Just Another Night

Just Another Night




Bee-be-be-be-be-be-be-be-be-beep

The sound forces

Me

Upright in bed

My feet into pants and boots

Before my mind

Catches up

With my instincts.




I realize why I'm awake.

It's just another night.




I feel the usual silent groan

In my stomach.

The disappointment of interrupted

Sleep.




I don't even try to pick out

Which cusswords my partner

Has chosen

To mumble under his breath.

After so many midnight runs,

I know them all

By heart.




Tonight though

I listen

With a start.

A different rhythm

Of sputtering and sighing is 

coming From the dark corner.

I remember that

This isn't my normal

Shift.






The lights cast

red

Nighttime shadows

On the trees

Lining the country road.




The siren is silent.

There is no one else to hear

And we know the sound

All too well.




There are yellow taillights

Blinking

Up ahead. A volunteer or two must have

Beaten the fire truck.

They motion us to the side of the road.




Our headlights reflect on a pile 

of mangled metal

Behind 

a tree.




The firemen are standing and staring.

Shaking their heads.

"He must be dead,"

I tell my partner.

He shrugs, "uh-huh."




"E-M-S seven, Cabarrus"

the radio crackles.

A dispatcher

Tired and bored responds.

"Activate pin-in protocol."




My partner's voice spurs me into action.

I move to get a good look at the scene.

That hump of metal, 

I think,

Used to be a car. 

Used to be.




Now a metal prison,

It is

Trying to keep life trapped inside.

What little is left of life, anyway




Surely there is no one alive in that twisted heap.

The firemen

Are still standing and staring.

What is wrong with them?

"Is he alive?" I ask.




The firemen looks at me

eyes big,

eyebrows raised.

He is shaking his head but

The "uhhh…" that is coming

From his mouth doesn't sound too 

sure.




They are STILL 

Standing and staring.




I grab one of them by the shoulders.

He stumbles to the side.

Just standing and staring.




Time hardens all of us.

Even the most sensitive heart

Will

Quickly become numb

Making death a

Norm,

And injury a 

strange fascination.




Nothing prepares you for

Everything.




My view opens up.

Between two fire coats I see

A tree

Where a driver should be.

I see

A monster

Or maybe an alien.

No, definitely a monster.

Staring up at me.




He looked young.

Young like me.

His dark skin glowed

Eerily, a shiny,

Bloody red. 




Bent metal, in no recognizable form

At all,

Encased every part of his

Lower body, side, and

Chest.

His head, in plain view

In the open air.




Claw-like hands reached around a metal

Shoulder harness

Created by the jaws of death

At war with gravity and this

Tree.





The tree completely blocked

Any exit from 

This side. 

The jaws of life, strong and powerful though it may be

Is no match for this twisted tangle of

Trunk, car, and person.




I hear the radio loudly again.

The now animated dispatcher is sending

Help.

A helicopter, a scene commander, 

More firemen.




I turn around to light a fire under

My standing and staring 

Audience.

"He's alive!" I say.

"Move! Get the tools, get me an IV set up,"

"move, move, move, let's get him

out of here!"




I climb up against the tree and look

Again at my patient.




My skills

Have taken back over now.

I no longer see a monster.

I see breathing, I see open eyes

I see lots, and lots of metal.




The blood

Doesn't matter.

It's ugly, but it's slow.

It's the least of my worries.




"It's okay, sweetie." I tell him.

"We've got all the troops. 

We're going to get you

Out of here"




He can't speak, but he nods and

Looks at me with

Eyes that understand.




I ask if his chest hurts,

If it's hard

To breathe.

He moans and nods.




"You've been in an accident,"

I tell him.

"Your car went airborne and

slid

down a tree."




I hear a fire truck pull in behind me.

Finally

a familiar face.

"What do you need, Esther?"

It's the assistant chief.

"I need him out of here.

I trust you. Just get me out 

yesterday."




The whirring whine

Of saws and hydraulic

Tools

Fills the air.

Metal cracking, breaking.




I can see that he

Is fading.

Now instinct is taking over

As he 

Incoherently tries to 

Claw away at

The metal

Cage

That he is in.




He writhes in silent agony,

The comprehension

In his eyes

replaced with a panicked blank stare.




I know we don't have 

much time.




My partner walks up

With the equipment and

I step back so he can 

Reach the patient.




The rest of the scene

Comes slowly into view.




Lights everywhere.




Nosy neighbors 

In

Small clusters.




Everyone 

Standing and staring.




The firemen working

Feverishly prying apart

The metal

Prison.




My supervisor 

Directing the

Helicopter in by radio.




The patient is clinging

To life, but

Only by a thread.

I see him throw his head

Back trying to escape

The oxygen mask

My partner

Is having to hold on.




His skin falls away

from his scalp

revealing more than half of his

skull.



My partner looks at

Me

And smiles.




"Well, no skull fracture."

"Yep, beats an x-ray

any day," I respond.




It seems like hours

Before the feverish hum

Surrounding

The car

Becomes an excited

Stir again.




They think they have enough of the metal

Cut away

To get him

Out.




He is too far

Gone

To 

Care.




His head injury has

Worsened with time.

He is now fighting those

Trying to 

Save him.




They move him

Onto a

Backboard.




He slumps over

suddenly

with no fight left.




Surely, we haven't come

This far

To lose 

now.




My mind hears the

Thoughts of 

Everyone on the scene.




Just a few more minutes

And he'll be airborne

Just a few more minutes.




The patient is hurriedly placed

On the ground.




Another medic

Is quick to place

A tube in his

Throat

And breathe for his tired body.




"We still have a pulse!"

I announce

Triumphantly.




The collective

Sigh of relief

Is audible.




The helicopter crew

Goes through

Their final

Preparations as

The ambulance

Bumps

Over the road into

A cow pasture.




The rotor wash whips

Sand and gravel

In our faces.

The medics 

Duck low

Running with the stretcher

Underneath the rotor blades.




We strap in the patient

And back away

From the chopper

Keeping eye contact

With the pilot

At 

All times.




Still and silent

We watch

Them fly toward the 

Trauma center.




Everyone's shoulders sink

A little

As the adrenaline

Ebbs away.




Heavy on each mind 

Is the almost

Certain

Death sentence 

That we are convinced

Our patient

Is fighting.




But not on our watch.

We didn't lose him

On our watch.






















Author's note: Patient recovered fully after several months in rehab.