It’s December in New England, so cold your extremities are numb instantly. I’m sitting in a parked car at the site of a recent five-alarm fire. Six firefighters are missing, dead. The leader turns to me, “These firefighters are tired and devastated. Our only job is to offer a hot cup of coffee and a listening ear if they need it” he says wearily. I wonder how many hours he’s been here, what he has seen.
Outside the car, the burnt smell enveloping the area instantly brings tears to my eyes and causes my throat to close involuntarily. Everything is covered in grime and darkness. The sun set hours ago. We make our way past barriers and caution tape. There are firefighters everywhere. I have never seen so many in one place. All are filthy, all are exhausted, and all have a look of determination in their eyes. We step into the canteen only feet from the destroyed structure and set to work making coffee and cocoa, reorganizing snacks that do not need to be reorganized.
A few firefighters come up to grab food and drink. No one wants to talk. No one wants to make eye contact. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I draw blood to keep from crying. Misery hangs heavier than the smoke in the air. Suddenly there’s a shout. And then more shouts and cheering. It seems so out of place, so awkward. The leader turns to me and simply says, “they found a body”.
Eventually a giant of a man comes over. He’s covered in soot and grime. He asks for a cup of coffee. Tears silently streaming down his filthy cheeks. I make the coffee, jump down from the canteen, and lead him to a picnic table to sit. I’m not convinced his legs can hold up his weight anymore. A floodgate opens. Always wanted to be a firefighter. Hardest thing I’ve ever done, searching for a fallen friend. The initial hope, the inevitable heartache. He talks and talks, like a river rushing out of him. I say nothing. I sit and listen, my hand resting on his back, unsure if he can even feel it through all the layers. I have never felt closer to another person in all my life. It’s as though he has opened his chest up and let me see straight into his heart.
Finally, he runs out of words, takes a sip of his now cold coffee, wipes his face, and turns to me, “thanks” he says gruffly, maybe even with a hint of embarrassment. All I can say back is “thank you”. He stands slowly, tosses his still full cup, and makes his way back into the destruction. There’s still five more men to be found.
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