When the Smoke Clears

The other night was guy’s night. The Trusty Bulldog called to ask me down to the Ballgame. He was driving in from North Carolina. I checked with our fellow friend, the Viking Medic and he was up for the game as well, so with a little internet magic, we had tickets waiting for the Bulldog to pickup just as he was getting to the stadium.

I dislike city driving. The Viking would do the driving for us, but then came the great idea: we’d take the train from the northernmost station down to the stadium. Made sense.

Sitting directly across from each other we chatted a bit about nothing in particular as we waited for the train to begin its journey into the city. The Viking is a funny man. He can keep me laughing. Then the sound for the doors closing. It’s a very high pitched, loud beep. He jumped a moment. Reflex.

There are sounds we get used to calling us into action. The sound reminded him of the sound just before a blast, the loud clicking of tracks another danger sound. Passing under bridges his eyes dart upwards looking for warning signs. It takes time.

“Thank God they didn’t have a subway in Baghdad,” he mused. “We’d have been all up and down those tunnels guarding that thing too.”

There are reflexes we develop. While not on the same level, I still react to a certain set of 4 tones in sequence, the tones that alerted my ambulance that our particular unit had an emergency call coming in. It was so heightened at one point that I was at home, asleep one morning after a very active 24-hour shift, a full mile away from the station, my bedroom windows opened to the moist morning air. A little after 0700 the tones went out over the radio, the ambulance doors must have been open, and I jerked awake, reaching for my shoes before I realized I wasn’t on duty, the echo of those tones carrying across the distance.

But this is all a part of reintegration: crowds, loud noises, etc. I don’t do well in crowds either, but I knew the Viking was with me. Between the two of us we’d either be just fine, or else there would be a wide swath of carnage of Atlantans who got too close. Luckily one of the MOST attractive women I have seen came and sat right next to me on the train. I did my best not to drool and only stare at her peripherally. Viking boy, the bastard, had a straight on view. It took his mind off the sounds and alerts. She was way too young for me, and I’m sure the reason she chose my seat as opposed to some of the others was that I seemed the least dangerous/safest among the bets. We spoke a little and she guided the Viking and I to the transfer and busses to the stadium. She even had an exotic eastern European accent.

Once successfully perched in our cheap seats, we enjoyed the game, the beer, the hot dogs, nachos, ladies throwing free t-shirts, though none anywhere near us. The sunset glowed over the city in peaceful hues eventually giving way to indigo. And we texted and took pictures for other very fine ladies in New York. (and after seeing the replies I use the term “lady” VERY loosely, charitably even, or, dare I say it, with eleemosynary indulgence.)

Then after bidding goodnight to the Bulldog, into the crowds we went for the trip home. We stood on the train, the seats all around us packed tightly and we made sure we gave ours to others. Funny how reflexes hit, mine from street-medic life, his from wartime life. Facing each other, he towards the back, me towards the front, non-dominant arm holding the overhead rail, slightly off center from each other. For those who know me, here’s the shocker: I didn’t turn around even with several doors behind me. I knew the Viking had my back. I had his.

“We just formed a 360° field-of-view, good perimeter security,” he noticed after a couple of stops. We smiled. “You know, if you wanted to really take over and dominate this city, you’d want to get your hands on the train system. You could dominate and divide up the city.”

“Yeah, but imagine the attempts at damaging the tracks and such,” I countered.

“There’s a chance for that, but there’s so much barbed wire and the tracks are either raised high above, great sniping points with concrete barriers, or they are underground. The transition zones are very well barricaded as it is. Just a little bit of reinforcement.”

Passengers around us seemed to more intensely and concertedly ignore us and our debate/strategy session, the sounds getting more animated as we worked out security and assault points. Support the troops, just don’t talk to them or let them get too close, people. Is that it?

He’s going to be alright. More than that, he’s going to be great. People will follow him because he’s a man who cares, each lesson making him stronger, better for the next challenge. Don’t be sorry for those scars, they are part of who he is, and that is very good person.

Secret Message to Michelle and Erica: Can you read the sign here? I mean, we know y’all went to those inner city public schools that were nothing but gangs and drugs, but we figured you might have picked up something… you know… other than disease… (with all due respect, of course)

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