Dancing Flames

The log I'm sitting on is hard, but I don't care.  I've been looking forward to this evening for weeks.  Around me, friends mill around in small clusters, talking and laughing with each other, sipping on warm, mulled cider and catching up.  Terrence, my newly-adopted chocolate Labrador, trots over to me and rests his muzzle on my lap.

"I'm not giving you any more pretzels," I say sternly.  Terrence gazes up at me with those big cow eyes of his, and I try to stone-wall him.  "Terrence..." I say, a warning in my voice, and his bright pink tongue flips out and laps at his nose.  He lifts his head and pants at me in anticipation, and I break into a smile.  Glancing around like I'm about to do something terribly bad, I reach over to the plate next to me and swipe a pretzel stick, slipping it to my overly-excited, four-legged baby boy.  He snaps it up and nuzzles me gratefully before bounding off through the yard, paws crunching through the piles of dead leaves that he scatters in all directions like giant red and yellow snowflakes, to see who else he can sucker into feeding him contraband.

I shake my head and chuckle.

The evening air is cool, invigorating, and I wrap my silky wool scarf closer around my neck.  I love this scarf.  My granny made it for me when I was fourteen, crocheting it with meticulous care despite the arthritis in her aging hands.  I remember watching her working on it, sitting in her armchair in her living room and laughing at episodes of "The Love Boat," all the while her hands busy winding the beautiful green yarn into the intricately-patterned fabric I've worn around my neck each fall since then.  That was in 1983.  Granny left us just two years later.

Laughter behind me snaps me back to today, and I hear my friend Mike and his wife Sharon talking loudly with some other guests.  I smile to myself.  The annual bonfire at my house in the country has been the fall event of the year for many years now.  It's nothing fancy, but these friends and family who gather here with me each November are the same amazing group of people who helped me get through some of the toughest years of my life.  If it wasn't for the love of these angels without wings, I might not be here today.  We gather now as my way of thanking them for their support during a very dark time, and to remind myself that I've survived another year.

I watch the flames of the bonfire for a few minutes, crackling embers sparking against the darkness of the late evening sky, the ambers and reds of the coals glowing brightly deep within the heart of the fire.  I shiver at the cold on my back, the night air reaching its icy fingers around my shoulders.  It seems unusually cold this fall.  But I'm happy.  I breathe in the smell of the wood fire, and I close my eyes, picturing the flames in my mind.  Fall is, without a doubt, my absolute favorite season of the year.

When I open them again, I am greeted with the vision of a man placing a large chunk of cedar on the bonfire, the glow from the pit making his blond hair shimmer.  The man is Adam.  He positions the log carefully, pokes around in the fire with a large branch, then smiles at me when he notices I'm watching him.  Adam leans the branch against an unoccupied log and disappears into the small crowd, reappearing a minute later holding two steaming paper cups.  He sits beside me on the log and hands me a cup of cider, and I thank him, wrapping my hands around the warm cup.

"Nice little party," he says, smiling at me.  I love that smile.
"Thank you," I say.  "I'm glad you decided to grace us with your presence this year, you ol' recluse you."
"I don't like crowds," he says, gingerly taking a sip of the hot liquid and watching as the fire catches on the cedar log.  We both watch as the flames lick at the wood like a hungry predator engulfing its prey.
"I know," I say finally.  "I'm still glad you came."  And I mean it.

A few beats pass and neither of us speaks.  We sit quietly watching the fire, lost in our own thoughts.  Adam looks at me again, and I turn toward him.  He and I have been friends for years, and as I let my gaze flit across his rugged features, I can't help noticing the set of his jaw, the graying stubble on his chin, and the creases around the corners of his eyes when he smiles.  I have such a soft spot for this man.  I wonder if he can tell?

I see the reflection of the dancing flames in his eyes, and I shiver again, not from the cold this time, but at the sheer happiness I am feeling in this very moment, surrounded by the beautiful woods, the starry night sky, a roaring fire, and the company of the people nearest and dearest to me.  But especially Adam.

Thinking I must be cold, Adam wraps a warm, strong arm around my back and pulls me against his side.  I lay my head on his shoulder, breathing in the mixture of wood smoke and his cologne, and nuzzling the soft cotton of his old, well-worn flannel shirt.  To my surprise, he kisses the top of my head, and I feel my cheeks flush.  I close my eyes and take it all in.

And in this moment, I feel true joy.

Code Black

A drop of perspiration trickled down my forehead and into my left eye.  I blinked at the unexpected stinging it caused, but I had to stay focused on what I was doing.  My hands, usually steady, were trembling slightly as I gripped the wire cutters, massaging the rubber-coated handles as I stared at the tangle of cords inside the briefcase.

A briefcase.  I wanted to laugh inwardly.  That seemed so cliche.

Around me, there was no movement save for the leaves blowing across the empty street, and no sound other than a dog barking somewhere.  The area had been cleared for several blocks in all directions, and the deathly quiet was unnerving.  I've never seen this intersection in town look so dead.

"Take it easy, Jeb," said a voice in my earpiece.  It was the police chief, and I glanced ahead of me where he and some of the other officers were poised, standing guard from a distance behind the protection of shields.

No shit, I thought.

I looked at the red L.E.D. counter ticking down the seconds.  There wasn't much time left, and I needed to decide which of these wires I needed to cut before me and my internal organs became a smattering of flesh at the corner of 64th and Adams Ave.  Studying the mass of hardware that comprised this amateur-looking bomb, I'd narrowed it down to one of three wires:  red, black, and white.

I moved the wire cutters to the black wire.  Years of experience told me this is the one that would shut the bomb down, but there's always a flicker of doubt in case--for once--I'm wrong.  There's always a first.  In this case, it would also be my last.  I steeled myself and went for it.  The cutters snapped through the wire, and...

...nothing happened.  The timer was still counting down.  "...13...12...11..."

My heart was racing now, but my training kicked in and I maintained my focus.  We have two choices now and only seconds to decide.  I positioned the cutters around the red wire.

Snip.

There was a spark, and for a split second, I thought I'd detonated the bomb.  Either I was incredibly lucky, or the maker of this device didn't quite know what they were doing.  The countdown continued, "...7...6...5..."

"God dammit," I muttered, and went for the third wire.  I felt a sickening rush as I made the third cut, fingers almost numb.  The wire snapped between the metal blades, and I froze.

I saw the counter stop at 2 and I wasn't in pieces.  Only then did I exhale, not realizing I'd been holding my breath.  And then there was a wave of relief that came over me, like it does each time things get a little too close like that.  I gave the police chief a shaky thumbs up, and loud cheers erupted from the surrounding officers.

All in a day's work, I thought to myself, and smiled.

Leap of Faith

The rocks seem so far below, hard, pointy, and uninviting.  I wasn't scared until I looked down just now, and now I'm wondering if this was such a good idea.  Now I'm wondering if I've got the guts to do it.

But just think of afterwards, after all this is over.  Peace.  Uninterrupted quiet.  No more answering questions or trying to please people I don't really care about.  I won't have to pretend.  I can finally rest and not feel the pain anymore.

The screech of a gull catches my attention as he hovers over me, looking at this strange creature, this broken shell of a person standing at the edge.  Wind whips my hair in my eyes, and I absently brush it aside as I stare back at the bird.  Is he challenging me to do it?  Or does he think I should step back and find a way to stay?

Stupid bird.  What does he know?

I can feel the softness of the grass underfoot.  Little tiny rocks and dirt scratch against my skin as I dig my toes into the earth and watch as the gravels bounce their way down and plummet to the bottom.  Down.  Way, way down.  I breathe in the salty, misty air.  There is no sun this morning, only angry grey clouds rolling across an endless sky and pressing against the dark, inky black horizon as it meets the water in the distance beyond my sight.  I look down again and see the waves smashing relentlessly against the jagged rocks, foam frothing as the tide flows back out again.

Take me with you...

I close my eyes and see no more.  My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I can hear the blood rushing through my ears, louder and more urgently, until it's all I can hear now.  I feel my hands start to shake, and the war drum beating in my head pulsates at a desperate pace.  My lips part slightly as I exhale, my breath rising up and mixing with the salt air, invisible vapor that was once a part of me, vanishing into the atmosphere around me, and a silent tear splashes on my cheek.  I let go and start to lean forward...

The air is cold as I fall.  I can feel it rushing up at me, pressing against me as I move faster and faster.  It's almost like flying.  I'm finally flying!  So free...

You know, this isn't so sca--

Awareness

Sitting outside for a few minutes this afternoon. There's a little chill in the air, but the sun feels warm on my back. I rest my hands at the back of my head and close my eyes, noticing the sun's heat, the cool breeze on my face, and the tension in my shoulders. I am otherwise comfortable. I focus on the sounds around me, the birds, the aircraft overhead, even the Life Flight chopper in the distance. I hear the wind in the grass, someone's footsteps, and I'm aware of the voices of young people--college students--drifting into my consciousness. I've been a part of this campus a long time now, nearly 14 years, and each year there are fresh new faces taking the tour of the grounds. I'm old enough to be the parent now, I think to myself and chuckle. The buildings are the same, the sound of birds are the same, the dull throng of traffic in the distance is the same. But I am not the same. I am forever evolving, changing for the better--older, wiser, more complete. I would never have stopped to notice these things 14 years ago. How lucky I am to be able to take the time now, to enjoy these things and all the neat stuff I'll get to experience in hopefully many more years to come. It's good to slow down, and it's good to be mindful, I think.

Too Close For Comfort

She loved this song, the words, the beat. "Dance with me, Jack," she said in his ear. He couldn't help it that his girlfriend Lindsey had left their little group in a huff, and Emma's own boyfriend Dave didn't feel like hanging out tonight. Taking Jack's hand, she pulled him up to his feet. He was reluctant, but not just because he didn't like dancing. He could handle dancing if he had to, but it would mean being close to Emma, and he wasn't sure he could do that, not right now.

The couple weaved their way to the dance floor. Emma slipped into the rhythm of the music and started to sway, her eyes half closed in almost a trance-like state. Jack knew this would get him in trouble. He'd fallen for Emma years ago but refused to admit it. Linsdey's problem was that she could see what was going on right before her eyes, but Jack just kept denying how he felt. Emma, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware of the situation.

"Come on, Jack. Why are you so tense?" She followed his gaze to the entrance of the club. "Don't worry. She'll be back later." She took hold of his hands and tried to lead him a little. "What, are you just going to stand there?"

"No, of course not," he said laughing nervously. The two began to dance. Emma and Dave went way back, but Jack and Lindsey were still fairly young in their relationship. As the music pulsed, Emma slipped her arms around her friend's neck. Jack tensed his jaw. He wasn't sure what to do, where to put his hands, or even where to look. He could tell his body liked the closeness, but in his mind he was freaking out.

Emma looked up at him. "What's the matter?" she asked.

Jack couldn't think of anything to say. He could smell her shampoo on her hair, so soft and silky as it framed her face. He was also aware of her fingers on the nape of his neck and the burn it left on his skin. He swallowed hard. Think about monster trucks and naked old women, he told himself.

Emma stepped back. Her eyes showed concern. "Jack, is something wrong?"

"No...no, Emma, I'm fine. Come here." He smiled weakly and pulled her back towards him, scooping her into his embrace. She felt great, smelled wonderful, and he just wanted to enjoy the moment with her. She'd never cheat on Dave for anything or anyone, that just wasn't the kind of person she was. Knowing the kinds of women Jack had known and been with in his life, that was a rare find. It had been a long time since he'd known a woman who could still give him the feeling of butterflies in his stomach every time she was near him. He knew that was cheesy, and he'd never told anyone of it. Emma was the kind of woman he wanted to come home to and spend the rest of his life with, but as luck would have it, Dave had found her first. Still, for just a few brief moments, he could have her all to himself. He wondered if she could feel his heart thumping away in his chest like the rapid beating of drums and hoped it didn't give away what he was feeling. "I love you," he whispered so quietly under his breath that she wouldn't hear.

As the song finished and quickly switched to an upbeat tune, Emma looked up at Jack and smiled. "Thanks for the dance," she said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Jack froze. Had she heard him? Surely not. All of sudden, all he wanted to do was disappear.

"Hungry?" she asked. "I'm starved!"

Jack snapped back to reality. "Sure!" he said. Relief washed over him, and he exhaled deeply. "How does Mexican sound?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice from jumping up an octave.

"Like heaven!" She took his arm. "Let's get out of here."

The Commute

I'm sitting on the bus. It's early in the morning, too early for some, but just another morning on the bus for me. I'm listening to my iPod as the hulking vehicle slowly rolls along the street in the cold. The ground is frozen, but it's warm on the bus, the hot air from the vents wrapping around my calves. My head nods to the music. I don't really know what I'm listening to right now, but it blocks out the noise around me. A woman with red hair and a determined look on her face is talking, but I can't hear her. She looks angry about something. Behind her is a young couple sitting close together, and the guy occasionally leans in to say something in the girl's ear that makes her giggle. I close my eyes for a moment, and all I'm aware of is the pulsating beat playing in my head. I'm not really thinking of anything.

My eyes fly open. Someone's over-sized book bag just bumped my shoulder, and hard, too, as they made their way down the aisle. Idiot. I glance around to see where we are, but I still have a while until we reach my stop. I click my iPod to another song. A man just got onto the bus, rather stocky looking with built arms and shoulders. He probably works out. Not bad to look at though. I smile to myself as Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" starts playing in my ears, and I picture the stocky man strutting along the bus while lip syncing. Yeah, I knew I should have had that second cup of coffee before I left my apartment. Honestly, this work schedule is for the birds.

I close my eyes again. And to think I used to miss all this on those days I would drive to town. The screech of the brakes lets me know we have stopped again, and we're at the hospital now. I stand and make my way to the front of the bus, smiling at the stocky man and blushing a little when he smiles back. I wonder if he likes Right Said Fred?

"Have a good one, Mr. C," I say to the bus driver and smile, patting him lightly on the arm.  "Be careful on this ice."  His eyes meet mine--they look so blue this particular morning--and he smiles warmly.  "I will.  See you tomorrow, Sweetie," he says.  I like him.  He's a few years older than me, but I could see us being friends, if we ever had the opportunity to have a chat besides the usual pleasantries getting on and off the bus each day.  Still, it gives me something to look forward to in the morning, and I smile to myself.

The thin layer of snow on the ground crunches a little under my feet along the walkway to the trauma unit, and my breath curls up in fleeting puffs of vapor.  I swipe my badge and let myself in through the staff entrance beside the ICU.  Immediately, the smell of disinfectant fills my nostrils.  As I make my way into the building, the heat from the waiting area is almost stifling. Debbie is already at the reception desk taking phone calls as I hang up my coat and scarf. With my clipboard in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, I shuffle into the lounge to see how things went overnight and review my cases for the morning.  Staff meeting is in 5 minutes, so I blow on my coffee and take a couple of gulps.

"Still riding the bus?" asked Debbie. I nod. "It's cheaper. Can't blame you," she added before taking another phone call. I look up and notice a redhead in the waiting area raising her voice a little with the nurse. It's the same angry woman from the bus. I groan silently.

This is going to be an interesting day...

Vegas Nights

Tires screech and heads turn. A neon blue Firebird pulls up to the curb and parks in front of the casino entrance, and the doorman steps forward. The night is hot, muggy, and buzzing with people and traffic on the Strip. Out of the car steps a woman, young, tall, and graceful. Her red satin dress clings to her body in the thick air leaving little to the imagination. She turns her head, letting her dark tresses cascade over her shoulders like a silky waterfall. Stepping around the car, the audible staccato "tac tac tac" of her stiletto heels clicking on the pavement. The doorman nods and tips his hat, first noticing the sparkle from the diamond earrings dangling from her ears like beams of light, then the slow, seductive smile that played on her lips. He allows himself just a second too long to gaze at her from behind as she glides past him and through the glass doors. He catches a hint of her scent, a musky, compelling fragrance that catches his attention and puts images in his mind he knows better to leave alone. He lets the car door slam shut, then watches as it drives away. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he walks calmly back to his post by the door and waits.