Fifteen minutes. (part two)
Sirens wailed in the distance, echoing off the stucco walls of the middle-class neighborhood. Traffic created a new flow and slowly passed the scene of the accident, all occupants inside glued to the drama unfolding before them. He shoved his hand out and stopped traffic as he began to cross the street. He felt so powerful and respected. Who else could stop the inevitable flow of traffic with the palm of a hand?
He knocked on the sedan's driver side window. He knelt uncomfortably and peered into the vehicle, stating he was a paramedic. He asked if anyone was hurt. Still dazed, the occupant nodded her head no as she gasped on the sulpherous odor of the airbag chemicals. He shined his light into the passenger compartment, scanning what he thought was important, scanning what he believed real paramedics would look at.
The sirens were getting closer. The radio chatter on his stolen radio was becoming more pronounced. He heard the police dispatcher sending units and heard that EMS was enroute.
But it was too intoxicating. The lights, the sounds, the blood, and the feeling of power. He was in charge. He was the one everyone on this accident scene was looking to for help. His mind told him to get in his car and leave, his jealousy made him stay.
He walked over to the upside down SUV. Broken glass crumpled under his steel-toed boots as he approached the vehicle. One patient was already out and walking around. He quickly dismissed this person and began to focus on the one bleeding in the grass. He knelt down, at the patient's head, and began talking. He began rendering patient care and tried to convince the patient, and himself, that everything was going to be alright.
He could see the flashing emergency lights now. He could hear the sirens getting louder and louder, closer and closer. "Run, get out of here," said a voice in his head. But he couldn't. He was powerful, unstoppable, and invincible. He was intoxicated with he power of being in charge and his judgment faded more and more at each turn of the approaching ambulance's tires.
He had seen paramedics on T.V. hold cervical spine immobilization after someone had been in an accident, he saw it on The Discovery Channel. He knelt and held the patients head between his legs, looking down at their bloodied face and proud that he instilled a sense of calmness in the patient in a moment of crisis.
The police arrived. Two squad cars parked on opposite sides of the accident, preventing any and all traffic from passing through. They quickly scanned the scene, taking in all the clues as to what may have happened. In the darkness, next to an upside SUV, was what seemed to be a kneeling paramedic in a white shirt. But where was his ambulance? The police approached the cars as an ambulance came to a screeching halt in the middle of the intersection.
The paramedics from the ambulance fell out of the lifted compartment and quickly separated. One went to the sedan, an officer interrupted the other as he made his way to the SUV. Still, more sirens echoed from seemingly every direction as more police and a paramedic supervisor arrived.
And still, in the darkness, struggling with every feeling to flee, was the fastfood paramedic. He was in over his head, there were too many real professional EMS crews on scene. But, it felt so good. Like a sweet piece of cake after dinner, he savored every moment.
An officer approached and he ducked his head like a child caught stealing. He mumbled that he need to retrieve something from the ambulance and slyly weaved his way around objects so as not to be seen by the real paramedics. He had a gauntlet to run and knew it was going to be difficult. He had to cross the street to get back to his girlfriend's Mustang. In doing that, he would have to pass two cop cars, an ambulance, and the paramedic supervisor's Expedition. And like a Marine taking fire, he tucked his head and swiftly crossed that minefield. Twenty steps. Twenty steps and he would be home free.
"Who's that?" he heard as he dodged the first mine.
"Who? Him? I thought he was with you?" mused one of the real paramedics.
The supervisor approached the ambulance and the police asking, "Who the fuck is that?"
"We don't know. But he's wearing a uniform and has a radio."
He was almost there. He could see the Mustang and his girlfriend leaning against the driver's door. He pointed, as nonchalantly as he could, at his girlfriend, hoping she would understand to get in the car and get ready to leave. He wanted to look behind him, it felt as though the world was watching his every move. Just 10 more steps, just 10 steps and he would be inside the Mustang and able to leave.
"I don't, does he have a patch"
"Yeah, he has a patch. But I've never seen him before."
The paid paramedics questioned one another as they attempted to continue managing the accident scene.
"Well," said the paramedic supervisor, "I'm gonna go see who he is."
5 steps. He told his girlfriend to get in the car and start it up. It was time to leave. His heart was racing. Partly because he done what he had dreamed of for so long. And partly, because he was as scared as he had been that day the police knocked his front door down. 5 steps, and he wouldn't have to go back to jail.
"Excuse me? Hey!" asked the supervisor.
3 steps. He could almost reach the handle.
"Hey!"
He grabbed the handle, pulled it up and sprung the mechanism allowing him to swing the awkward door open. He quickly sat down and closed it forcefully. "Let's go!" he told his girlfriend.
The supervisor tapped on the window and his heart sank. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and he could feel the course injection of blood move through his entire body with each pump of his heart. His girlfriend looked awkwardly at him as if asking, "Well, aren't you going to open the door?"
He rolled the window down and avoided any eye contact with the supervisor.
"You new here?"
He stuttered. The powers of his uniform were failing him. He had no idea what to say. He cleared his throat and awkwardly said, " Excuse me?"
"You new here? I haven't seen you around. Who's your FTO?" Inquired the supervisor.
He shifted in his seat. He couldn't speed away, he wasn't driving. He couldn't lock the door and roll the window up and scream at his proud, yet confused, girlfriend. He mustered his last bit of courage and made up some generic, false name.
"Well," said the supervisor, "I need you to come over to the ambulance and sign something stating you made patient contact." The supervisor grabbed the metal handle, pulled up, and opened the rust stained door. "It'll just take a second."
He looked at his girlfriend with a look of sheer terror. He was cornered, he was busted, and he was about to go back to jail. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, swung his foot out of the well, and attempted to stand on his feeble legs. He looked at the accident scene and it looked nothing like before. It was cold and chaotic. It was swarming with police and frightened him to death. He knew if he walked back to that accident scene his life would never be the same.
"Alright," he mumbled, "I'll be right over."
"No, let's do it now," the supervisor grunted seriously.
He stood and in the blink of an eye, ran. He ran as far, and as fast, from that accident scene as he could. He ran from his girlfriend and all his hopes and dreams. He ran for his life, because he knew if he was caught, that it would drastically change forever. Behind him he heard pounding footsteps on the pavement.
"EMS 14, he's running. North bound on this street. Blue pants, white shirt.... Uhh, dressed like one of us. Wearing our uniform."
He turned down a black alley, jumped over a fence and hurdled some lawn chairs. He had lost the supervisor and quickly fumbled for his stolen police radio on his belt. One drunken, lonely friday night he had studied all the police districts of this city and quickly turned the knob to the one he was hiding in.
Police chattered on the radio, airing a description and his last known whereabouts. He could hear the thud-thud-thud of the police helicopter above as they scanned the ground with their floodlight. He found a dark corner, removed all his clothes, including his bulletproof vest, and closely monitored the radio. He quietly hopped from yard to yard as he heard Metro arrive on scene with the K-9. He knew he was in trouble.
For three hours he played cat and mouse with the SWAT team. Cold, scared, and surrendered, he raised his arms towards the sky as the K-9 barked uncontrollably at him. He was caught.
His eyes closed as he was taken to the ground and handcuffed. His hopes shattered as he was forced to the pavement.
He laid there flat on the cold pavement. For twenty-four years he had been a looser. Twenty-four years and no one had ever taken him serious. Twenty-four years and look where he had gotten -flat on the cold ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, K-9 barking at his heels.
He began to cry. And as he was lifted up onto his feet and escorted to the cage in the police car he looked at the flashing lights of that car accident on the horizon. In twenty-four years, it was those fifteen minutes on that accident scene that he'll never forget.
For fifteen minutes, he was respected.
For fifteen minutes, he was somebody.
He knocked on the sedan's driver side window. He knelt uncomfortably and peered into the vehicle, stating he was a paramedic. He asked if anyone was hurt. Still dazed, the occupant nodded her head no as she gasped on the sulpherous odor of the airbag chemicals. He shined his light into the passenger compartment, scanning what he thought was important, scanning what he believed real paramedics would look at.
The sirens were getting closer. The radio chatter on his stolen radio was becoming more pronounced. He heard the police dispatcher sending units and heard that EMS was enroute.
But it was too intoxicating. The lights, the sounds, the blood, and the feeling of power. He was in charge. He was the one everyone on this accident scene was looking to for help. His mind told him to get in his car and leave, his jealousy made him stay.
He walked over to the upside down SUV. Broken glass crumpled under his steel-toed boots as he approached the vehicle. One patient was already out and walking around. He quickly dismissed this person and began to focus on the one bleeding in the grass. He knelt down, at the patient's head, and began talking. He began rendering patient care and tried to convince the patient, and himself, that everything was going to be alright.
He could see the flashing emergency lights now. He could hear the sirens getting louder and louder, closer and closer. "Run, get out of here," said a voice in his head. But he couldn't. He was powerful, unstoppable, and invincible. He was intoxicated with he power of being in charge and his judgment faded more and more at each turn of the approaching ambulance's tires.
He had seen paramedics on T.V. hold cervical spine immobilization after someone had been in an accident, he saw it on The Discovery Channel. He knelt and held the patients head between his legs, looking down at their bloodied face and proud that he instilled a sense of calmness in the patient in a moment of crisis.
The police arrived. Two squad cars parked on opposite sides of the accident, preventing any and all traffic from passing through. They quickly scanned the scene, taking in all the clues as to what may have happened. In the darkness, next to an upside SUV, was what seemed to be a kneeling paramedic in a white shirt. But where was his ambulance? The police approached the cars as an ambulance came to a screeching halt in the middle of the intersection.
The paramedics from the ambulance fell out of the lifted compartment and quickly separated. One went to the sedan, an officer interrupted the other as he made his way to the SUV. Still, more sirens echoed from seemingly every direction as more police and a paramedic supervisor arrived.
And still, in the darkness, struggling with every feeling to flee, was the fastfood paramedic. He was in over his head, there were too many real professional EMS crews on scene. But, it felt so good. Like a sweet piece of cake after dinner, he savored every moment.
An officer approached and he ducked his head like a child caught stealing. He mumbled that he need to retrieve something from the ambulance and slyly weaved his way around objects so as not to be seen by the real paramedics. He had a gauntlet to run and knew it was going to be difficult. He had to cross the street to get back to his girlfriend's Mustang. In doing that, he would have to pass two cop cars, an ambulance, and the paramedic supervisor's Expedition. And like a Marine taking fire, he tucked his head and swiftly crossed that minefield. Twenty steps. Twenty steps and he would be home free.
"Who's that?" he heard as he dodged the first mine.
"Who? Him? I thought he was with you?" mused one of the real paramedics.
The supervisor approached the ambulance and the police asking, "Who the fuck is that?"
"We don't know. But he's wearing a uniform and has a radio."
He was almost there. He could see the Mustang and his girlfriend leaning against the driver's door. He pointed, as nonchalantly as he could, at his girlfriend, hoping she would understand to get in the car and get ready to leave. He wanted to look behind him, it felt as though the world was watching his every move. Just 10 more steps, just 10 steps and he would be inside the Mustang and able to leave.
"I don't, does he have a patch"
"Yeah, he has a patch. But I've never seen him before."
The paid paramedics questioned one another as they attempted to continue managing the accident scene.
"Well," said the paramedic supervisor, "I'm gonna go see who he is."
5 steps. He told his girlfriend to get in the car and start it up. It was time to leave. His heart was racing. Partly because he done what he had dreamed of for so long. And partly, because he was as scared as he had been that day the police knocked his front door down. 5 steps, and he wouldn't have to go back to jail.
"Excuse me? Hey!" asked the supervisor.
3 steps. He could almost reach the handle.
"Hey!"
He grabbed the handle, pulled it up and sprung the mechanism allowing him to swing the awkward door open. He quickly sat down and closed it forcefully. "Let's go!" he told his girlfriend.
The supervisor tapped on the window and his heart sank. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and he could feel the course injection of blood move through his entire body with each pump of his heart. His girlfriend looked awkwardly at him as if asking, "Well, aren't you going to open the door?"
He rolled the window down and avoided any eye contact with the supervisor.
"You new here?"
He stuttered. The powers of his uniform were failing him. He had no idea what to say. He cleared his throat and awkwardly said, " Excuse me?"
"You new here? I haven't seen you around. Who's your FTO?" Inquired the supervisor.
He shifted in his seat. He couldn't speed away, he wasn't driving. He couldn't lock the door and roll the window up and scream at his proud, yet confused, girlfriend. He mustered his last bit of courage and made up some generic, false name.
"Well," said the supervisor, "I need you to come over to the ambulance and sign something stating you made patient contact." The supervisor grabbed the metal handle, pulled up, and opened the rust stained door. "It'll just take a second."
He looked at his girlfriend with a look of sheer terror. He was cornered, he was busted, and he was about to go back to jail. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, swung his foot out of the well, and attempted to stand on his feeble legs. He looked at the accident scene and it looked nothing like before. It was cold and chaotic. It was swarming with police and frightened him to death. He knew if he walked back to that accident scene his life would never be the same.
"Alright," he mumbled, "I'll be right over."
"No, let's do it now," the supervisor grunted seriously.
He stood and in the blink of an eye, ran. He ran as far, and as fast, from that accident scene as he could. He ran from his girlfriend and all his hopes and dreams. He ran for his life, because he knew if he was caught, that it would drastically change forever. Behind him he heard pounding footsteps on the pavement.
"EMS 14, he's running. North bound on this street. Blue pants, white shirt.... Uhh, dressed like one of us. Wearing our uniform."
He turned down a black alley, jumped over a fence and hurdled some lawn chairs. He had lost the supervisor and quickly fumbled for his stolen police radio on his belt. One drunken, lonely friday night he had studied all the police districts of this city and quickly turned the knob to the one he was hiding in.
Police chattered on the radio, airing a description and his last known whereabouts. He could hear the thud-thud-thud of the police helicopter above as they scanned the ground with their floodlight. He found a dark corner, removed all his clothes, including his bulletproof vest, and closely monitored the radio. He quietly hopped from yard to yard as he heard Metro arrive on scene with the K-9. He knew he was in trouble.
For three hours he played cat and mouse with the SWAT team. Cold, scared, and surrendered, he raised his arms towards the sky as the K-9 barked uncontrollably at him. He was caught.
His eyes closed as he was taken to the ground and handcuffed. His hopes shattered as he was forced to the pavement.
He laid there flat on the cold pavement. For twenty-four years he had been a looser. Twenty-four years and no one had ever taken him serious. Twenty-four years and look where he had gotten -flat on the cold ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, K-9 barking at his heels.
He began to cry. And as he was lifted up onto his feet and escorted to the cage in the police car he looked at the flashing lights of that car accident on the horizon. In twenty-four years, it was those fifteen minutes on that accident scene that he'll never forget.
For fifteen minutes, he was respected.
For fifteen minutes, he was somebody.
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Regards
Nick
http://nickhough.blogspot.com