Fifteen minutes. (part one)
He quickly untucked his white shirt, stained with mustard and jalapeno sauce, as he exited the fastfood restaurant he was forced to work at. The fading red 1980's mustang, with the dream catcher hanging from the rearview mirror, sat sputtering in the parking lot. Below it, the stains of oil tattooed the concrete in-between the yellow parking lines from its previous times of waiting, and idling. Inside, a pony tailed young girl sat smoking a cigarette. Four months pregnant, she was there to pick up her boyfriend and take him to his next job.
They were both young and dropouts. He, twenty-four and the eldest of many displaced children, already had a felony record and was on probation. He had already experienced what it was like to wear those bright orange jumpsuits and shuffle from jail to courthouse with legs shackled by steel. And as tough as he was on the outside -in the real world, he had no intention of ever going back. He'd never forget the day the FCC, ATF, and Police kicked his mother's front door down and stormed into his room where he sat illegally programming city owned police radios.
She was in love and not yet eighteen. She had decided school was a waste of time and that her days were better spent in the park smoking weed and drinking bottles of beer wrapped in brown paper sacks. She had been in many relationships and had already been on the receiving end of a domestic violence charge. All she wanted was to find the right man so they could someday settle down and start their very own little dysfunctional family.
Their two-bedroom apartment, on the wrong side of town, was shared with his best friend. They met in juvy. He got him his job at Subway. And between the three of them, bills were paid relatively on time and there was always just enough with their $600 paychecks to buy a bottle of booze, a case of Bud, and a bag of weed. Weekends were worth waiting for.
But tonight, he had his other job to go to. The job that made him feel important. The one that, when asked where he worked, made him smile grandly as he told them which hospital service he worked for. The one that his girlfriend was proud of and the one his best friend was jealous of. The one job that identified him as a valuable person in this society.
The job that he didn't have. The one that was fake. And although he told people, including his girlfriend, that he was a Paramedic for the City and County, that was far from the truth.
He slung his backpack off his shoulder and into the back seat of the rotting Mustang. Although it was after midnight, he informed his girlfriend that he had been called into work and needed to go out into the bustling city to render medical aide to all it's worthy citizens. He told his girl that he only worked at restaurant because it paid the bills, being a Paramedic was what made him feel good about being a man.
She plucked a cassette off the large dash and shoved it into the knobless radio. He climbed over the red, felt seats into the back seat and rummaged through his backpack. He meticulously unrolled its contents and placed them on the McDonald's wrappers in the seat next to him.
Blue cargo pants, black boots, black belt, and white shirt were all draped officially over the front passenger seat. Next, came the orange handled trauma shears, the maglight, the bulletproof vest, and the belt-attached radio holder. The radio, and one other item, remained in the beer stained backpack.
He changed his clothes and instantly felt more important. He felt smarter and stronger and prettier. Although tired from standing for ten hours and making sandwiches, he instantly became rejuvenated and felt awake, alive. He climbed back over the broken seats and fixed his hair in the vanity mirror. He told his girl that when they got near the hospital, she could just drop him a few blocks away, he didn't want her to not see him have enough courage to not walk anywhere near where all the real paramedics were.
As he reached into the back seat and pulled his backpack forward onto his lap, the top opened enough so that his girl could see what looked like a gun. He quickly stuttered and became nervous, but then summoned the powers of his uniform and simply told her that it was a dangerous job and that this was something he needed to carry for his safety. Little did she know, that once she dropped him off, he disappeared into the night running far from that hospital.
She turned onto Avenue and headed west. What little time she had to spend with her boyfriend she wanted to enjoy. She lit him a cigarette and told him how proud she was of him, how wonderful it was to have a boyfriend that saved lives. He sat, blowing smoke out a crack in the window, relishing the fact that he was somebody now. Wishing that he really were going to work that night, dreaming that someday he might just become a real paramedic.
Red lights framed the intersection ahead of them. Hazards flashed as smoke seeped from the hood of one car. In the distance, propped against a wooden fence, was an upside SUV. Bloodied bodies were crawling out the broken glass windows onto the soft, green yard. A lady sat crying in the driver's seat of a sedan involved in the accident. They had driven up onto an accident. Although they didn't witness the actual event, they arrived just as the dust from the airbags settled onto the floorboards.
What was he to do? He was in uniform. He was going to work. This is what he did. He sat sweating in the passenger seat as the Mustang inched closer. What was he to tell his girlfriend? How would he explain to her that instead of stopping they needed to drive on, that he needed to get to work. This is what he did, this was his job. How could he not help?
She looked at him as they neared, excited that she was about to witness the love of her life do what he had talked about so many times before. All those nights getting drunk and high with him in the park and listening to him recant gory details of such gnarly accidents was finally about to be witnessed. A tear came to her eye as she realized that she was about to witness her boyfriend save a life.
They pulled passed the accident and off onto a side street. She flicked the hazard button on the broken steering column and as the yellow lights clicked on and off, her boyfriend, her hero, exited the car. He clipped his radio onto his belt, grabbed his flashlight and began to walk towards the chaos in the middle of the street.
They were both young and dropouts. He, twenty-four and the eldest of many displaced children, already had a felony record and was on probation. He had already experienced what it was like to wear those bright orange jumpsuits and shuffle from jail to courthouse with legs shackled by steel. And as tough as he was on the outside -in the real world, he had no intention of ever going back. He'd never forget the day the FCC, ATF, and Police kicked his mother's front door down and stormed into his room where he sat illegally programming city owned police radios.
She was in love and not yet eighteen. She had decided school was a waste of time and that her days were better spent in the park smoking weed and drinking bottles of beer wrapped in brown paper sacks. She had been in many relationships and had already been on the receiving end of a domestic violence charge. All she wanted was to find the right man so they could someday settle down and start their very own little dysfunctional family.
Their two-bedroom apartment, on the wrong side of town, was shared with his best friend. They met in juvy. He got him his job at Subway. And between the three of them, bills were paid relatively on time and there was always just enough with their $600 paychecks to buy a bottle of booze, a case of Bud, and a bag of weed. Weekends were worth waiting for.
But tonight, he had his other job to go to. The job that made him feel important. The one that, when asked where he worked, made him smile grandly as he told them which hospital service he worked for. The one that his girlfriend was proud of and the one his best friend was jealous of. The one job that identified him as a valuable person in this society.
The job that he didn't have. The one that was fake. And although he told people, including his girlfriend, that he was a Paramedic for the City and County, that was far from the truth.
He slung his backpack off his shoulder and into the back seat of the rotting Mustang. Although it was after midnight, he informed his girlfriend that he had been called into work and needed to go out into the bustling city to render medical aide to all it's worthy citizens. He told his girl that he only worked at restaurant because it paid the bills, being a Paramedic was what made him feel good about being a man.
She plucked a cassette off the large dash and shoved it into the knobless radio. He climbed over the red, felt seats into the back seat and rummaged through his backpack. He meticulously unrolled its contents and placed them on the McDonald's wrappers in the seat next to him.
Blue cargo pants, black boots, black belt, and white shirt were all draped officially over the front passenger seat. Next, came the orange handled trauma shears, the maglight, the bulletproof vest, and the belt-attached radio holder. The radio, and one other item, remained in the beer stained backpack.
He changed his clothes and instantly felt more important. He felt smarter and stronger and prettier. Although tired from standing for ten hours and making sandwiches, he instantly became rejuvenated and felt awake, alive. He climbed back over the broken seats and fixed his hair in the vanity mirror. He told his girl that when they got near the hospital, she could just drop him a few blocks away, he didn't want her to not see him have enough courage to not walk anywhere near where all the real paramedics were.
As he reached into the back seat and pulled his backpack forward onto his lap, the top opened enough so that his girl could see what looked like a gun. He quickly stuttered and became nervous, but then summoned the powers of his uniform and simply told her that it was a dangerous job and that this was something he needed to carry for his safety. Little did she know, that once she dropped him off, he disappeared into the night running far from that hospital.
She turned onto Avenue and headed west. What little time she had to spend with her boyfriend she wanted to enjoy. She lit him a cigarette and told him how proud she was of him, how wonderful it was to have a boyfriend that saved lives. He sat, blowing smoke out a crack in the window, relishing the fact that he was somebody now. Wishing that he really were going to work that night, dreaming that someday he might just become a real paramedic.
Red lights framed the intersection ahead of them. Hazards flashed as smoke seeped from the hood of one car. In the distance, propped against a wooden fence, was an upside SUV. Bloodied bodies were crawling out the broken glass windows onto the soft, green yard. A lady sat crying in the driver's seat of a sedan involved in the accident. They had driven up onto an accident. Although they didn't witness the actual event, they arrived just as the dust from the airbags settled onto the floorboards.
What was he to do? He was in uniform. He was going to work. This is what he did. He sat sweating in the passenger seat as the Mustang inched closer. What was he to tell his girlfriend? How would he explain to her that instead of stopping they needed to drive on, that he needed to get to work. This is what he did, this was his job. How could he not help?
She looked at him as they neared, excited that she was about to witness the love of her life do what he had talked about so many times before. All those nights getting drunk and high with him in the park and listening to him recant gory details of such gnarly accidents was finally about to be witnessed. A tear came to her eye as she realized that she was about to witness her boyfriend save a life.
They pulled passed the accident and off onto a side street. She flicked the hazard button on the broken steering column and as the yellow lights clicked on and off, her boyfriend, her hero, exited the car. He clipped his radio onto his belt, grabbed his flashlight and began to walk towards the chaos in the middle of the street.
Comments
When's the next one due?!
Regards
Nick
http://nickhough.blogspot.com