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First Responders
“Big Mike’s going to kill me if I’m late again.”
“You’re not late. You’re early.”
“I’m on time. On time is late for Big Mike.”
“Then walk faster.”
“You walk faster. You’re the one who wanted coffee.”
“And I got coffee. System works.”
The screech came first. Then the thud.
Thirty meters ahead, a cyclist was on the ground. A car at a bad angle, driver already out, frozen by the open door. People pulling up short on the sidewalk.
Ben shoved his coffee at Josh. “Stay here.”
Josh watched him cross the distance at a sprint. He stood there, then put the cups on a bench and followed.
“You in the Batman T-shirt! Call 911. Cyclist hit by a car, conscious, heavy bleeding from the leg. Tell them that.”
The guy fumbled for his phone. Ben dug a pair of shears out of his bag.
“Hey. I’m Ben, I’m with the Cascadia FD. I’m going to cut your pant leg so I can see what we’re working with, okay? What’s your name?”
“D-Dave.”
“Dave, you’re doing fine. Keep breathing for me. Slow it down.”
Josh was three steps away. He watched Ben cut through the denim in quick strokes. Underneath, the skin was torn open and the blood was worse than the jeans had made it look.
Then Ben looked up. Straight at him.
“Josh. Get over here. Grab me the gauze. Side pocket.”
He dropped beside the bag. The zipper stuck. He yanked it and pulled the pack out. “This?”
“Open it. Hand it over.”
Josh did as he was told. Ben pressed the gauze against the wound, then took Josh’s hands and put them over it.
“Hold this. Firm pressure. Don’t let up.”
The warmth under his palms was wrong. His stomach lurched.
“It’s okay,” Ben said. “Keep pressure. You’re helping.”
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking but he held on.
Ben moved around the cyclist, checking things Josh couldn’t name, doing things Josh couldn’t follow.
“Where do you work, Dave?”
“Grocery store,” he managed.
“Yeah? You ever get people who squeeze every avocado on the shelf?”
“Every day.”
Ben kept him talking. Josh heard the sirens before he saw the lights.
Josh hit the bottom of the stairs at Riley’s. Ben was tucked into the back booth, drink half gone, like he’d known Josh would be late.
“You smell like a fryer.”
“I came straight from work.”
“I noticed.”
“You could pretend to be glad to see me.”
“I am glad to see you. I’m just also processing the fryer.”
Ben’s phone buzzed. He picked it up.
“What?”
A tinny voice. “…joint training… collapsed wall drill…”
“Yeah, I saw the email. I’ll be there.”
“…Lucy says… good scissors… stab you…”
Ben snorted. “Tell her I’ve got my own scissors. And duct tape.”
“…afraid of… later.”
The call ended. Ben went back to his drink.
“Okay,” Josh said. “Collapsed wall. Good scissors. Duct tape. I have questions.”
“Just work stuff.”
“Work that involves collapsed walls and duct tape. And you didn’t think to mention that?”
“Didn’t come up.”
“It’s coming up now. What do you do?”
Ben took a sip. Took his time.
“Fire department.”
“You’re a firefighter? The kind that runs into burning buildings?”
“Sometimes. Mostly I crawl into tight spaces while smarter people yell at me about protocols.”
“That’s insane. You ever get scared?”
“Only when I run out of duct tape.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“Don’t get all serious on me, kid. It’s just a job.”
“A job where you save people’s lives.”
“And then I come here to argue with you about ketchup packets. Balance.”
Ben was talking to the paramedics. Josh stood back, watching. He was still shaking.
The ambulance pulled out. Lights on, no siren. They walked back the way they came. Both coffees were still on the bench, cold. Ben finished his in one go.
“That was incredible,” Josh said.
Ben shrugged, but he was enjoying this. Josh could tell.
“I froze and you just—you didn’t even hesitate.”
“Hey. I do this for a living, remember?”
“Yeah,” Josh said. “And I could never do what you do. But what you just did there? I think I could do that.”
He looked at his hands. There was still blood under his nails.
“I’ve always wanted to help people. I still do. Today I had my hands on it and it mattered. Maybe it doesn’t have to be social work. Maybe it can be this.”
“Then do it.”
“You think I can?”
“You just did.”
Ben said it like it was obvious. Nobody had ever said anything like that to him.
“That’s EMT work,” he continued. “Most of it isn’t like today. Most of it’s transport runs and paperwork and people having bad days that aren’t emergencies. But when it counts, it counts.”
“I want to try.”
“It’s long hours. The pay’s bad. You’re going to see things you can’t fix.”
“I still want to try.”
“I know you do. Most people just talk about helping. You’re not most people.”
“You—you can’t just say stuff like that! Out of nowhere! While I’m covered in someone’s blood!”
“What? I mean it.”
“THAT’S THE PROBLEM!”
Ben laughed. “Find an EMT course. When you’ve signed up, tell me. I’ll run you through the basics so you don’t embarrass yourself.”
“You’re the worst. Deal.”
Josh was already late for his shift. He didn’t care.
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