Four: Light from the Past

I look at Kelly and try not to thin about the tube down her throat. Instead, I remember the first time we met. I had just come back into the area after a run as a firefighter in Schenectady, which had ended badly. Not professionally badly, but woman badly. It hadn’t been a waste; I’d worked on my associates and bachelors degree while pulling as much overtime as I could. Combined with my years of service, I landed a job at one of the area community colleges that was starting up a firefighter-training course. Though I had planned on adjuncting, the college had made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, especially while I waited for a full-time position to open up at one of the local FDs.

The function had been called something more professional than a mixer, and had taken place after an extremely early breakfast, followed by a series of professional development seminars that really had no relevance to me. Judging by the grumbling of the faculty packed around me, it had little relevance to them, either. We all appreciated the free lunch, though. It was at an off-campus at a restaurant. The restaurant had a bar. This is when I first noticed that college professors and firefighters don’t miss an opportunity for a drink. I had stood awkwardly by myself, as I was the only instructor in my discipline. Kelly caught my eye immediately, her curly brown hair bobbing with life as she laughed at a joke about an author I didn’t know. I could only see her face, but to me that’s always been the most important. Her eyes held life, and her smile said she enjoyed it often.

I bumped into her at the bar. She had on a blue dress and comfortable looking shoes; if she had make-up on, it was subtle. She turned around a little too quickly and almost spilled her martini on me.

“Oops.”

“It’s okay, ma’am. I’m a firefighter. I’m used to getting wet.”

“Oh, you must be one of the new hires. I suppose the college president introduced you at the breakfast this morning.”

“You didn’t notice? I’m hurt,” I said.

“Wasn’t there. Too damn early for me, and it’s not specifically mandatory, so I don’t go.”

“Ah, see, I’m the new guy so I don’t think I can get away with that.”

“Well, shall I call you new guy, or do you have a name?”

“I do. Most departments I’ve been in, you’re FNG for a while. Nobody bothers to learn your name.”

“FNG?”

“Uh, something New Guy.”

“Oh…oh! Fucking New Guy! Yes, I believe I read a Tim O’Brien book where he used that term. I don’t think we’ll get away with calling you that here. The college president frowns on swearing.”

“Seems like he frowns on a lot.”

“Indeed he does. Anyway, I’m Kelly Rodgers, poet.”

“Please to meet you, Kelly. Most folks call me Spears or, Spearsy,” I was close enough to observe the lack of wedding ring around her finger. Either she was available, or one of those liberated women-types that had persecuted me for my masculinity during my college classes. By the way she was looking at me, I could assume it was the former.

“I teach in the new firefighting course,” I continued. “Firefighting and medic training. You teach poetry?”

“I write poetry, but teach all things writing related. We’re not big enough for a lot of poetry classes.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I think so. You like poetry?”

“Not at all.”

We looked at each other with the little crackle of static electricity darting between our eyes, the kind that wanted to spark and flare.

“I saw you from across the room,” she said. “You didn’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, no, I was thoroughly enjoying my nice glass of F you new guy…in the corner…by myself.”

“Don’t let them intimidate you, Spearsy. Most of us aren’t the stuff academic types. We can actually teach.”

I liked her humor. I especially liked the way she said Spearsy. Very much. The rest of the afternoon looked a lot better from that point, and it wasn’t just the three beers I pounded at lunch. Kelly introduced me to a former cop who taught criminal justice at the school. As I said before, cops and firemen don’t always get along the best, but that’s probably just in the field. This fellow, named Lagavulin, a big, thick Irish fellow was soft spoken and down to earth, and I liked him immediately. We shared a knowledge of the world that was probably a bit uglier than that know by those around us. It would be through Lagavulin that I met Rocky.

Or maybe it was just that Kelly had adopted me that afternoon, and pulled me around by the arm to meet people. I’m not one for social events, but with her on my arm, I felt a lot more confident. She was light, energy and life, and that day she chose me. In fact, she continued to choose me for the all of the last two years.

* * *

The memories help a little bit as I look at the tube in her mouth and wonder if she will ever again wake up and look at me with those deep brown eyes.