that had gathered and followed the policeman up the stairs.

I heard Vince say something about him trying to stop a man from beating his wife. They had the guy who did it in handcuffs. Gage hadn't stood a chance. He’d been thoroughly pummeled, and the sight was sickening. DeSoto had arrived just before we did and his hands were covered with blood from trying to help his partner. Swallowing back the memory of the accident, along with my anger toward him, I knelt down and went to work. He was semiconscious and in serious distress. A sharp pang of guilt hit me in the midsection. I had to fight my own nausea when I realized this was what I had wanted to do to him.

I ignored the increasing unease I felt when I read his vitals to the hospital. We cut away his T-shirt and saw rapidly developing bruising on his chest and over his ribs. He was bleeding from a laceration over one eye, which was almost swollen shut, and DeSoto was attempting to stop the flow of blood from his nose. The back of his head had hit the wall, and we suspected a concussion. On top of all that, I detected rales in his lungs and his breathing was extremely labored. Pneumonia was a distinct possibility.

All the while we worked to get him ready to transport, I kept thinking that if I had let myself lose control, I could have done this. That cold realization prickled down my spine. I wasn't proud of myself for having the desire to do it. Even though I hadn't hit him, remembering the rage that had driven me to that point made me feel I was no better than the animal that did this.

The ride to the hospital seemed like five hours, rather than five minutes. I was glad DeSoto was with me in the ambulance when Gage awoke briefly. He was in tremendous pain, but we couldn't administer any MS because of the head injury. Roy was the one who tried to reassure him everything would be all right. I was still wrestling with my mixed feelings. I couldn’t help feeling Gage got what he deserved, but I was glad it was at someone else's hands. I knew better. No one deserved that kind of abuse.

Bob and I left on another call shortly after we delivered him to Rampart. Roy thanked us for our help and stayed with Gage in the treatment room.

I had no appetite at dinnertime. I kept thinking of what I’d seen, imagining if I’d been the one to hit him…. The more I contemplated it, the more I loathed myself. For some reason, it just fueled my anger toward him. It made it all the harder when I called Calla and told her. It made it harder to know she still cared about him and was going to go to Rampart to see him.

I washed the squad that evening. Alone. I scrubbed the surface as thoroughly as I had scrubbed my hands earlier, imagining the paint was Gage’s blood. Bob knew something was wrong, something more than just seeing Gage like that again. When he clamped a caring hand on my shoulder, I felt an emotional pull toward him. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t talk about this with him and risk losing the respect I’ve gained. This is something I'm going to have to work out by myself.

* * * * * * * *

19 August, 1020 hours

I'm trying hard to put things back into perspective. I've learned lately that emotions can be a two-edged sword. Love and hate, joy and anger, hope and despair -- just like life and death, it seems you can't experience one without the other. I've tried to deny that in the past, but I can't do it any longer. I've also discovered that fine line that separates those emotions, and I've seen how easily that line can be crossed, even by the most rational of people. The ability to find that balance can be difficult, but finding it is necessary to remain sane in a world filled with insanity.

Maybe there's an even finer line inside some of us that our conscience won't let us cross. It's what separates those who think they want to hurt someone from those who actually do it. I remember feeling like I was on a tightrope and I was scared I'd fall. I think that's why I didn't hit Gage. It wasn't about him or what I might have done to him. I was afraid for myself. Afraid of what I could become if I let myself resort to physical violence even one time.

It occurs to me that maybe John Gage and I do have something in common after all. We both crossed lines with each other, and within ourselves. Our reasons may have been different, and we may feel we were justified in what we did, but we were both wrong. I understand what Calla was trying to tell me when she said she forgave him, but it's not that easy for me. Forgiveness comes hard, and it's just one more thing I'm going to have to learn.

* * * * * * * *

21 August, 1750 hours

Getting back to normal is the best therapy I could have asked for. We’ve been busy with lots of runs and little time for much else. I’m lucky I finally have a chance to write. As time goes by, I’ve let the memory of the accident fade. It doesn’t occupy my mind, and I can drive on a run without my stomach feeling uneasy as we near an intersection. Most of the time.

Bob and I were on a response this morning, lights and sirens running in broad daylight, when a car came off a side street without stopping. It hit the squad, denting the driver’s side fender, but not so badly that I couldn’t get us back to the station. Bob and I were shaken up, but okay. What really got to me was how close we were to replaying Gage and DeSoto’s crash.

They sent 51s out on our call, since they were closest available squad. I mentally wished them better luck getting there. The driver of the car that hit us was just a kid, barely 18, but smart enough to wear her seat belt. It made me think about that 17 year old who died crashing into 51’s squad. It also brought Stephen back to mind. Sometimes I wonder how any of them survive adolescence with their devil-may-care attitudes.

I’ve never had to face Charlie’s wrath before, and I hope I never have to again. When he came to the station to check the damage, I thought he was going to chew me up and spit me out. I have to thank Bob for coming to my defense and getting Charlie to back off. Bob is proving himself to be a real friend, a notion that really pleases me. I can only hope he thinks of me in the same vein.

The rest of the guys aren’t going to let me live this one down. Joe offered to bring one of his brother’s crash helmets to work next shift. That really got them going. I’ve suddenly earned the nickname ‘Crash’. I could allow myself to be annoyed by their teasing, but I don’t, because I see it for what it is. I’m one of them now, part of a team… the fire fighting family of Station 16.

* * * * * * * *

I came home today. This morning before lunch. Roy and Cap brought me home and Joanne was already here. Those little white pills do a great job. Took some not too long awhile ago. They have the name backwards. Should be codeine with emperior number 4. Funny, it still hurts but I don't feel it. I saw myself in the mirror. I look worse than I look. Feel I mean. Look worse thann I feel. I don't think I'll be saying that when the meds wear off.

Shit he did a number on me.

I thought I could write in here. I've got lots, to say but thisisnt working too well. My brain. its working fine. Must be my fingers aren't listening. I'm hungry. I'm not supoosed to be on my feet too much for a while but I dont feel like laying here any more. Done nothing bu th hat for days. They took the cast off while I was there. In Rampart hospital. It was on for so long it still feels like it's there. I want to take a shower. A really long shower. and eat. I'm hungry.

I can do this someother time. When I'm not so muzzy. I don't know who made up that word, but I like it.

* * * * * * * *

August 23 2:00 PM

I feel a lot better today. I slept really well for a change. Roy helped me get the date right. I hadn't realized that this journal was helping me keep track of my days. I thought it was just keeping track of my mind all this time.

You know, Roy's not such a bad cook. He made breakfast this morning. Of course, it's pretty hard to screw up pancakes. I can make pancakes. Sometimes I burn them, but that's because I get distracted by something else. Or someone else. I wouldn't mind a little distraction of that kind right about now. He made scrambled eggs too. Just plain ones. I kind of liked those ones he made that time. Eggs Lupe, or something like that. And lots of coffee. I'd like to stay awake longer than just a few hours at a time. Maybe even make a through a conversation with someone without falling asleep. People are beginning to think they bore me. That's not the case at all. Except with Chet. I've never known anyone who could ramble so much and still manage to say nothing. At least I eventually get to the point. I always have a point. It just takes me a while to get there sometimes.

Chet's been a good friend. They all have. I lost sight of that for a while. It won't happen again.

My neighbor came over for a few minutes to see how I was doing. She was the one who witnessed the whole thing. Lucky for me she'd already called the police long before I ever opened my front door. She said I saved Susan's life. She was sure her husband would have killed her if I hadn't stopped him. She was sure he would have killed me if the police hadn't shown up as quickly as they did. I don't remember much of anything except feeling my knee twist and then slamming into the wall after he shoved me backwards. His fist came next. I vaguely recall it connecting with the side of my face, but nothing after that until I was in the ambulance. All I remember from that is the pain. I think I'll be remembering it every time I move for a long time.

After she left, Roy asked me why I did it. Why I tangled with someone I knew would beat the crap out of me. I know what Roy was thinking. He was thinking I wanted it to happen. I read back over some of the things I'd written a few days before that, and I can see now why he'd think that. But that wasn't it at all. At least I don't think so. I just reacted. I did what came naturally. Someone was in trouble and needed help, and I did what I could. It's what I do. It's what I want to do.

I don't regret it. The rest of my body does, but I don't.

I can't start serious PT for my ankle until the swelling in my knee goes away. I probably can't do much of anything for a while. Even though I didn't break any bones again, it feels like I did. Not that I'd stopped hurting before, but it's worse now. My shoulder, my ribs, my knee, my head. Breathing hurts.

But this time I'm not going to complain. I've decided I'm grateful to even be breathing. Facing the reality of almost dying once is bad enough, but twice in two months kind of put things in perspective for me. Time alone in a hospital bed gave me a chance to think things over. Things like the mistakes I've made and the way I've treated everyone who's tried to help me. Even knowing that, apologizing is going to be hard.

I'm not the only one who made mistakes.

Brice is going to be the hardest one to talk to. Maybe because we weren't friends before this, and I doubt we ever will be. I have to say he really surprised me, the way he stood up for Callie. Could be she's the lucky one. I guess I owe him my life, not once, but twice. Someday I'll have to ask him why he didn't hit me. I would have. Just not very hard.

Brackett said this will probably set my recovery back another month. It'll be late October before I'm ready to return to light duty, late November before going back to regular duty. That's a long time still. But it gives me something to focus on, something to work toward. After reading over what I've written these past few weeks, I know not every day is going to be as good as today. I still have a lot of work to do to put all this behind me.

This time, I'll let my friends help me.

* * * * * * * *

August 23 10:00 PM

I slept for a long time this afternoon and now I'm wide awake. It's hard to get comfortable when you ache in so many places. That's not a complaint. Just a statement of fact.

I just got off the phone with Callie. She's at work tonight and called me during her break. She made me laugh, and I swear she did it on purpose. She knows how much it hurts. I think I'm in for some more payback just to keep me in line, but I can take whatever she has to dish out. I'm glad we're still friends after all that's happened.

She came to see me at the hospital the other day. She was there that first night too, but I was too out of it then to even care.

I was asleep when she came into the room. When I woke up, I saw her sitting in a chair next to the bed reading a magazine, playing with her hair. I just watched her for a while. I didn't know what I wanted to say. I wanted to say I was sorry and I didn't want to say it. I felt guilty for taking advantage of her friendship. I misread it. I wanted to misread it. I was selfish. I was way out of line. But I needed her help that night and she walked out on me. She could have said no, and tried to find another way to get me through it. I don't know.... Maybe I didn't give her a choice.

I had no idea why she was sitting there or what she wanted to say to me. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out, but I knew I was going to. Callie has never been one to dance around a subject. I wouldn't describe her as subtle when she's got something to say. I would say she never pulls any punches, but I'd rather not think of being used as a punching bag again for a while. Never again would be fine by me.

She looked up when I moved and groaned. I couldn't help that. Groaning has become second nature. I don't even know I do it half the time. Like just now when I tried to move the pillow behind me. I don't think I'm ever going to take something as simple as moving my arm for granted again. I don't think I'm going to take someone's friendship for granted again either.

Callie came over and sat on the edge of the bed and gave me a kiss on the forehead and pushed my hair away from my face with her fingertips. I don't understand why women feel the need to do that so much, but I kind of like it. I just wish I didn't have to be hurt for them to do it. She apologized for walking out on me, and for not understanding what was happening. She accepted mine gracefully, saying I didn't owe her any explanations. I tried to tell her I owed her a lot more than that, but in the end, I was thankful she made it so easy to put it behind us.

I should have known then by the way she smiled she was going to torture me.

We talked for a little while, but I was having a hard time staying awake. Before she got up to leave, she leaned over and whispered there was one more thing she wanted to do for me. Something she owed me. Something that if I ever told Brice or anyone else about, she'd see I didn't live to see another day. She has this way of saying things like that. I believed her. Still do. My lips are sealed.

She only stayed another thirty seconds. But it was the best thirty seconds I've had in over two months.

Let's just say Brice is one very lucky man.

 

23 August, 2210 hours

Calla worked today, while I was off. No overtime. I love my job and always have, but I've also discovered the benefits of having some time off. Since I’ve been working fewer extra days, I feel recharged when I go back on duty. I think more creatively when a situation doesn’t quite fit the rules, where before I would rigidly follow protocol. I handle everything with a much better attitude, and it’s easier for my coworkers to relate to me. I’m not on my personal pedestal any longer. I used to think that being like everybody else was bad, but now I know better.

If only I could have a better attitude about Gage. It still annoys me when Calla goes on a Johnny jag, talking about how he’s doing, that he’s recovering so well from the beating, and so on and so forth. I don’t really care. It’s stupid. I still see him as my rival, even though Calla has convinced me that I take first place in her heart.

This morning she reminded me of that again as we shared coffee and muffins, and she gave me one of her toe-curling kisses before rushing out the door. I’d love to know how she does that. My efforts seem so inadequate compared to her displays of affection, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

I was feeling so happy this morning, I stopped at the florist’s for flowers and picked out something pink, Calla’s favorite color. The roses are nicely arranged in a vase on my table, and when Calla gets here, she’ll be surprised. Just a little token of my love, and my gratefulness. She could have turned away from me when I showed my darker side, but she stuck by me, and I love her for that. Buying her flowers is the least I can do.

 

August 25 6:00 AM

I saw his face again. I thought I was done with the nightmare. This time it went further. This time it was us. The truck hit the squad. I heard the sounds. Tires screeching. Metal twisting. Glass breaking. Glass shattering everywhere around us. Then the feelings. Awareness of pain. The look of shock on Roy's face. I'd lost control. My only thought. I was going to die. And then nothing. I can't begin to describe how empty the blackness felt. Then it was over.

The nightmare will never be over. Not completely. Every time I hear tires skid, it'll be there. Every time we respond to an MVA, it'll be there. Every time the squad goes through an intersection on a run, it'll be there. In my mind. Looking over my shoulder.

I've been wrong to think I'm all alone in dealing with this. I may have been hurt the worst, but there were others there that night who must have been affected by it. Cap and Mike, Chet and Marco. Brice and Belliveau. It was every emergency responders worst nightmare. They were all witness to it. I wonder if they've had nightmares too. It could have been them.

It wasn't my fault.

I know that. I had the green light. Our siren was on, our lights were flashing. Those kids were minors, breaking curfew, drag racing, running a red light. They broke laws, and we all paid a price for their mistake. All for the sake of a thrill. Some of us paid a higher price than others, but no one more than that seventeen year old boy. He'll never throw for a touchdown again or dance at his senior prom. He'll never taste a kiss or know how good it feels to make love to a woman. He'll never laugh or cry or see his family and friends again. He'll never walk on the beach in the moonlight or see another sunrise.

He'll never be eighteen.

It wasn't my fault, but I feel responsible. I keep coming back to the thought that maybe I could have done something differently. I don't know what. Just something. I keep coming back to what Roy might have done if he had been driving.

I keep coming back to why us. Why me?

* * * * * * * *

August 25 8:00 PM

I called Roy at the station just before the shift ended this morning and asked if he could stop in on his way home. He sounded tired, but he came by anyway.

He knew what I wanted to talk about. He'd been wanting to talk about it too. He needed to talk about it. With me. He'd been waiting for me.

Funny, though. We didn't know what to say to each other. We sat on the balcony, drinking coffee for a while. It was a warm sunny day, and it was the first time I've felt relaxed in a long time. He finally stood up and said he had to go home. Roy can be a man of few words sometimes, but he always gets those words right. Unlike some of us, he knows how to get right to the point.

Roy told me there was nothing I could have done differently. He told me it would have happened if he had been driving. And then he left.

I sat there for a long time before I realized there would never be an answer to my question. Why me? Was it simple twist of fate? A wasp sting. A run in the middle of the night. Two kids messing around. Things happen. There may not be a reason that I can see, but there must be a message in all this somewhere. Something has to come of this. I can't believe it happened for nothing. But I'm not going to lose any more sleep over it. I'm not going to let it dictate how I live my life or how I do my job. It may take a while before that's true. But I know one thing.

I'm going to be all right.

 

25 August, 2010 hours

I was only doing Calla a favor.

I should've known she was up to something when she asked me to climb up the step stool and get some IVs down from a shelf that she could have easily reached herself. My feet touched the floor, and suddenly the lights went out. I was taken completely by surprise as she pulled me into her arms and kissed me. It was good, really good, and I got lost in the moment. Yet I couldn't help feeling it was a little dangerous making out in the supply closet. I thought about saying something, but she smelled like lavender and lilies, and the way she was kissing me, I forgot the words.

When she let me go, I was afraid the evidence would be as plain as day, so we both took a few moments to straighten ourselves. We were like a couple of teenagers sneaking a quick neck. By the time we returned to the nurses' station, it was business as usual. If Bob noticed something amiss, he didn't say anything.

While everyone else at the station is watching TV right now, I'm sitting here thinking about what happened in the dark. I've never liked being hit with something unpredictable, but then Calla does something like she did today and I enjoy it. Calla is so natural about loving me that she can take an opportunity like us being alone in a supply closet and turn it into a beautiful stolen moment. I love it.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I can already see her wearing that outfit, the pastel blue tank top and white shorts, as we bike. I let her lead, because she likes to, and I get the bonus of seeing her bare shoulders and beautiful arms. I love when she wears tank tops. I love her, period, and not just for her physical aspects.

Calla has taken my old self away and changed me in so many ways. I think back on who I used to be, and realize…I didn't like me. I can see why no one else did, either. Calla showed me what I was missing, how good life can be if you let love in. When I think about my parents now, I wonder if they loved each other. I don't remember. It still hurts, what they did to me. I don't think it'll ever stop. I haven't been able to tell Calla any more than I did that one day, but she understands. She loves me and she understands. I don't know how I got so lucky, but I'm grateful. I'm going to enjoy what I have, and not worry about it going away any more.

* * * * * * * *

August 31 4:00 PM

31 August 1600 hours

Chet called yesterday and said he and Marco and some of the guys from 16s were going to go shoot some pool and have a few beers, and wondered if I felt up to going along. They picked me up at 7.

I'm still in no condition to even think about picking up a cue stick, but I didn't mind when a table opened up and the other guys left me sitting alone for a while. It felt good just to be out of my apartment and to forget things for a while. The cute blonde that'd been sitting at the bar watching us came over and asked if I wanted some company. Gentleman that I am, I invited her to join me. She slid into a chair beside me and introduced herself. Candy. Sweet girl. We were deeply engrossed in conversation when I felt someone's eyes boring into me from across the room.	Bob had invited me to a “boys’ night out” with the guys. I jumped at the chance and said I would meet them at Manning’s. I was the last to arrive, and spotted Bob, Nick, and Joe at a pool table with Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez from 51s. As I crossed the room, my eyes picked out another familiar face. Gage. If I’d known he was going to be there, I wouldn’t have gone. He was at a table chatting with a pretty blonde. Typical. I wondered how many more hearts he would break in his lifetime. I had hoped glaring at him would make him feel uncomfortable.
I glanced around and saw Brice standing there. He didn't look as mad as he did that day at my apartment, but he didn't look too happy to see me either. At first I wondered if the other guys set this up, but I didn't think either one of us had said anything about what happened between us to anyone else. I never even told Roy about it. Callie knows, of course. She hasn't said much, but she keeps dropping hints that she'd like it if he and I learned to play nice together. Brice went to join the others at the pool table without saying a word to me.	It had been a while since I played pool, but I obviously hadn't forgotten how. I easily beat Nick and Joe.They had made such a big deal out of their skills, and I took them down within a matter of minutes. When Bob lost, I knew I was in trouble. I tried to look sorry, but it felt too good to win. They retired me for a little while so they could play without fear of having their clocks cleaned. I really did feel badly about that, but then Nick called me ‘Minnesota Fats’ with a glint in his eye. I was relieved there were no hard feelings. I was enjoying myself more than I had in a long time.
Candy and I picked up where we left off, but I couldn't help watch the action at the pool table for a while. He and the other guys on his shift seemed to get along well. I guess what I heard about the sofball game at the picnic was true. Brice wasn't bad. Wouldn't have figured him for a pool player. Not that he'd be a match for me, but he wasn't bad. Minnesota Fats? I hardly think so. Candy got a little upset I wasn't concentrating on our conversation, so she left to go powder her nose. I'll never figure out why women always call it that.	After getting myself a beer, I noticed Gage was alone. Our group had occupied two tables, and I chose to sit as far away from him as possible. It was probably childish, but I didn’t want to sit there and pretend to be civil when I wasn’t sure I could be. I didn’t think he would, either. I was surprised when he invited me to his table. It was awkward, uncomfortable. Neither of us knew what to say at first, and I figured if he invited me over, he could get the ball rolling.
Brice got himself a beer at the bar and came over and sat down at the other table. I figured one of us was going to have to break the ice, so I invited him to join me. At first, I wasn't sure he was going to, and I wasn't going to ask a second time. He got up and sat in the chair across from me and played with his beer glass for a little while. He seemed kind of nervous and wouldn't look at me. I asked him where he learned to shoot pool, and gave him a few pointers on a couple of shots he could've handled differently.	We talked about pool. Gage said he was good. He pointed out a few mistakes I made and how he would have played it. Rather smug about it too. I sure would have liked to have seen if he could play as well as he talked, but he wasn't up for it yet.
Brice may have loosened up a bit, but he's still pretty damn arrogant. He seemed to think he could take me on at a round of pool. I offered to give him the chance when I was back on my feet again. I just might enjoy humbling him a little.	He wants to play me when he’s better. I always thought he had a big ego, but really. He thinks he can beat me. We’ll see about that, when the time comes.
We watched the guys play for a little while. Brice seemed to get nervous again. I kind of had to laugh to myself. I pictured Callie sitting there between us, telling us to make up or else. It was the thought of her or-else that made me decide it was time to get on with what we needed to talk about.	Neither of us knew what to say after that. We watched as Joe lined up his last shot, and I caught myself nervously rotating my glass on the table. Gage saw me do it. For a second, I thought he was going to smart off, but then he looked like he had something important on his mind.
I'd already apologized to Callie for what I did that night. She not only understood, but apologized to me too for leaving me alone. She said she knew I wouldn't have hurt her, but I got the feeling Brice wasn't convinced. I still didn't think any of this was his business, but I told him I was sorry that things happened the way they did.	I couldn’t believe my ears. Gage was apologizing for kissing Calla. I asked him why he did it if he never intended to hurt her. I couldn’t accept that he would do that to a friend.
He asked me why I did it. I asked him why he came to my apartment that morning, intent on beating the crap out of me. Not that he could have.	Okay, so he came up with something that I’m certainly not proud of. I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my stomach when I thought back to that day. Why did I come so close to hitting Gage? I told him I wasn’t thinking straight, that I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t adequately articulate why. There was no good excuse, but I didn't want to let him know that.
Brice went kind of pale for a minute while he thought it over. I got the impression I struck a nerve. When he explained that he'd just lost control for a while because of the situation, I had to ask him why he thought that was any different than what happened to me.	He asked what made what I did any different from what he did. Touché. What could I say? I was thinking of being cheeky, saying something to the effect that maybe we should have both checked ourselves into the nearest psych ward. The guys came back to the table just then for a break, laughing, talking all at once, and exaggerating their conquests on the pool table. I forgot about my comeback and joined in their conversation.
Anything else we might've had to say to each other was interrupted when the guys came back to the table for a short break. I thought maybe we'd said all we needed to say anyway. When they got up again to start a new round, I saw Candy on her way back, and was glad I'd have a chance to start over with her with them out of the way.	Bob asked me to play teamed up with him. I wasn’t quite ready to go back. I had a lot on my mind, thinking about Gage’s apology of sorts. But when I looked at him, I got the idea the subject was closed and bringing it up again would be pointless. There really wasn't anything left to say.
I was getting tired and the cigarette smoke was beginning to make me cough. Candy offered to drive me home, so I thanked the guys for the night out and we left. I could hear Brice bragging clear across the room. He thinks he can take me on. I'll let him have his illusions for now. We'll see who teaches who.	As I got up to head toward the pool table, I said I'd enjoy playing that game and teaching him a thing or two. The look on his face was priceless.

It was a good evening. After countless rounds of pool and a few games of darts, interspersed with pitchers of beer being passed around, everyone was in a good mood. I'm looking forward to that pool game with John. We'll see if he’s all talk and no action. If he's willing to put his money where his mouth is, I'll be glad to take it off his hands.

I’ve been thinking about what John said. He wasn’t himself, and I suppose I knew that at the time, but I was too wrapped up in how I was feeling to notice. If I hadn’t been so clouded by my own insecurites... well, that’s not important now. I rarely make the same mistake twice. I’m learning to overcome my shortcomings by trusting Calla, and not letting jealousy get the better of me.

I'm going to set my sights on the future. Calla has urged me to let go of the past -- all of it -- and live life in the here and now.

One day at a time.

* * * * * * * *

November 25

Dear John,

I came across this journal in my drawer and discovered the last page was still blank. Since I haven't written in a while, I thought maybe I should use it to let you know I'm doing great. Really great. I just got off shift a little while ago. I'm getting ready to head over to Roy and Joanne's for Thanksgiving dinner. Yesterday was my first shift back on regular duty since the end of June. Since the accident. I've spent the last month on light duty, driving the BC around and doing some paperwork stuff at Headquarters. Yeah, me and paperwork.

It was a quiet day. I wouldn't have cared if we only had one run or fifty. I was where I belonged. It seemed fitting that I went back to work at Thanksgiving time. I've got a lot to be thankful for. My job, my friends, my health. My life. Things I'll never take for granted again. Things to be thankful for every day, not just one day out of the year.

After roll call and an equipment check, we all went into the day room for some coffee and talked for a while. Marco and Chet started arguing about something, and I think Mike was even about to put his two words in. Cap and Roy were talking about a new drill we're going to do next shift. I have to admit I was feeling a little overwhelmed. I'd been gone a long time, yet it was like nothing had changed. Nothing but the seasons. I didn't think anybody noticed that I left the room. I wandered out into the bay and looked over the squad. It looked just like our other one, but I could tell it was different. I may look the same on the outside, but I'm different now too. Part of me will never be the same again.

They hadn't been able to salvage the squad.

Better it than me.

It took a long time for me to come to terms with my role in the accident. Even with the help and support of my friends and others like Captain Lewis, it was hard. Then last month, I got a letter addressed to me at the station from Bill Peterson. The other kid. He wrote it on what would have been his friend Frankie's eighteenth birthday. Part of Bill will never be the same again either. It took me weeks before I could finally write a short letter back. Letting him know I forgave him made it easier for me somehow. To forgive myself. The nightmares finally went away.

I opened the driver's door and stood there holding onto it for a few minutes before finding the courage to get in. The memories came back. The doubts. I wasn't sure I could be there. I wasn't sure I could handle it. I wasn't sure Roy trusted me. Hell, I wasn't sure I trusted myself.

Captain Lewis had given me some parting advice a few weeks ago when I left his office for the last time. He said that I'd never forget the accident. He said I had to integrate it into my life so I could live my life. I understand what he meant. But it was easier to believe I could do that when I was standing outside the squad, than it was when I sat behind the wheel.

The passenger door opened and Roy got in. We'd had plenty of talks over the last couple of months about the accident and the effect it had on our lives. Roy had said how hard it was for him when he came back. That first drive through an intersection took every bit of concentration he had. If anyone understood how I felt at that moment, it was Roy. He'd been there with me when it happened. He'd been there with me every step of the way since that day, even when I thought I didn't want him around. There were times when being around him reminded me too much of everything I almost lost. We almost lost.

Roy looked at me and said that if we were going to Rampart for supplies, it would be helpful if I turned the key and started the engine before I tried to drive out of the station. Then he asked me if I remembered how to get there, or did he need to draw me a map. Roy couldn't draw a map if his life depended on it. That's what he's got me for.

After all this time, I was able to find my way.

There was a message in what happened. The California State Legislature is working to amend the Vehicle Code, increasing the distance at which motorists are required to stop and yield the right-of-way to emergency vehicles. Even if that change had been in effect then, I doubt it would have prevented what happened that night. Somehow, it doesn't seem like they're doing enough. But if it prevents just one accident, if it prevents just one death, then I'll be satisfied for now.

The Los Angeles County Fire Department is one of the supporters of the amended code.

They listened.

Maybe a little late, but they listened.

Johnny

* * * * * * * *

Author's Notes:

California Vehicle Code 21806 was amended in 1978. Today it still reads:

Upon the immediate approach of an authorized emergency vehicle which is sounding a siren and which has at least one lighted lamp exhibiting red light that is visible under normal atmospheric conditions from a distance of 1000 feet... the driver of every other vehicle shall yield the right-of-way and shall immediately drive to the right hand edge, clear of any intersection, and thereupon shall stop and remain stopped until the authorized emergency vehicle has passed.

The previous distance was 500 feet.

It doesn't sound