We came in off the road at ten. I refueled, cleaned, washed and restocked the ambulance, while Troy turned in the paperwork and narc keys. Troy’s pickup was usually long gone from the parking lot by the time I punched out, but tonight he and Pat, their uniform shirts off, stood sharing a six-pack, while the stereo in Troy’s pickup played Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. “Lee, old pal,” Troy called. “You worked hard today. One of these Buds has your name on it.” He tossed me a can, which I caught, bobbling it slightly.
“Thanks anyway, I don’t drink.”
“Bullshit. I bet you could drink us both under the table. Come on out with us. We’ve been waiting for you. We’re all meeting at the Brickyard Pub.”
“It’ll be good for you,” Pat said. “They’ll be a lot people there.”
“Girls too,” Troy said, “You have a 100 percent chance of getting lucky.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, as I tossed the can back to him with an underhand toss. “But I need my beauty sleep. You two have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Another time then,” Pat said.
“Maybe. Have a good night.”
“I told you he wouldn’t go,” I heard Troy said to Pat as I got into my car.
“Always worth a try,” Pat said.
I was staying in a small furnished apartment over a barn in Granby, a small rural town, a half hour north of Hartford. In return for keeping the yard up and doing minor house repairs for the elderly widow who lived in the farmhouse, I paid no rent. I liked it out there. It was quiet -- a good contrast with the lights and sirens of the city. And it was dark enough that you could see the stars.
Tonight I walked up the side stairway to my apartment. I stripped to my shorts, skipped some rope, and then did bench presses, rows, lunges, squats and curls, followed by the same hundred pushups and sit-ups with which I started my day. In just a few months, I’d toned my body hard. After I showered, I drank some cold water from the fridge, and then lay in bed.
I couldn’t say I didn’t have regrets about my life. No family left, living by myself -- no true friends, much less even a close acquaintance. But it could have been worse I supposed. One thing about the job in EMS was it showed how people had it tougher than you did – people wracked by cancer, paralyzed by trauma, or barely able to draw a breath through scarred lungs, or even otherwise healthy people crippled by mental torment. Life had a hard kick so maybe I shouldn’t complain because it had banged me up. Everyone had their griefs. I knew I’d indulged mine more than enough.
Usually I went to sleep right away. But tonight I thought about another life for me, about drinking just a few beers with my coworkers, maybe dancing with a pretty woman, feeling alive again, feeling a part of something.
