Page 2 of Fire and Icing

She meant well.

I looked like one of the Three Stooges, only with a mullet, and not in a let’s-bring-back-the-mullet kind of way.

I shake that image out of my head. I’m early for my first day, which should be a good thing.

With my hand on the knob of the station door, I take a deep breath. Box breathing is a technique we’re taught to employ if we need it to calm our nerves before going into a fire. It’s nearly impossible to be nervous while focusing on breathing. For an extra measure of protection, I start humming.

I’m doing this odd combination of humming and inhaling and holding my breath and exhaling when the door pops open and a tall, brown-haired man stares down at me.

“Rookie’s here!” he shouts over his shoulder.

I realize I’m still humming a moment too late. And then I let out a deep exhale. A weird noise comes out of my mouth and nose. One of the firefighter’s eyebrows cocks up high on his forehead. I hold his gaze. In for a penny, in for a pound, as Mom would say.

His eyebrow slowly lowers and he extends his hand to shake mine. “Come on in, Dustin. I’m Patrick.”

The sounds of boots clunking and chair legs scraping against the concrete floor in the room adjacent to this one tells me shift change is wrapping up.

In this front room, a desk sits off to the corner of the smallish space. Our captain for this station, David, enters and takes a seat behind it in a worn, swiveling office chair. A low file cabinet with a coffee maker on top of it sits against the wall next to him. The main wall across from the desk boasts a map of Waterford. Various regions are blocked off in different pastel colors. Pins mark sites of previous major incidents, risk zones and significant water sources.

Men file into the room, greeting Patrick and eyeing me.

One of the older men walks past me toward the front door. “Best of luck, Rookie,” his voice is sincere and his smile is warm. But the wink he gives me sends chills down my spine.

I stand a little straighter while the other four men on his shift follow him out the door, each one clapping me on the back or saying something brief to welcome me.

Each of these men were the newbie at one time or another. They all lived to tell about it. So will I. I’ve been trained in the academy. I volunteered on fires in California. I know more than a lot of new guys on their first day.

My new crew stands around the office, which feels as if it’s shrinking by the second. There’s a warmth among these men, a professionalism, but also the feeling of being around a band of brothers. I’m like Tiny Tim, peering in the window at their camaraderie. For now. I’ll earn my place at the table. I’ve been working toward this for years.

David, our captain, gives me a small, nearly imperceptible grin. I stayed at his home the past three nights, though I barely saw him over the weekend. I was out at the additional requiredtraining I needed to be able to transfer from the academy in California to being a full-time employee in Tennessee.

David’s wife fixed me breakfast early this morning. His daughter drew me a picture of a fire truck and what I assume is me standing next to it, and left it on my bed last night to wish me good luck on my first day. David’s toddler, Benjamin, drooled on me while I held him so Lyndsay could cook us dinner Saturday night. I’m not sure if anyone here knows that our captain and his wife are putting me up until I find an apartment.

Securing my own place to live just bumped up to item number one on my to-do list.

“Welcome to Station Number One,” David says, cordially.

“Thank you, Captain,” I answer him. “Uh, Chief. Erm … Captain.”

Snickers and light chuckles spread through the other three firefighters like a flame along a thread.

“Men, introduce yourselves to Dustin,” Captain David instructs the remaining crew of three men standing around me.

“I’m Chad,” says the light-brown haired man with skin that looks like he spends most of his time outdoors.

The other guys snicker.

The one who hasn’t introduced himself yet doesn’t smile, but he mutters, “Such a Chad.”

I get the feeling this guy is not named Chad, so I just stick out my hand and say, “Nice to meet you.”

I’m the youngest brother in my family. Looking around the room at the expressions on these guys’ faces, I’m certain of one thing: My new crew is about to have some fun at my expense. I’ve prepared myself for this moment the best I could. I’m a good sport. I can dish it out, and I can take it. But this—this job—matters more than anything else up to this point in my life—anything but my music. How I show up today will set the tonefor the coming weeks, months, even years. A lot rides on my first impression.

“I’m Greyson,” the more serious sandy-brown haired firefighter says to me.

His hair is tousled, but that’s the only thing out of order about him. He’s got a stern jaw and broad forehead and he’s built like he could take me on and possibly win. I’ve always been referred to as bulky or built. This guy looks like he could bench most of the other guys in the station.

Greyson doesn’t smile. Instead, he studies me, blatantly sizing me up.

---