Page 5 of Sparking Sara

“Anyway, maybe that’s why I got sick tonight,” I lie. “I was nervous. I’m still new at this. I just graduated from the fire academy two months ago. But don’t let that scare you. I’m good at what I do.” I look over my shoulder at Nolan, who is still working to get her friend out. “Not everyone believes that. But I’m hoping I can prove them wrong. Help me prove them wrong, Sara. Stay with me.”

“She’s free,” Nolan says of the friend before crawling into the driver’s seat so he can get a better view of Sara. While assessing her, he gets a whiff of my accident-scene contribution. He looks over into the back seat and eyes the puddle of vomit. “Jesus, Andrews.”

He cuts Sara free of her seatbelt and is able to jimmy her out of the seat and onto a backboard just as she starts to convulse again.

I back myself out of the rear window and watch as the police put a blanket over the head of Sara’s friend. Then I run over to the ambulance where they’re loading Sara. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Hard to say,” the paramedic says. “She hasn’t regained consciousness after the seizure. Looks like a brain injury for sure. Only time will tell.”

I nod, wondering if anything I did even did any good. She looks dead, but unlike her friend, she’s not covered up yet, so I guess there’s still hope.

God, I hope the last thing that woman ever hears is not my story of vomit.What was I thinking?

I watch the ambulance drive away, weaving through traffic with its lights and sirens on.

Lt. Franks comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “We can’t save them all, Andrews.”

My shoulders slump. “You don’t think she’ll make it?”

“Miracles happen every day. Come on, let’s clean up and let NYPD do their job.”

Miracle. He thinks it will take a miracle to save her? She was moving. And she was talking. But my EMS training has me understanding that with head injuries, they get worse before they get better. The blood. The swelling. The seizures.

Then I remember that a miracle didn’t save my parents. Why should Sara be so lucky?

On our way back to the station, Nolan decides to get into it with me.

“You had one job to do, rookie,” he says. “Not to puke on the scene. You couldn’t even dothatright, could you?”

I feel a vein in my forehead throb. “My job?” I say forcefully. “My job was to assess the victim and keep her calm until she could be rescued. I did my fucking job.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Nolan,” the lieutenant warns from the front seat.

“What? He’s a wuss, Lieutenant,” Geoff says. “He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t beanywherein FDNY.”

“Don’t be such a prick, Nolan,” Lt. Franks says. “The kid is right. He did his job. Give it a rest, why don’t you?”

Nolan shakes his head, looking at me in disgust. I turn and gaze out the window, trying not to think that I just might have been the last person ever to talk to Sara Francis.

Then I pull out my phone and text Bass, knowing he’s about to get off shift too.

Me: Drinks at Donny’s Bar?

Bass: Meet you there in an hour.

~ ~ ~

The waitress puts a tray of shots in front of us as soon as I sit down across from Bass. I question him with my eyes.

“Figured you’d need these,” he says.

“Why is that?”

“Because the only time you want to meet for drinks right after work is when you’ve had a bad shift.”

I lower my head in realization. “Damn. I do that, don’t I? I was wondering why you agreed so quickly. Don’t you have a wife and kid to get home to?”

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