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“Maybe you could start training new firefighters,” he says, throwing his bag into the trunk of his sports car.
“George,” I say flatly.
“I’m not meddling. I’m justsuggesting.”
I lean against the driver’s side door of my truck. He’s not wrong to make “suggestions.” Ever since I asked Lulu what she wants, I’ve been thinking about how I might answer the question myself. I don’t know that I have the answer, but I know what I don’t want.
“I don’t really like the job, it’s just...” I gesture at myself.
“Just what?”
I shrug. “Look at me.”
George’s eyes get big. “Yeah. I’m looking.”
I huff. “What else am I good at?”
He slams the trunk and stalks over to me. I would never tell him this but when he’s mad George’s nostrils flare and it’s the cutest thing. His nostrils are flaring. “Jesse Theodore Logan. How dare you say that about yourself. About my friend. What’s got you thinking about this?” he asks.
“Lulu.”
“Lulu asked what else you’re good at?”
“What? No. Lulu needed...” I realize mid-sentence I’ve backed myself into a corner here. “We were talking,” I say in the vaguest of truths. “And she said...” I don’t want to reveal too much of what Lulu has told me. Lulu is vulnerable with me. She might be vulnerable with everyone, but that’s her choice to decide. “We were talking and the question of what she wants out of life came up. It got me thinking about what I want.”
“And...?” George asks, his voice soft. He stands close but doesn’t touch, speaks low, like he doesn’t want to scare me away.
“And...” I take a deep breath. “I wanted to be a firefighter because I wanted to be like Pop but...” My heart breaks every time I say it. Even though the news is nothing new. “Now I can’t be.” The ball fields surrounding us are empty. It’s just George and me under the bright fluorescent lights, and the crickets. George waits me out.
“Everything I’ve ever done has been because I’m like him. I’m big. I’m strong. I’ve got the type of body that can lift heavy things or scare people away.”
George opens his mouth, closes it, like he wants to say something but changes his mind.
“I want to do something where people appreciate me for my brain, not just my body,” I say quietly, flushing. Vulnerability is still uncomfortable but it’s getting easier. Like at the gym, at first a heavy weight feels like too much but the more you lift it the easier it gets.
“OK. How can I help?” George asks.
Before I can think too hard about it, I pull him to me and hug him. He lets out a softoof. “You’re a good friend.”
“Yeah, yeah, OK. Come on. Tell me how I can help.”
I scratch the back of my head even though it’s not itchy. “Lulu gave me these books by these historian-philosopher folks. They’re really confusing. I don’t get most of what they’re talking about.”
“So, you want to be a historian-philosopher?” George asks with full seriousness.
“Lulu really likes history. Well, obviously. She’s a professor. But she’s passionate about it and it got me thinking about how if I can’t be passionate about firefighting, I need to find something else to be passionate about.”
“What are you passionate about?” he asks like he already knows the answer and this is a test.
“Lulu said I’m good under pressure.”
He hums, nods.
“Caring for Pop has been hard emotionally but also, rewarding?”
“Hmmmm.”
I shrug, kicking at a stone on the pavement, watching a coffee cup roll away in the soft breeze. “So I thought—”
