Just One of the Guys(78)
“So how was work, honey?” I imagine saying, offering him a martini.
“Oh, some jogger was attacked by a mountain lion,” my handsome husband will say, nuzzling my neck as he gratefully accepts his martini and slides his hand along my tiny waist. “Lots of tearing. Limbs hanging by threads. Major organ damage. It was fun.”
Instead of fainting or barfing, I will nod compassionately and ask an intelligent question…like…like…well, I’m feeling a little sweaty right now, but all the more reason to stick with EMT class.
I put my finger on the tab of the atlas of the course book. Very helpful, that tab, for anyone wishing to flip directly to the gruesome photos. “Here we go,” I say to Buttercup, who does not open her odd-colored eyes. Smart dog. I have new appreciation for her after the weekend with Bubbles.
Taking a deep breath, I open the book and glance down at the first page. Abrasion, Road. Also called road burn. See page—
I slam the book shut, causing Buttercup to fly off the bed. “Aaarrarrrooo!” she howls in dismay. I feel like howling myself. Crap! My stomach clenches, bile burns my throat. The photo showed a ribcage, shredded and flaked with bits of torn skin that looked like pink coconut, black bits of gravel, angry red welts, merciless scrapes…Okay! No need to dwell! We saw it. Let’s move on.
I seem to be swallowing an awful lot, but I haven’t fainted. Not even close. Just a little nausea. My hands are clammy, but that’s it. Progress. “Buttercup!” I call, my voice squeaky. “Mommy needs you!” She returns warily, blinking suspiciously at me before clambering back onto the bed. Taking a deep breath, squaring my shoulders, I open the atlas again.
Laceration, tendons still intact. Youch! Christ! Again, I snap the book shut. Buttercup startles and blinks, her jowls quivering in disapproval as she moans. “Can we do one more, Buttercup? Hm, Butterbaby? I think we can, don’t you?”
Who do you think you’re fooling? she seems to say. I tend to agree, but I open the book again.
Facial avulsion. Slam! I shove the book away from me. “Okay! We’re done, Buttercup! Lesson over.” I curl against her, sliding my arm around her tummy and scratching her chest. “Good puppy, good puppy,” I croon. It’s not enough. The image of the woman who gave new meaning to “facial peel” is imprinted on my brain. I close my eyes and breathe through my mouth. Baby, we were born to run.
“Hey, Chas.” Matt stands in my doorway, just returning from work. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, just a little, um…reading,” I say, opening my eyes and smiling gratefully. “How are you, Matt? I’ve hardly seen you the past week or so.”
Matt sighs and comes in. He sits on the floor next to my bed. Buttercup heaves herself off and goes to him, butting her massive head against his chest.
“I was covering for Paul,” my brother says. “Taking whatever overtime I can get.” He scratches Buttercup’s neck vigorously, causing her to moan in ecstasy.
“Are you saving up for something?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up, just continues petting our dog. “I was thinking I might go back to college,” he mutters.
I shift so I can see him better. “Wow. College. That’s great, Matt. What for? Emergency management or something?”
“No,” he says, still not looking at me. “I was thinking…English lit.”
I pause a little too long, apparently, because Matt suddenly pushes Buttercup down and looks at me, almost angry. “So? What’s the big deal? Can’t I do something other than firefighting? Just because everyone else in this family is out there saving lives, does it mean that everyone has to?”
“Well, uh, no, Matt. I mean, I don’t,” I point out.
“Yeah. Well, you’re a girl.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”
He glares at me, ignoring my sarcasm, looking more like Mark than the gentle Matthew. “Matt,” I continue, “you can do whatever you want with your life. You don’t have to be a firefighter.”
“Yeah, right,” he says, daring me to disagree. “I’m Mike O’Neill’s kid and Jack and Lucky and Mark’s little brother. It pretty much feels like I do have to be a firefighter. Can you imagine what they’d say if I became an English teacher?”
“Who cares? They’d be surprised, that’s all.” I pause. “So. An English teacher. Is that what you really want?”
“I don’t know, Chas. Maybe. Shit. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.” He concentrates on scratching Buttercup’s left ear as she licks her chops and wags, turning so he can reach her belly, the trashy hound.
Obviously, I’ve felt on the outside many times in my family, but it’s a bit of a revelation that Matt could feel that way, too. “Matt,” I say carefully, “I thought you liked being a firefighter.”
“I do,” he admits more calmly. “Just…I don’t know, Chas. I don’t want to do this forever. That’s all. Guys like Trevor and Dad—and Mark, God knows—it’s like their destiny. Like they were put on Earth to do this. I don’t think of it that way.”
I nod, tracing the satin edge of my duvet cover. “So teaching might be your destiny?”
He shrugs, embarrassed. “We were at the middle school in March, you know? Fire prevention and all that. And it was great. The kids were asking all these questions, and…well, I’ve been thinking about maybe becoming a teacher. I was talking to Angela about books and stuff the other day when you guys were at the firehouse, and…” his voice trails off “…I kind of loved it,” he admits. “Shit, Chas, don’t tell anyone, okay?”