Fireman

“Dear Mrs. Bennett, parents and fellow classmates, today I’m going to talk to you about my Dad. He’s not just any Dad. He’s Sam MacDougall, and he saves lives.”

My son looks up at me for encouragement, so I send a nod his way. I’m here because he told me he was proud of me. Proud of me, the Dad. Kids aren’t supposed to say that.

My throat has that dry rub feeling, making it hard to swallow. It’s a freaking sauna in here. If I could just take these boots off, I’d feel much better. When your feet are hot, you’re hot.

My mother taught me that.

*

“Look at that mother,” Ricky whistles between his teeth. Although it seems like he doesn’t care, he’s just relieved we don’t have to go inside the old two-story barn before us. It has that grim and grey dilapidated look that people pay a fortune to tear down and repurpose. With its vaulted ceilings and windowless walls, it would be too dangerous to enter.

“It would be hot walking into her wrath,” I agree.

A sea of first responders follow protocol while Ricky and I hang back. Being the last company to arrive, there isn’t much we can do to support. We're an extra set of hands in case the flames eat their way to the homestead, but there's no danger of that. I made sure of it.

Together, we watch the flames chuckle from the inside, licking their way around the rickety planks. I’m itching to get my hands on another cigarette but it will have to wait. Can’t have Papa Chief on my back. He’s got a no-tobacco policy I happily agreed to, on and off the clock.

"Save them!"

All at once, we turn to face the street. A brigade of people look back at us in their nightwear, fear plastered on their faces. The woman who was calling out has fallen to her knees on the grass. Her hair is twisted into tight curls at her scalp, but one dangles precariously in front of her left eye. Right one looks through me, pleadingly.

“The man thinks his wife and daughter are in the barn!” She shrieks.

Immediately, I race back to the truck to gear up. Ricky follows suit. There's no time to waste.

*

Desks are full. Not one student in Mrs. Bennett’s class faked sick on Monday, June 18th. All dentist and doctor’s appointments would wait. It just so happens, a local firefighter has come to his son’s fourth-grade classroom to talk about how he saved two people from a barn that went ablaze.

How was it possible?

That’s the question I ask myself, again and again. It doesn’t seem to be from a scientific standpoint, but it happened and now these people want the gritty details. A play-by-play of my every thought and move. I don't think I have a good explanation to give, but it’s not the mothers in the back of the room I’m worried about.

It’s my son.

I was invited to stand here while a group of nine-year-old's gawks at me in the whole get-up, the smile of a real hero carved on my face. But what am I to tell them? They want to hear about my invincibility and unwavering courage. I’m not a firefighter; I’m a superhero who battled the evil Fire and freed the damsel and her child from distress.

Is it a meteor? Is it a phoenix? Nah, it’s Fireman ready to save the day!

It didn’t happen the way anyone thinks. They called it a miracle, and even if I could explain how I found those two, huddled together, prepared to die in the middle of all that decrepit wood, they still would have called it a miracle. I’m not heroic by any definition, but I can’t tell them that because then I'm the villain.

Or worse: the humble hero.

*

Help!

I hear him calling for help but I can’t move, can’t see where my big brother is. Skull feels like it’s on fire. Eyes sting black. I scream his name, but it only comes out as smoke. Soon, I'm on the ground in a forced crawl, legs like dead weights to drag around.

CRACK!

I crawl faster. Splinters pierce my palms like quills when a firefighter picks me up, instructing me to hide my face.

Adam! Get Adam! I try to tell him, but the smoke monster has coiled up inside, silencing me.

*

We’ve taken the Ford out for a little ride. Adam’s in the front seat, and my hands are behind the wheel. Our old house hangs slanted in the rearview. If Mom knew, she’d be pissed, but this is something I remember he wanted to do. The two of us used to go to Barry’s Big Scoop at the edge of town, and that’s where I take him. He gets his usual, hot fudge sundae with whipped cream and colored sprinkles on top.

“Forget the cherry,” he says to the waitress.

“On second thought, bring me that cherry,” I joke, and the two of us laugh like old times. High five, low five, fist pump. For hotheaded brothers, Adam and I used to get along pretty well, and he always looked out for me.

Always.

“Whoa, that sundae is huge,” I say, pretending to reach for it.

“You really gonna steal from a child?” Adam asks. “You know, I’m not your big brother no more. I’m only twelve years old.”

“You’re still my big brother.”

“That so? Guess I don’t see it that way.”

“How do you see it?” I ask, even though my gut tells me I won’t like the answer.

“I got a better question. You really gonna stand there and inspire those kids to become a martyr like yourself?” Adam sets his spoon down carefully and rests his fists on the table.

“I’m no martyr—”

“That’s for sure. Did you ever tell your son why you became a firefighter in the first place? You hate putting your life on the line, and you’re afraid you’ll leave this family broken too, aren't you? Your new family. Do you think that if you save enough lives, it will make up for my death, Sammy?”

“Adam, I tried. I never wanted—”

“I get that, but if the tables were turned, I would have manned up and tried harder. Instead, you get it all: the big house, the red Mercedes, and the gorgeous wife all those soccer moms are jealous of.” He picks up his spoon again and leans forward. “Your little mansion on the hilltop goes up in flames. Are those smoke detectors up to date? Can she depend on you to save her life, Fireman? Or are you only good for pumping fire into her?”

*

“Mr. MacDougall! I asked if you are feeling alright.” Logan’s teacher has stepped forward hesitantly. I scan the room. Sets of eyes dart back and forth, confused and worried, so I wipe the beads of salty sweat from my upper lip and smile to save face.

“It’s boiling in here. You try wearing this get-up on a hot day.” At first, there is silence, but then the tension in the room lifts.

“I’m so sorry, Sam. Can I call you Sam? How silly of me. I’ll get this fan blowing on you at once. Forgive me for interrupting Logan. Carry on.”

“Ok. Umm, so yeah. My Dad told us about the biggest fire he’s ever seen! Four companies were called out to an old barn off the highway. This fire was just huge—”

*

Ricky and I don’t pause to make eye contact because we’re already on the same page. The two of us are staring up at the striking inferno. Hot orange flicks through the smoke as it fades into night, shading the stars. 

We think quickly and logically, running along the sides of the barn, checking for possible entry points. One wide one built for a horse and carriage and a small door at the back, but both are blocked by fallen beams. Ricky finds our way in through a bad patch-up job on the back wall; someone nailed a piece of plywood over a series of wretched tears. When we climb through, we hear the wife’s voice pierce through a wall of heat.

Nobody was supposed to be inside this thing, I think, stomach churning.

I call back, and when I don’t get a response, I point in the direction I'm going and then where I want Ricky to check. I motion for him to move fast. The joists are weakening and it’s not long before this whole thing collapses.

He doesn’t make it far before backtracking with a headshake. He thinks it’s too late. The fire is already too far along, having consumed the innards of the barn, albeit the skeletal remains of some furniture and old machines. I have the mental image of a fearful mother huddled in a corner, fighting to keep her eyes open while she holds an unconscious child against her chest.

I think about them and I can’t retreat.

“Help!” I hear Ricky shout from behind me. The ceiling beams have begun falling more rapidly, and he’s lying beneath one, mask fallen off, face all bloody. He’s reaching his right arm out, gesturing for me to help him, but I remain still. I need to move quickly, roll the heavy beam off his chest, but I don’t. I stare at his face and blink back the sting of tears.

“Sammy! Help me!”

Another beam collapses, bringing down debris from the second floor. Now that the two of us have been separated, there is little hope I can save him.

“Adam! Adam!” I yell to Ricky. The fire is crackling and cackling all around me as I fall to my knees, struggling to regain control of my body. The support structure wavers, or maybe it’s my vision.

“Ricky!” I croak out my brother’s name once more, but the monster has reached down into my throat and squeezed hold of my voice box.

The burning smell, oh, the flesh—

Exhausted, trembling and growling on all fours, I fight the heat and pain in my chest. Then, I hear the mother’s voice once more and remember: we weren't the only ones in here. The fire has her and the kid, too.

*

“Mr. MacDougall? You haven’t said much. Will you take questions from the class?”

I look down at my brother, Adam, standing beside me. He holds a lit match up to my face. He wants me to burn this place down, too.

“No,” I manage in a harsh whisper. Spots like freckles flit across my vision, and I struggle to keep them at bay. “I won’t.”