Page 2 of Dear Firefighter Hero
A part of me thinks I should be offended by what she’s saying to me, but another part of me appreciates it. It’s like her words are a sledgehammer, and she’s swinging hard at the wall I’ve built up around myself since that night. It’s starting to crumble.
“Stop thinking this is something bigger than what it actually is,” she continues. “It’s terrible what happened to you. It’s unthinkable what happened to those who lost their lives. But it isn’t your fault.”
Whack!
That last part splinters a crack in the wall that I’ve used for too long to protect me.
“It’snotyour fault,” she repeats.
Whack!
I brush my sleeve over my cheek and wipe away the tears that have pooled in my eyes. The wall crumbles, and for the first time since waking up in the hospital, all bandaged up, I don't feel the unbearable tightness around my chest. It's like I can finally take in a full deep breath that I couldn't before.
"Are you sure?" I ask my voice barely above a whisper.
Crystal picks up the tissue box sitting on the table next to her and holds it out to me. I grab two and dab at my eyes. It feels like a dam has burst, and I suddenly can't stop.
“Louisa, you are an incredible person. You’ve experienced something in your life that no one should have to experience.” She points at me, accentuating each of her following words. "And. You. Survived."
Crystal reaches over and pulls on the drawer of her desk, and pulls out the journal I left here last week. She sets it down on the table between us.
“I know you think that this journal is a dumb idea.” She shrugs. “And maybe it is, but I do think that you need to let out what you’ve been bottling up inside before it consumes you. If a journal entry doesn’t feel right, then maybe you can write a letter.”
“Who would I write to?”
“Anyone you have something to say to but don’t want to say it face to face.”
The ice blue eyes of the firefighter that saved me pops into my mind. He’d probably think I’m crazy for even sending it, but there’s no harm in writing it. I could thank him for saving my life.
I crumple up the tissue in my hand and toss it into the small wastebasket near her desk. I lean forward and grab the journal off the table and slip it into my bag. Crystal doesn't act smug like the other two counselors when they thought they reached me. She picks up her notepad and pen and continues on with our session as though she didn't just convince me to take a massive step in my recovery.
I can tell already tell that I’m going to be sticking with her for the foreseeable future.
2
TRAYNOR
The firehouse is quiet and has been for days. The rain that’s been pounding Knight’s Ridge for the last seventy-two hours has finally let up. I’m grateful for the vitamin D I’ve been able to soak up, sitting on the rooftop of the firehouse.
The sound of the rooftop door opening breaks the silence I’ve been enjoying.
“Traynor!” Rhodes calls out to me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
The old metal folding chair squeaks under my weight as I sit up and glance back over my shoulder. Rhodes walks over to me and holds out an envelope to me.
My feet drop off the small roof wall, and the pebbles crunch under my boots.
“What is it?” I ask.
He holds the envelope up to his head and scrunches his face like he’s concentrating really hard—that or he’s about to rip an epic fart that could ruin his uniform.
"Nope, my omnipotent powers haven’t kicked in, but I’m going to guess it’s a letter,” he says and tosses it at me.
The thin envelope flutters into my lap. I pick it up and flip it over. My name is scribbled on the front, but there isn’t a name or a return address on it.
"Have you finished washing down the truck?” Rhodes asks.
“Done.”
