Page 2 of Hearts to Mend

Rooster slings the medic bag over his shoulder, and we cross the fine gravel of the playground to the center of the scene. I take the lead on this call, pulling on my latex gloves as I get down on my knees in front of Anne, trying to block the view of all those little lookie-loos hovering around.

My assessing gaze moves over the boy in her arms. He looks so small, enveloped in his teacher’s embrace with his little legs dangling out over her knee. His face is pinched tight with pain, his eyes screwed shut, his olive complexion sallow. He hugs his injured arm against his chest as Anne rocks him gently in her lap.

“Well, hi there,” I say to the boy. “What happened?”

He answers in a small voice. “I fell.”

“It’s his wrist. I think it’s broken.” Anne rubs his back gently.

“Ouch,” I say to the boy, always addressing him directly. When I was a kid, I hated how the grown-ups would talk about me and never to me, so I’m careful not to make that mistake with the kids I work with. “You must be pretty tough. When I broke my wrist, I cried and cried. It hurt something fierce! Does yours hurt?”

He nods stiffly.

“What’s your name?”

With a little sniffle, he answers, “Mateo.”

“Well, hi, Mateo. I’m Dee, and these are my friends Drew, Watts, and Rooster.” Mateo peeks one eye open, looking at the men who stand behind me and block the view of all those prying eyes. The boy stares at the guys intently, probably wondering which one is named Rooster. Acting like it’s a secret, I cup my mouth and tell him, “We call him that because of his red hair.”

Just for a moment, I get the hint of a smile from Mateo, and I smile back at him. “Can I see where it hurts?”

Mateo screws his eyes shut again and clamps his jaw tight, trying so hard not to cry as he loosens his grip on his injured arm so I can look. It’s swollen and discolored, and I’d guess the same diagnosis as Anne: likely broken. “Ouch. That must hurt.”

He nods again.

“You know, Mateo, it’s okay to cry. Even the toughest big strong men cry sometimes because they know that when you have hurt feelings locked inside you, you need to get them out. So you can put those feelings in your tears and let them go. Then, maybe it won’t hurt as much inside anymore. Okay?”

Mateo frowns, but he blinks up at me. He has the sweetest brown eyes, glistening with tears. One escapes and trickles down his cheek. My heart cracks wide open for the kid.

I turn to my team. “ETA on EMS?”

“Thirty minutes. They have a patient transfer,” Watts states quietly. I trade a look with him, and he nods, already knowing what I’m thinking.

Turning back to Mateo, I give him a sideways smile. “Mateo, would you like to ride in a fire engine?”

His little eyes light up, as if his pain is forgotten, and he starts squirming out of Anne’s lap like he’s going to hop up, right as rain. Rooster and Drew quickly come down on their knees on either side of me, encouraging him to remain seated long enough to get a splint on his arm, immobilizing it for transport to the hospital.

It’s not every day we transport a patient in our engine. It’s not exactly protocol, but Mateo is hurting, and the hospital is two minutes away. No need to keep him waiting here. Plus, Mateo’s been such a good patient, I want to turn this experience into a memory he’ll cherish, at least in part.

So up and at ‘em we go. Watts is already back at the engine, calling ahead to cancel the ambulance and prepare the hospital for our arrival. Mateo walks himself to the truck, flanked by Drew and Rooster, making sure he doesn’t fall and further injure his arm.

I hang back with Anne and Mrs. Strahan, who’s been the school principal since back in my day. In a whisper, Mrs. Strahan informs me, “We’ve left several messages with Mateo’s father, but he’s not answering his phone. I’m going to try his grandmother when I get back to my office. Anne, you should accompany him to the hospital with his parental release forms so he’s not alone.”

“I’ll stay with him.” I volunteer before I’ve truly thought it through. But it’s a slow day, and my shift ends in half an hour anyway. So yeah, I’ll stay with Mateo until a member of his family shows up at the hospital.

The teachers glance at each other, silently conferring among themselves, then provide me with a copy of Mateo’s emergency medical release paperwork, giving me quick hugs before I hustle to catch up with my team as they put away the gear.

I step up into the crew cab to find Drew and Rooster have strapped Mateo into one of the jump seats between them. And Drew is fitting an intercom headset over Mateo’s ears so he can listen to our chatter.

I give the kid a thumbs-up, which he returns with his good hand, and when we’re all strapped in and ready to go, I blast the siren to impress his schoolyard friends. Mateo squeals with joy.

“Prepare for popularity, Mateo. Everyone’s going to want to sign your cast tomorrow,” Rooster says.

“I get a cast?” Mateo asks, his voice filled with excitement that echoes over the radio.

A couple of the guys chuckle.

I shake my head. Little boys are so weird.

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