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You’d think after years in the desert fighting wars, I’d have been prepared for anything.
Hell, I’d seen some pretty bad shit in my forty-some-odd years, but today took the fucking cake for me for some reason.
As I lay on my stomach next to a mangled vehicle, my outstretched hand held by a five-year-old boy who was somehow tangled up and stuck in and underneath a car, I wanted to be sick.
“I’m scared,” he cried out, holding my hand tight, lights and sirens all around us, his mother screaming from the side of the road where they were trying to calm her down.
We’d gotten the call and made it down here within five minutes. We’d made good time, but it was five minutes too long that this baby was stuck. My stomach rolled at the sight of him.
“It’s okay, buddy. We’re gonna get you out. I just need you to be brave for me. Can you be brave? Who’s your favorite superhero?”
As a firefighter, I was called out to car accidents all the time. We were the best equipped to handle these situations being that we were EMT certified and also had the right extrication equipment if a victim was trapped.
This wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed the Jaws of Life used on a victim, but today was definitely the youngest.
I was doing my best to hold my shit together, but I felt about ready to fly apart at any moment.
“Iron Man! He’s my favorite,” the little boy cried out while the loud machine worked on the other side of the vehicle.
I was trying my hardest to figure out how this boy had managed to fly out the front windshield of one car and end up tangled in the bottom of the one in front of it.
Physics was weird as shit sometimes and I was no damn scientist, but this mess was tearing me up today.
I didn’t yet understand how it happened, but I did know the why. Because I was almost positive my little buddy right here hadn’t been buckled into a car seat.
I couldn’t imagine for one second not treating my child like the precious cargo it was. It made me sick.
I wanted to rage at the woman on the side of the road losing her mind, but instead, I focused on my little friend and tried to keep him calm while my brothers tried to get him free.
The whole ordeal was horrendous and I’d have rather walked through a thousand fires than have witnessed his crying bloody face. It broke my damn heart.
“All right, my man Tony Stark. He’s a scientist, right? Really smart? Are you really smart, buddy?”
He didn’t answer me, so I squeezed his hand harder. The machines were so loud around us, I wondered if he could hear me. I swallowed down my fear that he’d passed out or heaven forbid worse and scooted farther under the vehicle.
“You all right, dude?” I yelled this time.
Nothing.
Sweat poured off me as what felt like ash filled my mouth. “Come on, guys!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Let’s get him out of here.”
I felt my breath catch on the last words.
Fuck, I wasn’t going to lose it today. I was going to keep my shit together if for nothing other than this little boy who deserved someone doing their best to help him.
When we finally got him free, he was still unconscious but, thank God, he did have a heartbeat. We loaded him into the back of an ambulance and I sat on the side of the road until I could catch my breath. Which seemed like it took for fucking ever.
We all headed back to the station that night feeling morose. We all knew the deal. Just because a victim left your care alive didn’t mean they always made it. It was a damn hard pill to swallow when a child didn’t survive.
My sleep that night at the firehouse was fitful and I was glad for the call in the middle of the night that turned out to be nothing at all except a small kitchen fire that was out before we even got there. But at least it had given me a small reprieve from tossing and turning in my small room at the station. Nightmares of small babies trapped under cars and screaming for their mommas.
When my twenty-four-hour shift was finally over, it felt like it had been twenty-four years instead. Working from 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 a.m. was a bitch sometimes, but usually, I had two to three days off afterward to make up for it. It would sometimes take all of those three days to cleanse my mind from some of the fucked-up shit I saw.
Still, I wouldn’t have traded my job for the world.
I’d spent my life serving and protecting, and I’d already accepted the fact that I’d die doing the same. I’d been one lucky motherfucker up until now.
As soon as I slid onto my bike seat to head home, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and I pulled it out with a genuine grin on my face.
