Smoke and Mirrors
One
Alex's fingers have just the hint of a tremor in them as he turns the envelope over in his hands, plain white apart from the dark blue insignia of the Baltimore Fire Department in the top right hand corner.
This is it. Inside is the name of the station he'll be at for at least the next year, being trained alongside some of, in Alex's opinion, the best fire fighters in the country. This is his one and only opportunity to prove that he can make it, follow his childhood dream. Three years worth of study and practice drills, all counting down to this moment.
He opens the envelope carefully, tries to rip the paper in a more or less straight line, letting it fall to the ground as he unfolds the soft yellow parchment paper, holds his breath.
He lets it out again in rush as he stares in almost comical disbelief.
Fire House Sixty-Nine. 69. It's an acceptance of course, which is brilliant, but of all the stations Alex knows there are, he does wonder if this is someones idea of a joke, send the openly gay guy to sixty-nine.
Or maybe it's just the luck of the draw, his instructors weren't exactly forthcoming with the details of just how they'd be placed.
For now, Alex will assume it's the latter, and try to keep his amusement to himself.
But really, sixty-nine, they couldn't have skipped a number?
At twenty-one, Alex isn't sure he's above giggling childishly should the occasion arise.
Refolding the letter, and reaching down to pick up the dropped envelope – a potential fire hazard, his mind informs him, Alex heads inside with a smile to make the first of many phone calls to tell everyone the good news.
His mother is suitably thrilled of course, as is his father and it means the world to him to know that they're proud of his career choice, even if his mother often wishes he'd chosen something a little less dangerous.
He calls his Uncle Barry in New York, who had taken him as child to see the antique fire trucks at the state museum, and to countless open days whenever he visited.
After that it's his older brother Edward, with whom he does share the details of his station assignment with because you're never too old to share dick jokes with your brother, and Ed promises to send him a congratulatory bottle of the finest Australian liquor he can find, seeing as how he's halfway across the world being a brilliant finance manager for some Australian bank whose name Alex can never remember. Edward got all the of the mathematical-ability-genes their parents had to offer.
By the time he's done the sun is low in the sky, and Alex decides that driving down to Moe's Authentic Italian for wood fired pizza is an appropriate way to celebrate. As well as a chocolate malt thickshake from the drive-thru Wendy's down the block.
He lives alone, in an adequate yet tiny apartment on the third floor of building which despite it's age, does adhere to all the current fire safety regulations – an important consideration, Alex thinks, for a budding fire-fighter. The rent is about all he can afford, even with his new, hopefully more regular paycheck and sometimes the pipes rattle in the middle of the night scaring the everloving Christ out of him, but it's home. And the smell of fresh pizza always lingers the day after, and Alex likes pizza.
Slice of pizza in hand, and thickshake on the table in front of him – on a coaster, it's a nice table, Alex consults his acceptance letter again.
His introductory shift is three days from now, and he's to be there at 8am sharp with all his gear. As part of their course fees, all students received the basic uniform for their new career. Helmet, boots, pants and jacket. All still in Alex's closet, although unwrapped because yes, the moment he'd come home with them the first time, he'd tried them on and admired himself in the mirror.
It's almost thrilling to think that in three days, he'll get to wear them for real, no longer a child playing dress up.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
During the next two days, Alex drives past the station about seventeen times trying to catch a glimpse of his colleagues without being overly conspicuous, tries on his uniform on three separate occasions and heads to the gym twice with a feeble hope that he might be able to add some more bulk and definition to his frame, look a little less like the skinny, weedy kid he knows he'll be seen as. Alex is strong, or so he likes to think, but he knows he doesn't look it, and even though they shouldn't, looks count when you're needed to drag people out of burning buildings.
The night before, Alex polishes his boots till they shine, and then worries they might be too shiny and tries to dirty them a bit with soil from his window plant box which turns into a weird, sticky boot polish mud that he then has to wash off and after that, he leaves them be.
He also sets out his normal clothes, blue skinny-but-not-too-skinny jeans and a plain navy T-shirt and black Vans that he can easily slip off. He's aiming to blend in as much as possible, at least until he gets a feel for the place.
Alex tries to head to bed early, wants a good nights sleep but as usual, sleep eludes him until well into the morning hours, a protest in his throat when his alarm seems to ring out all too soon.
Today's the day he's going to sixty-nine.
He's still snickering to himself at the idea as he steps into the warm spray of the shower, pondering whether or not to shave the two day stubble he's got growing, or if he should straighten his hair or just spray it or not spray it at all and have it natural.
After all, first impressions are important.
This is it. Inside is the name of the station he'll be at for at least the next year, being trained alongside some of, in Alex's opinion, the best fire fighters in the country. This is his one and only opportunity to prove that he can make it, follow his childhood dream. Three years worth of study and practice drills, all counting down to this moment.
He opens the envelope carefully, tries to rip the paper in a more or less straight line, letting it fall to the ground as he unfolds the soft yellow parchment paper, holds his breath.
He lets it out again in rush as he stares in almost comical disbelief.
Fire House Sixty-Nine. 69. It's an acceptance of course, which is brilliant, but of all the stations Alex knows there are, he does wonder if this is someones idea of a joke, send the openly gay guy to sixty-nine.
Or maybe it's just the luck of the draw, his instructors weren't exactly forthcoming with the details of just how they'd be placed.
For now, Alex will assume it's the latter, and try to keep his amusement to himself.
But really, sixty-nine, they couldn't have skipped a number?
At twenty-one, Alex isn't sure he's above giggling childishly should the occasion arise.
Refolding the letter, and reaching down to pick up the dropped envelope – a potential fire hazard, his mind informs him, Alex heads inside with a smile to make the first of many phone calls to tell everyone the good news.
His mother is suitably thrilled of course, as is his father and it means the world to him to know that they're proud of his career choice, even if his mother often wishes he'd chosen something a little less dangerous.
He calls his Uncle Barry in New York, who had taken him as child to see the antique fire trucks at the state museum, and to countless open days whenever he visited.
After that it's his older brother Edward, with whom he does share the details of his station assignment with because you're never too old to share dick jokes with your brother, and Ed promises to send him a congratulatory bottle of the finest Australian liquor he can find, seeing as how he's halfway across the world being a brilliant finance manager for some Australian bank whose name Alex can never remember. Edward got all the of the mathematical-ability-genes their parents had to offer.
By the time he's done the sun is low in the sky, and Alex decides that driving down to Moe's Authentic Italian for wood fired pizza is an appropriate way to celebrate. As well as a chocolate malt thickshake from the drive-thru Wendy's down the block.
He lives alone, in an adequate yet tiny apartment on the third floor of building which despite it's age, does adhere to all the current fire safety regulations – an important consideration, Alex thinks, for a budding fire-fighter. The rent is about all he can afford, even with his new, hopefully more regular paycheck and sometimes the pipes rattle in the middle of the night scaring the everloving Christ out of him, but it's home. And the smell of fresh pizza always lingers the day after, and Alex likes pizza.
Slice of pizza in hand, and thickshake on the table in front of him – on a coaster, it's a nice table, Alex consults his acceptance letter again.
His introductory shift is three days from now, and he's to be there at 8am sharp with all his gear. As part of their course fees, all students received the basic uniform for their new career. Helmet, boots, pants and jacket. All still in Alex's closet, although unwrapped because yes, the moment he'd come home with them the first time, he'd tried them on and admired himself in the mirror.
It's almost thrilling to think that in three days, he'll get to wear them for real, no longer a child playing dress up.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
During the next two days, Alex drives past the station about seventeen times trying to catch a glimpse of his colleagues without being overly conspicuous, tries on his uniform on three separate occasions and heads to the gym twice with a feeble hope that he might be able to add some more bulk and definition to his frame, look a little less like the skinny, weedy kid he knows he'll be seen as. Alex is strong, or so he likes to think, but he knows he doesn't look it, and even though they shouldn't, looks count when you're needed to drag people out of burning buildings.
The night before, Alex polishes his boots till they shine, and then worries they might be too shiny and tries to dirty them a bit with soil from his window plant box which turns into a weird, sticky boot polish mud that he then has to wash off and after that, he leaves them be.
He also sets out his normal clothes, blue skinny-but-not-too-skinny jeans and a plain navy T-shirt and black Vans that he can easily slip off. He's aiming to blend in as much as possible, at least until he gets a feel for the place.
Alex tries to head to bed early, wants a good nights sleep but as usual, sleep eludes him until well into the morning hours, a protest in his throat when his alarm seems to ring out all too soon.
Today's the day he's going to sixty-nine.
He's still snickering to himself at the idea as he steps into the warm spray of the shower, pondering whether or not to shave the two day stubble he's got growing, or if he should straighten his hair or just spray it or not spray it at all and have it natural.
After all, first impressions are important.
♠ ♠ ♠
So yup