5 July, 0630 hours

Yesterday was so busy, I should've been able to fall right to sleep after that last response at 0300 hours. Young kids were drinking and driving. Belliveau and I were useless, other than to confirm the obvious and cover the bodies. I couldn't sleep after that run. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Gage’s bloody face through the open windshield.

I'm not sure why it affects me so much. We’re not friends; we’re just paramedics in the same fire department. When I've worked with Gage or DeSoto in the past, we maintained a respectful relationship, but nothing like the camaraderie they share. I admire their friendship, their teamwork, and their talent for the job, and that’s all there is. But I can't seem to keep the images out of my mind. It could easily have been Bob and me, on any run any day of the week. It could have been our blood splattered everywhere.

In the daylight hours, I do my job and everything is fine. But after everyone else has gone to sleep, I lay awake thinking about what I saw. Maybe talking with someone would help, but I don’t know who to trust. Not Belliveau. Not Captain Lewis.

There may be someone I can confide in, but I’m not certain yet. Her name is Ann Callahan, although she goes by the nickname Callie. She and Gage are old friends. Callie is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. She's warm, intelligent and everything I ever hoped to find. I almost fell in love with her the first day we met. But I’m afraid to really love her, to allow myself to be vulnerable. There are too many uncertainties in life, and I don’t want to be caught off guard. I'm afraid to let anyone get close to me. I don't want to be hurt again.

August 5th

Dear John,

I had the nightmare again last night. I thought maybe once I got home it would go away, but it was worse than the ones I had while I was in the hospital. It’s really the same one over and over again, but each time, the car that ran into us keeps getting closer and closer. Last night I could almost see the driver’s face, but like always, I woke up just before it hit us. I see the headlights first and then I see the car coming and I start to tell Roy to watch out, then everything goes black.

I shouldn’t have taken the sleeping pill.

I must've tried to throw my arm over my eyes in my sleep, like I normally do. But it was in the dream too. I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the oncoming headlights right before the first impact. Pain woke me up. It felt like someone was burying a hot knife in my shoulder. I didn't think it was ever going to stop. I thought I was going to be sick.

It didn't help that I felt like I was suffocating and the harder I tried to breathe, the more it hurt. I vaguely remember at the scene of the accident telling someone I couldn't breathe, and I can't take a deep breath even now without hurting. I can't separate memory from reality when it comes to the pain. It's with me constantly and I can't get away from it whether I'm asleep or awake.

At least when I'm awake, I don't see the headlights or the car coming at us. I don't feel the panic. I don't feel like I'm missing something. I don't have to see the color of death.

I didn't sleep any more the rest of the night. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. The nightmare.

It scares the shit out of me every time.

I’m not going to mention that to anyone though. It’s none of their business. I don’t want people thinking Johnny Gage is afraid of a dream. Because he’s not.

It's a good thing no one else was here last night. I know they’d just try to get me talk about it again. This way, no one has to know I’m still having nightmares but me. When I was in the hospital, the nurses would always tell Brackett or Early whenever I had one. That’s when Captain Lewis started coming around even more. I don’t know how many times I have to tell all of them that there’s nothing wrong. I really don’t see what there is to talk about. It’s no big deal. It’s just a dream and it’ll go away once I get back on my own two feet.

Now there’s a nightmare for you. Having to depend on other people. I can’t drive yet or get around very easily with this cast on. I hate depending on someone else to take care of me and do things for me -- especially when everyone goes around treating me like a little kid who needs a baby sitter. I can take care of myself. I know how. I’ve done it before. I don’t know why everyone thinks this time it’s different. The whole thing is driving me crazy. Sometimes I wish everyone would just go away and leave me alone.

I guess I am alone right now.

I hope Callie comes over soon.

Johnny

5 August, 1740 hours

I never realized what I was missing until the day I met Calla. Having someone who cares about me has turned my life around. I'd been living day-to-day, stuck in my routine, doing my best to be perfect in my job, but deep down, I knew it wasn't enough. I needed more. I wanted more. I would look at myself in the mirror and wonder what the point was. I wasn't unhappy, but I wasn't happy either. Outside of the satisfaction I found in my job, there was nothing but an empty hole I tried to fill with overtime and running, biking, skating.

Perfection in my profession and my health. Other than that, all I had to show for my efforts were a few citations and a lot of loneliness. My coworkers complained about working with me. They thought I was overly efficient and single-minded in my pursuit to be the best at what I did. They didn't understand, and I never tried to do anything to change their opinion of me. It was easier to feel superior when I set myself apart from everyone else. That attitude earned me nothing but isolation.

Everything changed when I met Calla. I still have trouble believing she loves me. I've always felt uncomfortable when it comes to relationships. Most women don't find my perfectionism an attractive quality. Calla and I have that, and more, in common. I love being with her. She's taught me to enjoy life on a more sensual level. She embraces life with great passion and humor. I never realized that having fun could be so much fun in itself. Calla gives me the courage to allow myself to experience those emotions.

It’s not easy for me to explore my feelings outside of writing in this journal. I find myself wanting to open up more to Calla, but it's not easy for me to trust anyone. She knows bits and pieces of my life, but not everything. She knows there are painful things in my past, but doesn't pressure me to talk about them. Every time I reveal a little more to her, I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders. But later, when I’m alone again, I wonder if I've made a mistake. I worry that I’m giving away too much. She doesn't know the amount of emotional baggage I’m carrying, and I’m not sure I'm ready for her see it all just yet.

One day at a time. That's Calla’s personal motto. Maybe I should listen to her and make it mine too. One day at a time, break down one fear at a time.

* * * * * * * *

6 August, 2120 hours

I’ve been writing for years, jotting down my thoughts, but lately it doesn’t seem to be enough. Deep down, I know I need a warm, breathing human being to listen to me and tell me what I have to do to resolve my feelings. My emotions are in turmoil, making it difficult to sort things out. I never had a close, loving relationship with my parents. Because of that, I’ve never been able to get close to anyone until now. I’ve begun to open myself to Calla, but I have a long way to go.

I shouldn’t hold back with her. I know that. I should place my trust in her. My heart tells me to, but my head has other ideas. My childhood memories keep me from taking that final step.

It's said that being an only child can be difficult, and it was for me, but not for the reasons most people would think. I was never spoiled; in fact, I was deprived of attention. Being born was a mistake in my parent's lives. They never hid that fact from me.

I tried hard to prove to them that I was worth something. I learned how to do things around the house at an early age. I kept my room spotless. They never gave me a shred of praise for anything I did. Straight A’s in school, the best ERA on the baseball team… nothing mattered. It was like beating myself against a brick wall. Nothing I did was good enough to get their attention. I remember the middle school science fair. I worked hard on the project that won the blue ribbon, and all my father could say was that my logic was faulty. I was only thirteen. Those words smashed every bit of pride I felt, and it took a long time to recover. Thinking about it still hurts. Maybe I never did recover.

The only bright spot in my life was Grandma Brice. She cared. She loved me. Whenever I was upset, I’d sneak out of the house, cross the alley and run the ten blocks to her house. That must have been where I built up the endurance to run long distance, because I did it a lot. Grandma was the most important person in my life, and if it hadn't been for her, I would've given up a long time ago.

I miss her. I used to talk to thin air, like she was still with me, hoping for an answer to my troubles. I gave that up a long time ago. I felt like an idiot talking to someone who wasn't there anymore. That's when I discovered writing. It's not the same, but it's something.

I was beginning to think that I'd spend the rest of my life alone, searching in vain for what I was missing. Then I found Calla. Or she found me. She’s the one. I’m more certain of it every day. But I still worry. I've never been in a relationship like this, and I'm not always sure what to expect. I don't want to do or say the wrong thing and drive her away.

I need to learn from her. I need to get rid of my insecurities, but it's hard when I see her with other people. It's especially hard when I see her with John Gage. They're so comfortable in their friendship with each other, but I don't think either one sees how that makes me feel.

Gage was discharged from the hospital a few days ago. His physical condition is still limiting his ability to do things, and he’ll need assistance for a while. Calla offered to help him on her days off. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but I’m not comfortable with that. They’ve been friends for some time, and I have no reason to ask her not to. Maybe I’m jealous. She even suggested that I help too. I’m not sure how Gage feels about that. I’m not sure how I feel about that. We’ll see. I'll take it one day at a time.

August 6th 11:00 PM

Dear John,

My broken ankle hasn't bothered me much, but the walking cast is hot and uncomfortable and makes it difficult for me to get around. I haven't been able raise my left arm or move my shoulder very much without being reminded not to. At least the cuts have all healed and the stitches from my forearm are gone. Chet told me there was blood everywhere from that.

The worst thing is that I can't move my upper body or even breathe without hurting. I got a double dose of trouble. Broken ribs and a dislocated sternum. That happened when Bob did CPR. When my heart stopped in the ambulance. I know a sore chest beats the alternative, but it still hurts a lot to take a deep breath. I've been doing those damn breathing exercises to keep my lungs clear. It hurts to do them. I hate doing them.

Face it, I'm doing good just to move sometimes. That's why all the volunteer help.

Callie came over about nine this morning and stayed all day. I wouldn’t mind if she came every day. It’s not that I don’t appreciate all the help everyone else is giving me, because I do. I do. It’s just that none of the guys look like she does. I had to keep reminding myself all day that we’re just friends, but there were times when that was pretty hard to do. Like when she tucked me in bed for a nap and kissed my forehead. You don’t see Roy or Chet doing that for me.

Wrong picture. Forget I said that.

Of course, every five minutes she’d say “Craig this” or “Craig that” and that certainly helped to remind me. I hope he knows how lucky he is. I still don’t get it though. What’s he got that I don’t? She always said I wasn’t her type, and after I got to know her a little better, I knew she was probably right. I kind of thought she and Brice might get along, since she’s a bit of a perfectionist, but I never imagined they’d fall in love. Matchmaking has never been a strong suit of mine. Just look at me. I’m the perfect example of what I’m talking about. Nothing but wrong matches. I can’t say that it hasn’t been fun looking though. Like that girl I met at the bowling alley a couple of months ago. We didn't have much in common and she couldn't bowl worth a damn, but she sure knew how to

Never mind. Can I help it if I like women?

It was great being around Callie today. Besides being beautiful, she’s smart and funny and a really good friend. She never gives me that “poor Johnny” look I seem to get from everyone else. SHE makes me feel better. I’m looking forward to the next time she comes over. I still wonder how Brice feels about all this. He seemed a little uncomfortable about the whole deal, but I don’t think he has anything to worry about. It'd be obvious to a blind man that she’s head over heels in love with the guy, and I’d certainly never do anything to get in the way of that. Not my style. And by the way, she’s not my type either.

Sometimes I think it would be kind of nice though. To have someone special. Someone to talk to when things get rough.

Someone to hold onto when the nightmares begin.

Johnny

7 August, 1945 hours

As Bob and I worked to save the young victim of a car accident, it happened. A puzzling, and most surprisingly, not unwelcome feeling. I looked beyond the cuts and the blood and the pain, and saw a vibrant little girl. Brightly wrapped presents and her stained yellow dress were evidence she was going to a party. It stirred something inside me. I had no idea where that feeling came from, but it was there. I touched her warm skin and felt a human being, not a victim. I put on my professional face and did my job, but this time there was a difference. Her name was Emily. A beautiful name for a beautiful child. I took as much comfort from calling her by name as she did hearing me say it.

Because of our efforts, Emily will live. The relief I felt was overwhelming, and the sense of satisfaction was greater than any I'd experienced in a long time.

It was a hard fall when I was brought down to earth again this afternoon. A diving accident. Lifeguards were doing CPR when we arrived on the scene. I knew there was no hope, but I couldn’t stop trying to get him back. When they called his time of death in the ER, I cried inside. It hurt to lose this one. His name was Stephen. He was my cousin.

I hadn’t seen him since he was little. I looked at his face once more before I left the room. He was so young. So much of life ahead, so much promise. It didn't seem fair.

His death was sudden and unexpected. No one had been able to pinpoint yet what went wrong. I know things happen that way sometimes. It was an accident. In the past I would've just brushed it off with that thought, but I'm beginning to look at things differently. I'm beginning to see my own mortality.

It’s that randomness of tragedy, the senselessness of it, that feeds my dreams. In a moment, life is gone, and you can’t prevent it from happening. That’s the fear that keeps me awake, and makes me think about what I'm doing with my life. It shook something up inside of me today, the contrasts of life and death that I never considered before. I never thought about tragedies happening to people who are just like me.

It all makes what happened to Gage and DeSoto even more personal. I think if I was in John's shoes right now, I might not want to remember it either.

I haven't spoken to my aunt in a long time. This won't be easy, but I feel I should be with her now. Maybe it's time I start to put the past behind me.

August 8th 7:30 PM

The guys were all here today to watch a pre-season football game and keep me company. We all thought it was a great idea, but it didn’t turn it out that way. They seemed nervous around me. At first I thought it was just because every time they’d start to talk about something at work, they felt bad because they know how much I miss it and want to get back to the station. Then something happened, and now I realize it was more than that.

I make them nervous. I even scared them a little, I think. Hell, I scared myself.

We were sitting in the living room watching the game, and Mike went and got a couple of six packs out of the refrigerator for us. The pull tab on Roy’s got stuck and when it came off, it sliced his finger just a little. He started kind of waving his hand around in the air, shaking it, saying he wasn’t hurt, but that it just stung. Someone laughed and said something about there not being any wasps in the room.

I'm not sure why, but I guess I freaked out over that. It must have had something to do with that day. The day of the accident. I don’t remember a thing about it. It’s just gone. All I know is what they’ve told me. Two kids drag racing ran a red light and hit us in the intersection. Brice and Belliveau pulled us out, and I woke up in the hospital two days later in a lot of pain. No one has said much about the details, and I haven’t asked. I don’t need to know the details. Roy and I are alive, and that’s all that matters.

I have no idea what happened today either. It was kind of like I blacked out, but not exactly, and when I came around again, everyone was looking at me with these real worried looks on their faces. Roy kept telling them that I was okay, but I don’t think they believed him. I don’t think he believed it. They all left at half-time. Everyone except Roy.

It was that baby sitter thing again.

He finally left about a half-hour ago when I told him I was tired and wanted to go to bed.

Roy said Brice is coming over tomorrow. Man, I don’t know if I’m up to having him around. A whole day of Brice. I don’t care if he’s changed or not. We have nothing in common to talk about. Except Callie, and I really don’t want to hear about that. Not now.

My head hurts again. I didn’t want to say anything to Roy. It was hard enough to get him to leave as it was. I’ll take something for the headache, but I’m not taking a sleeping pill again. If I can’t sleep without it, then I just won’t sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Lately it seems staying awake is better anyway.

9 August, 1035 hours

The sound of a crash shattered the quiet of John's apartment just as I had entered and I quickly located the source -- his bedroom. My presence startled him and he grappled with the sheets that entangled him. When I started to lend a hand, he snapped at me, telling me he was fine. I stood back and watched him, taking the moment to run a clinical eye over him; slightly diaphoretic, breathing a little too rapid and irregular, but overall he seemed fine. Fine for someone recovering from a near-fatal accident.

Since he seemed in some considerable physical discomfort, I asked him if he was indeed fine. He acted annoyed with the question, and settled back down underneath his covers. I was somewhat surprised with his response of, "I'll live," but I offered to get him some aspirin. When I returned, he seemed to be asleep again.

The cause of the crash was the phone and clock being knocked to the floor. I picked them up and put them back on the night stand. There were magazines strewn on the floor beside the bed, and as I gathered them to stack them into a pile, I discovered a notebook, opened with the spine facing up. As I plucked it off the floor, I saw it contained handwriting. John’s, I assumed. I caught a glimpse of a date, but didn’t read anything else. Who would have thought John Gage would keep a journal.

He appeared to be resting comfortably, so I closed the door and busied myself in the kitchen. Except for the brief argument that came from across the hall earlier, I've discovered it's a lot quieter here than at my complex, an environment very conducive to thinking -- whether you want to or not. I saw it all again.

Blood. Blood everywhere. I couldn't get it out of my mind. I thought I had put it behind me, but seeing John still with so many visible signs of what happened that night brought it all back. Blood splattered on the inside of the cab, blood pooled on the seat. People shouting outside, and there I was, in the middle of it. I remember the sick feeling crawling up from my stomach, burning in my throat. I need to let it go or I won't be able to do my job. I've always been able to tolerate the sight of blood, but now it conjures up the memories and makes me think. It could have been me.

August 9th 2:00 PM

This is hard. To write about the nightmare. I know I have to try if I'm ever going to find any answers. I know that. I haven't wanted to admit it to anyone, but I have to know what I saw that night. I have to know what comes next after I see the car. I need to know why it scares me when I sleep. I need to know why I don't remember when I'm awake.

The dream reminds me of developing film in a darkroom. I keep watching the image appear, but it's faint and fuzzy. I'm waiting for the picture to come into focus. The longer it takes me to see it clearly, the more worried I get. Worried I'll never see it. Worried if I do see it, what it is I'll see. And if I finally see what's behind all this, will that be the end of it? Or just the beginning?

I have to know. I don't want to know.

9 August, 1500 hours

Lunch was awkward. John and I have nothing in common, except our job. At a time like this, I didn't think he'd want to talk about work, so we had little to say to each other. John has lost weight and needs to eat, but he was quiet and picked at his food. It was hard for me to look at him without remembering the accident. I know John doesn't remember it and is having some problems because of that. I almost envy him. I wish I could forget it too.

Roy called and they talked for a while. I tried not to listen in, but I overheard John say something about driving just before he hung up. As soon as I made the comment, I realized I shouldn't have, but fortunately he didn't seem to pay any attention to it. With a soft-spoken thanks, he got up from the table and went back to his bedroom.

When I checked later to see if he needed anything, I entered the room without warning, and saw him sliding the journal under the pillow, a sheepish look on his face. Unsure whether I should say anything, I took a chance and asked him about it. He hesitated again, then admitted Captain Lewis suggested it, but he didn’t say why. Not wanting to pry, I didn't press him. I only asked if it helped, but he simply shrugged. I think he was embarrassed to be caught writing. I wonder what his reaction would be if he knew about my journal.

August 10th 9:00 AM

Brice was here yesterday. He knows about the nightmare. I didn’t ask him not to say anything about it to anyone, figuring if I did, he would for sure. Maybe this way, he’ll just forget it.

I wish I could.

When he asked me what was wrong, for a minute I almost felt like telling him. But I didn’t. I mean, he’s Brice. He’s got his life in such perfect order that he wouldn’t begin to understand someone like me or what I'm going through. Everything about me is a mess right now, and he’d probably just try to organize my thoughts into nice neat little piles like he did with the magazines. He wouldn’t have a clue to what I’m feeling.

I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore.

Roy called yesterday. I think he was checking up on me, and was surprised when Brice handed me the phone. He didn’t mention anything about what happened the other day, but I know he wanted to. We talked for a while about nothing in particular. I'm sure he's getting tired of hearing "Gage's Complaint of the Day." Just before he had to go, Roy told me he was going back to work next week. I think he thought it would upset me to know that, since I’m still a long way from being able to go back myself. I made a few jokes about it to try to make him feel better. Even suggested he brush up on his driving skills since it had been so long since he’d driven the squad. It was a bad joke and after I hung up, I was sorry I’d said anything. I don't want him to think I blame him for the accident and my injuries.

Brice was cleaning up the kitchen and overheard what I said to Roy about the driving thing. Then he made a comment that really bothered me, although I don’t think he meant anything by it. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was trying to make a joke too. It was about as dumb as mine though. He said -- at least I’ll never have to worry about Roy letting me drive the squad again.

It still really bugs me. I should have asked him what he meant.

I was writing a few things in here yesterday afternoon, and Brice saw me putting it away. I must've looked a little embarrassed when he asked me what it was. I told him that Captain Lewis suggested I write some thoughts down. He kind of looked like he wanted to say something about it, but changed his mind. I guess he probably thought this was a dumb thing for a grown man to be doing. I thought so too. At first. I’m not so sure anymore.

Joanne called last night after Brice left, and said she’d come by today with some groceries and take some of my laundry home, and have Roy bring it back the next time he comes over. Roy’s going back to work next week. I’m glad he’s okay. It’s going to be hard for him to get behind the wheel again though after what happened. You don’t forget something like that overnight. Roy was right. It does bother me.

Not that he’s going back to work. That I’m not.

I’m going to call Joanne and ask her not to come over. I really don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see anybody today. I know they all think they’re trying to help me, but they aren’t. They’re just making me feel worse. I don’t need anybody’s help. I can get along fine on my own from now on. I’m tired of trying to make everyone understand that. I’m tired of being tired.

I'm tired of hurting so damn much.

What the hell did Brice mean by that?

10 August, 0345 hours

Awakened by a disturbing dream over an hour ago, I’ve given up all hope of getting back to sleep. I tried closing my eyes but it kept replaying itself. I'm driving the squad and a car crosses the intersection just as I do. In the past, I've been able to shrug off this dream. Lately though, I’ve discovered that not even daytime is a refuge from the anxiety these dreams bring. I still get a knot in the pit of my stomach when we go on a run, especially at night.

Two shifts ago we had a near miss on a night run, and the front end of the engine almost wound up in the squad’s storage compartments. Belliveau was shaken and so was I, but we made it to the call and did our jobs. I should be over this by now, but it's on my mind constantly.

Calla and I are spending the day together tomorrow. I've decided to talk to her about it. With her help, I know I can put this behind me. I trust her and it's time for me to let her know that.

* * * * * * * *

12 August, 1840 hours

I could try to blame my actions yesterday on the heat, but I won’t. I was tired, but that’s not an excuse either. I still can’t believe what I said to Calla. I don't know what I was thinking.

I wanted to talk to her about the dreams and the things that were bothering me, but all she wanted to talk about was John Gage. Fed up with her questioning me about my day with him, I got surly and said something I shouldn’t have. I suggested to Calla that if she were so hung up on John, maybe she should just start going out with him. I said I wasn’t like him, always dating different women. I told her I’m a one-woman man, and I expected her to be a one-man woman. I can’t forget the look of shock and sadness on her face, as though I’d just slapped her. I said I was sorry, but the damage had already been done.

I’m afraid I really did it, I drove her away.

August 12th 10:00 PM

Callie came over today on her day off to take me to my doctor’s appointment. She chewed me out royally when she saw me. I guess I hadn't shaved or changed my clothes for a few days. I was complaining about everything. She yelled at me for feeling sorry for myself and told me if she ever saw me looking or acting like that again, she’d make sure I knew what it really meant to hurt. I believed her too. She’s just what I needed. Everyone else keeps walking on eggshells around me. Asking what’s wrong. Trying to get me to talk. Hell, if they don’t know what’s wrong by now, I’m not about to tell them.

I'm tired of doing exercises. I’m tired of being bored. I’m tired of not being left alone. I'm tired of saying I'm tired. I want to get better and go back to work. How hard is that to figure out?

I'm complaining again. I need to stop that. It's not like me.

After she quit yelling at me and I got cleaned up, the rest of the day got off to a great start. Callie is one of those people who makes you feel good just being around her. She treats me like she always did. Like a friend, not an invalid. After we left the doctor’s office, we bought some burgers and fries and cokes and went to the park to eat. It felt good to be outside in the sunshine again. Summer is already half over, and I'm missing it.

I miss a lot of things.

Callie made me laugh. Even laughing hurts but it was the best pain I’ve felt in a long time. She can be really funny. You know, she hardly mentioned Brice at all. I wonder why not. He’s all she could talk about when she was here last time. Maybe some of the newness of being in love has worn off. Maybe she’s not as much in love as she thought. I wasn’t about to ask her about it though. She didn’t ask me personal questions and I didn’t ask her any. It’s what helped make the day so great.

It was great. Until I saw the squad and the engine go by on a run. We were walking to her car when we heard the sirens. I remember seeing them go through the intersection, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the grass and Callie had one hand on my back and was taking my pulse with the other. I was having trouble breathing. She kept talking to me until I calmed down and stopped shaking. Then she helped me up and took me home. She sat on the side of the bed with me until I fell asleep. I remember feeling safer than I had in a long time with her there.

We had dinner after I woke up, but I was so worn out from the long day, I wanted to go right back to bed afterwards. She wouldn't let me. The drawback with her being a nurse is that she made sure I did my exercises right. No taking the easy way out. Walking my hand up the wall with a sore shoulder hurt like hell. It's still aching. And the breathing thing. I hate that. I do it three times a day, but I hate it. It shouldn't be so hard to take a deep breath after all this time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to get better.

Callie had to leave a little while ago. It’s so quiet. I don't like it. I wish she could have stayed.

I don’t want to be alone tonight.

* * * * * * * *

I trusted Calla with my feelings, and now she's not speaking to me.

* * * * * * * *

I would never do that. Never.

* * * * * * * *

I got my wish. I'm all alone.

* * * * * * * *

18 August, 0630 hours

I’ve been awake all night, still trying to sort this out. I’m tired, physically and mentally drained. I'd like to sleep for a week. I'd like to go to sleep and forget everything; forget what he tried to do to Calla, forget what he did to me, forget the anger that just won't disappear.

When I came home yesterday, she was there waiting for me. I'd driven around for a while, trying to calm down before I saw her, but she could tell I was still upset. When I told her where I'd gone and why, she started to cry. At first I thought he had hurt her, and I wanted to go back and do what I hadn't been able to do the first time. Calla assured me she was fine, and that she felt terrible about everything that had happened. She felt it was her fault for not understanding what Gage was going through, and was sorry she had walked out on him. She felt sure he wouldn't have done anything if she had only stayed and tried to help. She had called DeSoto this morning, and told him what happened and asked him to make sure Gage was all right.

Calla felt even worse for telling me about it and setting things in motion that should never have happened. None of it was her fault, and yet she took the blame. I couldn't understand how she could be so forgiving toward the man. I couldn't understand why he did that to her. I felt more confused than ever. Somewhere along the line, I thought I was to blame too. Not for what Gage did, but for not protecting her from him.

I love Calla, and it stings to know I've let her down the same way I did when Sam assaulted her. I should have seen it coming. I should have insisted she stay away from him. Nothing's been right lately, and it’s all Gage’s fault. Ever since the accident, he’s been the source of my unhappiness, my bad dreams and sleepless nights.

I almost wished he’d died that night.

It shocked the hell out of me when I realized I said that out loud. Calla was speechless. I was afraid when she caught her breath, she’d walk out the door. Instead, she stayed and encouraged me to talk. It was a tremendous relief to have her listen to me. I told her how I resented her bond with Gage, and how I believed it threatened the one she and I had. Her talking about him all the time had raked on my nerves and I had been afraid she would see something in Gage to make her love him and leave me.

The more I talked, the more I realized how pathetic I sounded. I had to clarify why I felt these things. There was only one way to do that, and it was harder than anything I’d done lately, but I didn’t care. Saving our relationship was all that mattered.

I told Calla about my childhood and left nothing out. I relived the pain, the rejection, the loneliness, and the unsatisfied hunger for love. I never got bedtime stories, except when I stayed with Grandma. When I had a nightmare, I was left alone to cry in the dark. When I was sick, they took care of the necessities, but I had to find a way to comfort myself. They even made fun of me when I kept a teddy bear. Grandma bought it for times when I needed a snuggle and she wasn’t there. I was so ashamed, I hid the bear. When Mother found it, I had no choice but to throw it away or face more humiliation. To survive, I withdrew into myself and found it hard to trust genuine feelings of love. Not even Grandma could fix the damage.

I’d been without love for so long that working and trying to be perfect became poor substitutes for what I needed. Calla was like a beam of sunshine, her warmth seeping into my life. While I found myself gravitating toward her, a part of me couldn’t believe it was for real. I kept waiting for something to snatch away all the good things she gave me. I became so determined not to let that happen, that when I heard Gage made an advance on her, I snapped. For the first time in my life, I wanted to physically hurt someone, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't tell her how much I still wanted to do it even in the face of her explanation of the situation.

Calla didn’t say anything, just held my hand throughout. I saw the pain she felt for me written on her face. I felt guilty for putting it there. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. Now that she knew what I was capable of, or what I wasn't capable of, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had left. I'm a man hiding behind a confidence that in reality is as fragile as glass.

Before Calla left for the night, she took me into her arms and kissed me with a soft, warm, intense press of her lips that stirred up a yearning for more. I remembered how easily I had let my anger flare. It would have been just as effortless to run with my passion.

Not yet. But soon.

August 18 3:00 PM

I am so tired.

I'm not mad anymore. I don't have the strength to be mad. I don't care any more. I'm just tired. More tired than I've been in a long time, if that's possible. All I've wanted to do today is sleep. But I can't. There's too much noise. I'm having trouble breathing too. It hurts. I haven't been doing the exercises for a few days. They hurt. This hurts worse. Something's wrong. I should have told Roy when he called last night. I shouldn't have hung up on him, but I was still too mad to listen to him. I know he wants to help but he doesn't know how. I don't even know how to help myself.

There's no one to talk to now. Trying to write is hard, but I feel like this book is the only thing I have left to hold on to.

Captain Lewis came by early this morning. I didn't want to let him in, but I did anyway. He gave me that look again. Poor John Gage doesn't know what's good for him. I don't think I like him very much. He said Roy called him last night after I hung up on him for the third time. Roy only wanted to explain that Chris broke his arm at football practice and he couldn't come back here like he said he would. Captain Lewis said Roy was worried about me. He said everyone was worried about me. I don't believe that, but I didn't have any smart ass answers to give him this time.

I don't have any answers anymore. I don't even remember the questions.

We were sitting in the living room talking. No, he was talking, I wasn't listening. I don't know when he left. When I woke up, I was still sitting on the couch with a blanket over me.

I called Joanne about an hour ago. She said Chris is okay. He thinks it's cool to have a cast and can't wait for his friends to sign it. I can't wait to get rid of mine. Tomorrow, I think. I don't know for sure. I've lost track of time. Joanne was quiet for a long time, then she told me she misses me. She said the kids miss me. Roy misses me. I have news for her, I miss me too. It's been so long, I have a hard time remembering who I was. She said Captain Lewis had called and Roy was on his way over here to see me. I told her I didn't have any more beer for him to pour down the drain and hung up.

I don't feel good. My neighbors have been fighting all day. I wish they'd shut up. They haven't lived here very long and I've only met her once. I think her name is Susan. I've never had the pleasure of meeting him, only hearing his loud voice from across the hall. She told me he lost his job and spends a lot of time drinking and watching television while she works as a waitress at night. She seemed kind of nervous talking to me. Like she was afraid of him. I can't imagine living like that.

What am I talking about? I can't imagine living like this. I just want to go to sleep and make it all go away.

Man, it sounds like they're talking the fight out into the hallway. I should go see what's going on, but I don't want to get up. Maybe someone else

18 August, 2140 hours

Gage was a mess.

The ‘man down, police responding’ call came in and I immediately recognized the address as Gage’s apartment complex. I had no way of knowing who was involved, but part of me hoped it was him. Part of me hated myself for thinking that. We pushed through the small crowd that had gathered and followed the policeman up the stairs.

I heard Vince say something about him trying to stop a man from beating his wife. They had the guy who did it in handcuffs. Gage hadn't stood a chance. He’d been thoroughly pummeled, and the sight was sickening. DeSoto had arrived just before we did and his hands were covered with blood from trying to help his partner. Swallowing back the memory of the accident, along with my anger toward him, I knelt down and went to work. He was semiconscious and in serious distress. A sharp pang of guilt hit me in the midsection. I had to fight my own nausea when I realized this was what I had wanted to do to him.

I ignored the increasing unease I felt when I read his vitals to the hospital. We cut away his T-shirt and saw rapidly developing bruising on his chest and over his ribs. He was bleeding from a laceration over one eye, which was almost swollen shut, and DeSoto was attempting to stop the flow of blood from his nose. The back of his head had hit the wall, and we suspected a concussion. On top of all that, I detected rales in his lungs and his breathing was extremely labored. Pneumonia was a distinct possibility.

All the while we worked to get him ready to transport, I kept thinking that if I had let myself lose control, I could have done this. That cold realization prickled down my spine. I wasn't proud of myself for having the desire to do it. Even though I hadn't hit him, remembering the rage that had driven me to that point made me feel I was no better than the animal that did this.

The ride to the hospital seemed like five hours, rather than five minutes. I was glad DeSoto was with me in the ambulance when Gage awoke briefly. He was in tremendous pain, but we couldn't administer any MS because of the head injury. Roy was the one who tried to reassure him everything would be all right. I was still wrestling with my mixed feelings. I couldn’t help feeling Gage got what he deserved, but I was glad it was at someone else's hands. I knew better. No one deserved that kind of abuse.

Bob and I left on another call shortly after we delivered him to Rampart. Roy thanked us for our help and stayed with Gage in the treatment room.

I had no appetite at dinnertime. I kept thinking of what I’d seen, imagining if I’d been the one to hit him…. The more I contemplated it, the more I loathed myself. For some reason, it just fueled my anger toward him. It made it all the harder when I called Calla and told her. It made it harder to know she still cared about him and was going to go to Rampart to see him.

I washed the squad that evening. Alone. I scrubbed the surface as thoroughly as I had scrubbed my hands earlier, imagining the paint was Gage’s blood. Bob knew something was wrong, something more than just seeing Gage like that again. When he clamped a caring hand on my shoulder, I felt an emotional pull toward him. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t talk about this with him and risk losing the respect I’ve gained. This is something I'm going to have to work out by myself.

* * * * * * * *

Chet called yesterday and said he and Marco and some of the guys from 16s were going to go shoot some pool and have a few beers, and wondered if I felt up to going along. They picked me up at 7.

I'm still in no condition to even think about picking up a cue stick, but I didn't mind when a table opened up and the other guys left me sitting alone for a while. It felt good just to be out of my apartment and to forget things for a while. The cute blonde that'd been sitting at the bar watching us came over and asked if I wanted some company. Gentleman that I am, I invited her to join me. She slid into a chair beside me and introduced herself. Candy. Sweet girl. We were deeply engrossed in conversation when I felt someone's eyes boring into me from across the room.	Bob had invited me to a “boys’ night out” with the guys. I jumped at the chance and said I would meet them at Manning’s. I was the last to arrive, and spotted Bob, Nick, and Joe at a pool table with Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez from 51s. As I crossed the room, my eyes picked out another familiar face. Gage. If I’d known he was going to be there, I wouldn’t have gone. He was at a table chatting with a pretty blonde. Typical. I wondered how many more hearts he would break in his lifetime. I had hoped glaring at him would make him feel uncomfortable.
I glanced around and saw Brice standing there. He didn't look as mad as he did that day at my apartment, but he didn't look too happy to see me either. At first I wondered if the other guys set this up, but I didn't think either one of us had said anything about what happened between us to anyone else. I never even told Roy about it. Callie knows, of course. She hasn't said much, but she keeps dropping hints that she'd like it if he and I learned to play nice together. Brice went to join the others at the pool table without saying a word to me.	It had been a while since I played pool, but I obviously hadn't forgotten how. I easily beat Nick and Joe.They had made such a big deal out of their skills, and I took them down within a matter of minutes. When Bob lost, I knew I was in trouble. I tried to look sorry, but it felt too good to win. They retired me for a little while so they could play without fear of having their clocks cleaned. I really did feel badly about that, but then Nick called me ‘Minnesota Fats’ with a glint in his eye. I was relieved there were no hard feelings. I was enjoying myself more than I had in a long time.
Candy and I picked up where we left off, but I couldn't help watch the action at the pool table for a while. He and the other guys on his shift seemed to get along well. I guess what I heard about the sofball game at the picnic was true. Brice wasn't bad. Wouldn't have figured him for a pool player. Not that he'd be a match for me, but he wasn't bad. Minnesota Fats? I hardly think so. Candy got a little upset I wasn't concentrating on our conversation, so she left to go powder her nose. I'll never figure out why women always call it that.	After getting myself a beer, I noticed Gage was alone. Our group had occupied two tables, and I chose to sit as far away from him as possible. It was probably childish, but I didn’t want to sit there and pretend to be civil when I wasn’t sure I could be. I didn’t think he would, either. I was surprised when he invited me to his table. It was awkward, uncomfortable. Neither of us knew what to say at first, and I figured if he invited me over, he could get the ball rolling.
Brice got himself a beer at the bar and came over and sat down at the other table. I figured one of us was going to have to break the ice, so I invited him to join me. At first, I wasn't sure he was going to, and I wasn't going to ask a second time. He got up and sat in the chair across from me and played with his beer glass for a little while. He seemed kind of nervous and wouldn't look at me. I asked him where he learned to shoot pool, and gave him a few pointers on a couple of shots he could've handled differently.	We talked about pool. Gage said he was good. He pointed out a few mistakes I made and how he would have played it. Rather smug about it too. I sure would have liked to have seen if he could play as well as he talked, but he wasn't up for it yet.
Brice may have loosened up a bit, but he's still pretty damn arrogant. He seemed to think he could take me on at a round of pool. I offered to give him the chance when I was back on my feet again. I just might enjoy humbling him a little.	He wants to play me when he’s better. I always thought he had a big ego, but really. He thinks he can beat me. We’ll see about that, when the time comes.
We watched the guys play for a little while. Brice seemed to get nervous again. I kind of had to laugh to myself. I pictured Callie sitting there between us, telling us to make up or else. It was the thought of her or-else that made me decide it was time to get on with what we needed to talk about.	Neither of us knew what to say after that. We watched as Joe lined up his last shot, and I caught myself nervously rotating my glass on the table. Gage saw me do it. For a second, I thought he was going to smart off, but then he looked like he had something important on his mind.
I'd already apologized to Callie for what I did that night. She not only understood, but apologized to me too for leaving me alone. She said she knew I wouldn't have hurt her, but I got the feeling Brice wasn't convinced. I still didn't think any of this was his business, but I told him I was sorry that things happened the way they did.	I couldn’t believe my ears. Gage was apologizing for kissing Calla. I asked him why he did it if he never intended to hurt her. I couldn’t accept that he would do that to a friend.
He asked me why I did it. I asked him why he came to my apartment that morning, intent on beating the crap out of me. Not that he could have.	Okay, so he came up with something that I’m certainly not proud of. I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my stomach when I thought back to that day. Why did I come so close to hitting Gage? I told him I wasn’t thinking straight, that I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t adequately articulate why. There was no good excuse, but I didn't want to let him know that.
Brice went kind of pale for a minute while he thought it over. I got the impression I struck a nerve. When he explained that he'd just lost control for a while because of the situation, I had to ask him why he thought that was any different than what happened to me.	He asked what made what I did any different from what he did. Touché. What could I say? I was thinking of being cheeky, saying something to the effect that maybe we should have both checked ourselves into the nearest psych ward. The guys came back to the table just then for a break, laughing, talking all at once, and exaggerating their conquests on the pool table. I forgot about my comeback and joined in their conversation.
Anything else we might've had to say to each other was interrupted when the guys came back to the table for a short break. I thought maybe we'd said all we needed to say anyway. When they got up again to start a new round, I saw Candy on her way back, and was glad I'd have a chance to start over with her with them out of the way.	Bob asked me to play teamed up with him. I wasn’t quite ready to go back. I had a lot on my mind, thinking about Gage’s apology of sorts. But when I looked at him, I got the idea the subject was closed and bringing it up again would be pointless. There really wasn't anything left to say.
I was getting tired and the cigarette smoke was beginning to make me cough. Candy offered to drive me home, so I thanked the guys for the night out and we left. I could hear Brice bragging clear across the room. He thinks he can take me on. I'll let him have his illusions for now. We'll see who teaches who.	As I got up to head toward the pool table, I said I'd enjoy playing that game and teaching him a thing or two. The look on his face was priceless.

It was a good evening. After countless rounds of pool and a few games of darts, interspersed with pitchers of beer being passed around, everyone was in a good mood. I'm looking forward to that pool game with John. We'll see if he’s all talk and no action. If he's willing to put his money where his mouth is, I'll be glad to take it off his hands.

I’ve been thinking about what John said. He wasn’t himself, and I suppose I knew that at the time, but I was too wrapped up in how I was feeling to notice. If I hadn’t been so clouded by my own insecurites... well, that’s not important now. I rarely make the same mistake twice. I’m learning to overcome my shortcomings by trusting Calla, and not letting jealousy get the better of me.

I'm going to set my sights on the future. Calla has urged me to let go of the past -- all of it -- and live life in the here and now.

One day at a time.

* * * * * * * *

November 25

Dear John,

I came across this journal in my drawer and discovered the last page was still blank. Since I haven't written in a while, I thought maybe I should use it to let you know I'm doing great. Really great. I just got off shift a little while ago. I'm getting ready to head over to Roy and Joanne's for Thanksgiving dinner. Yesterday was my first shift back on regular duty since the end of June. Since the accident. I've spent the last month on light duty, driving the BC around and doing some paperwork stuff at Headquarters. Yeah, me and paperwork.

It was a quiet day. I wouldn't have cared if we only had one run or fifty. I was where I belonged. It seemed fitting that I went back to work at Thanksgiving time. I've got a lot to be thankful for. My job, my friends, my health. My life. Things I'll never take for granted again. Things to be thankful for every day, not just one day out of the year.

After roll call and an equipment check, we all went into the day room for some coffee and talked for a while. Marco and Chet started arguing about something, and I think Mike was even about to put his two words in. Cap and Roy were talking about a new drill we're going to do next shift. I have to admit I was feeling a little overwhelmed. I'd been gone a long time, yet it was like nothing had changed. Nothing but the seasons. I didn't think anybody noticed that I left the room. I wandered out into the bay and looked over the squad. It looked just like our other one, but I could tell it was different. I may look the same on the outside, but I'm different now too. Part of me will never be the same again.

They hadn't been able to salvage the squad.

Better it than me.

It took a long time for me to come to terms with my role in the accident. Even with the help and support of my friends and others like Captain Lewis, it was hard. Then last month, I got a letter addressed to me at the station from Bill Peterson. The other kid. He wrote it on what would have been his friend Frankie's eighteenth birthday. Part of Bill will never be the same again either. It took me weeks before I could finally write a short letter back. Letting him know I forgave him made it easier for me somehow. To forgive myself. The nightmares finally went away.

I opened the driver's door and stood there holding onto it for a few minutes before finding the courage to get in. The memories came back. The doubts. I wasn't sure I could be there. I wasn't sure I could handle it. I wasn't sure Roy trusted me. Hell, I wasn't sure I trusted myself.

Captain Lewis had given me some parting advice a few weeks ago when I left his office for the last time. He said that I'd never forget the accident. He said I had to integrate it into my life so I could live my life. I understand what he meant. But it was easier to believe I could do that when I was standing outside the squad, than it was when I sat behind the wheel.

The passenger door opened and Roy got in. We'd had plenty of talks over the last couple of months about the accident and the effect it had on our lives. Roy had said how hard it was for him when he came back. That first drive through an intersection took every bit of concentration he had. If anyone understood how I felt at that moment, it was Roy. He'd been there with me when it happened. He'd been there with me every step of the way since that day, even when I thought I didn't want him around. There were times when being around him reminded me too much of everything I almost lost. We almost lost.

Roy looked at me and said that if we were going to Rampart for supplies, it would be helpful if I turned the key and started the engine before I tried to drive out of the station. Then he asked me if I remembered how to get there, or did he need to draw me a map. Roy couldn't draw a map if his life depended on it. That's what he's got me for.

After all this time, I was able to find my way.

There was a message in what happened. The California State Legislature is working to amend the Vehicle Code, increasing the distance at which motorists are required to stop and yield the right-of-way to emergency vehicles. Even if that change had been in effect then, I doubt it would have prevented what happened that night. Somehow, it doesn't seem like they're doing enough. But if it prevents just one accident, if it prevents just one death, then I'll be satisfied for now.

The Los Angeles County Fire Department is one of the supporters of the amended code.

They listened.

Maybe a little late, but they listened.

Johnny

* * * * * * * *

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