Don't You Forget.
Cool evening air passing through the open aerial tower window grazed my face and played with the hairs on my neck. I was sitting directly across from Eric as we rode through town to the training drill. We were both silent, the churning effort of the diesel engine curtailing any chance at conversation before it could even start, and I wondered if he was maybe as full of apprehension as I was. We passed some of the high school kids and they spotted me in the window, their feverish waving was the jolt I needed to swallow down the fear I felt rising up in my chest. "We're going to go up on the tower." I remembered the snowy day in December and climbing up that 100 foot ladder. My heart beat faster but I thought about Orion and all the effort that's gotten me here, I thought about Anne and let her strength fill me.
We pulled onto Artino Street and everything started happening so quickly. The Lt. in charge of the drill started barking out assignments, people were jumping off the truck and springing into action and I was doing my best to not be in the way and not look totally insecure about what I was doing there. "Why did Mike ask me to come to this," I wondered to myself. "I have no idea how to do any of this stuff." As soon as I felt the fear start to creep back up I heard Mike's voice barreling in my direction.
"Emily, get the plate down on the back and get up on the platform, get ready to take it up with Rob."
I had no idea what the plate was. This is 95% of what my training has been so far: looking around and seeing what everyone else is doing, playing a little monkey see monkey do, and praying that no one sees through the cracks of your cool exterior. It worked and before I knew it I was standing on the lowered platform with Rob. "Well, at least I didn't have to climb this time." Within the next few moments we were 100 feet up in the air and it was taking my best effort to not stand there mouth-breathing, in awe of how the hell any of them could have learned and retained all of this. We started flowing water and the mist against the woods and setting sun made a beautiful moment that I etched into memory. I looked to the South and saw a dozen golden sun beams streaming through some far-off clouds, and it felt like we were level with them. Just as I started to feel like I might be able to get the hang of all this I heard something come over the radio that stopped me in my tracks.
"Emily, how do you feel about coming down? Eric needs to get up there and see what to do."
I looked at Rob. I looked down the 100 feet of extension. I looked at Rob. Without keying my mic, I said, "uhhhhh....." Rob, without breaking eye contact, keyed his mic and said, "she's good to go. She'll be down in a minute." I laughed. There is no reason to be afraid of something that you know with certainty you have to do. You just resign yourself to the fact and get on with it. I unfastened my harness, took off my headset. Readjusted my helmet. Put my glove strap in my pocket. Rob looked at me sheepishly. "You ok with this?"
"Cmonnnnn," I said smiling out of the side of my mouth, doing my best billy bad a$$ act. "I'm fine. I'll be down in a sec."
Rob knows me too well and he didn't buy it, but he played along. "Go as slow as you need to. You'll never need to rush on this thing. Keep three points of contact and if you have any problems at all, just look up at me and I'll be down in a second." I was already starting the descent as he finished the last sentence. The hardest part about climbing down the aerial is the first step. By far. You're 100 feet into the sky, and that first step requires you to step backward over an opening that's about 9 inches. Straight down. Not nearly big enough to let a firefighter in turnouts slip through, but more than big enough to scare the hell out of you. The second scariest part is how unbelievably narrow it is at the top. The facemask in my side pocket kept catching on the sides. My coat kept catching on the sides! After the fifth time freeing myself being on the aerial that high was a piece of cake. I made it down and Joe slapped me on the back, handed me the headset to the turntable, and from then on I was at the helm at the bottom of the tower.
It was absolutely trial by fire. The rest of the night was like that; being told to do things that you really have no idea how to do and faking it like you are in the swing of things. Honestly, this was my worst fear for how the learning would be, but also kind of what I had expected. I'm glad that I'm a fast learner. I don't know how half of these people are still on the department. It gets so intimidating.
After the end of the second drill we started disconnecting the 5 inch supply line and Joe asked me to drag a section uphill so that it could drain properly. I hoisted it up over my shoulder and moved it like any one of the guys. I felt pretty good about my abilities for the first time of the night, and it was further vindicated by Shawn later telling me that he would never again question my physical ability. It was dark, 9:30 in the evening, and I was rolling 5 inch supply line down Artino Street, on my knees. Despite all of the blows to my ego of the evening, in that moment in the water watching my bunker pants get dirtier and dirtier and seeing the guys up ahead me all completing their assigned tasks, I really felt like a firefighter. Like eventually I'll actually be responsible for more than just showing up.
I rode back in the open compartment of 42, cool evening air drying the sweat on my face and neck. I heard the guys joking in the cab through the headset on my ears, but I was in a different world. I was taking that first nine inch step over and over again, in every situation of my life that has a gaping hole straight down like that. You just take a deep breath in, keep your hands on the rungs, and start moving. You don't stop and you don't go back. What I need to learn is patience. To not get down on myself for not knowing things that I haven't learned yet.
We pulled onto Artino Street and everything started happening so quickly. The Lt. in charge of the drill started barking out assignments, people were jumping off the truck and springing into action and I was doing my best to not be in the way and not look totally insecure about what I was doing there. "Why did Mike ask me to come to this," I wondered to myself. "I have no idea how to do any of this stuff." As soon as I felt the fear start to creep back up I heard Mike's voice barreling in my direction.
"Emily, get the plate down on the back and get up on the platform, get ready to take it up with Rob."
I had no idea what the plate was. This is 95% of what my training has been so far: looking around and seeing what everyone else is doing, playing a little monkey see monkey do, and praying that no one sees through the cracks of your cool exterior. It worked and before I knew it I was standing on the lowered platform with Rob. "Well, at least I didn't have to climb this time." Within the next few moments we were 100 feet up in the air and it was taking my best effort to not stand there mouth-breathing, in awe of how the hell any of them could have learned and retained all of this. We started flowing water and the mist against the woods and setting sun made a beautiful moment that I etched into memory. I looked to the South and saw a dozen golden sun beams streaming through some far-off clouds, and it felt like we were level with them. Just as I started to feel like I might be able to get the hang of all this I heard something come over the radio that stopped me in my tracks.
"Emily, how do you feel about coming down? Eric needs to get up there and see what to do."
I looked at Rob. I looked down the 100 feet of extension. I looked at Rob. Without keying my mic, I said, "uhhhhh....." Rob, without breaking eye contact, keyed his mic and said, "she's good to go. She'll be down in a minute." I laughed. There is no reason to be afraid of something that you know with certainty you have to do. You just resign yourself to the fact and get on with it. I unfastened my harness, took off my headset. Readjusted my helmet. Put my glove strap in my pocket. Rob looked at me sheepishly. "You ok with this?"
"Cmonnnnn," I said smiling out of the side of my mouth, doing my best billy bad a$$ act. "I'm fine. I'll be down in a sec."
Rob knows me too well and he didn't buy it, but he played along. "Go as slow as you need to. You'll never need to rush on this thing. Keep three points of contact and if you have any problems at all, just look up at me and I'll be down in a second." I was already starting the descent as he finished the last sentence. The hardest part about climbing down the aerial is the first step. By far. You're 100 feet into the sky, and that first step requires you to step backward over an opening that's about 9 inches. Straight down. Not nearly big enough to let a firefighter in turnouts slip through, but more than big enough to scare the hell out of you. The second scariest part is how unbelievably narrow it is at the top. The facemask in my side pocket kept catching on the sides. My coat kept catching on the sides! After the fifth time freeing myself being on the aerial that high was a piece of cake. I made it down and Joe slapped me on the back, handed me the headset to the turntable, and from then on I was at the helm at the bottom of the tower.
It was absolutely trial by fire. The rest of the night was like that; being told to do things that you really have no idea how to do and faking it like you are in the swing of things. Honestly, this was my worst fear for how the learning would be, but also kind of what I had expected. I'm glad that I'm a fast learner. I don't know how half of these people are still on the department. It gets so intimidating.
After the end of the second drill we started disconnecting the 5 inch supply line and Joe asked me to drag a section uphill so that it could drain properly. I hoisted it up over my shoulder and moved it like any one of the guys. I felt pretty good about my abilities for the first time of the night, and it was further vindicated by Shawn later telling me that he would never again question my physical ability. It was dark, 9:30 in the evening, and I was rolling 5 inch supply line down Artino Street, on my knees. Despite all of the blows to my ego of the evening, in that moment in the water watching my bunker pants get dirtier and dirtier and seeing the guys up ahead me all completing their assigned tasks, I really felt like a firefighter. Like eventually I'll actually be responsible for more than just showing up.
I rode back in the open compartment of 42, cool evening air drying the sweat on my face and neck. I heard the guys joking in the cab through the headset on my ears, but I was in a different world. I was taking that first nine inch step over and over again, in every situation of my life that has a gaping hole straight down like that. You just take a deep breath in, keep your hands on the rungs, and start moving. You don't stop and you don't go back. What I need to learn is patience. To not get down on myself for not knowing things that I haven't learned yet.
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