If These Walls Could Talk... He walked into the darkened building. Sounds of settling began as he closed the kitchen door. Muffled traffic sounds from the freeway could be heard. Funny, he rarely noticed those noises before, unless he was outdoors. And even then he didn't notice as he was always concentrating on something else. Today he had the time to concentrate on nothing. This building, the building that was his part-time home for more than seven years was going to be torn down. Until the earthquake, this building was a functioning firehouse for station 17. The county reorganized their naming systems in the early 1990s. Prior to that this was station 51. After the earthquake, stress cracks appeared in the foundation. The county architects made a survey and determined the building was unsound especially with the heavy vehicles and the bay doors opening and closing. It was decided that this station would be torn down and a new, modern station would take its place. Funny to say modern. Back in the 1970s, this station was considered modern. The same A-shift crew stayed together for almost seven years, with their captain the last to join the group. They broke in this station and knew every nuance to every room. Cleaning the station each shift, each man got to know his home away from home. He knew the demolition day was going to be within a week. He asked the battalion chief if he could say goodbye to this place and the chief understood and gave him the keys to the building. The chief wouldn't tell the man that he wasn't the first to ask for the keys. The chief would keep that confidence. He left the kitchen and walked around the bay area, his footfalls echoed in the air. He looked up at the speaker wishing it to come alive with the tones signaling that a rescue was needed. But those sounds would never come again. The radio was removed a long time ago. The speaker was left. He guessed some bean counter determined the speaker had no worth so it was left to be part of the demolition. If he had a ladder, he would climb up and take the speaker for himself. He paused, lost in thought. He lost count of the number of rescues he went on. How many fires, car accidents, poisonings, drownings, shootings; the list was endless. Shaking away his daydream he walked on. The next room he went to was the dormitory. It was emptied of its beds, but the partitions were still there. He walked over to the section that he shared. He lost count of how many sleepless nights he had here. Rescues didn't care what time of day it was. The clock was still on the wall next to the light. Its hands were frozen in time at 3:38. He wondered if it was morning or afternoon. Shaking his head, he knew it didn't matter. He remembered a couple of good pillow fights that occurred in this room. Sometimes after a real bad rescue the crew would act out. If they came back in the early morning, they were too wired to go back to sleep knowing their shift would be over shortly. But it was too early to start breakfast and coffee. So they would fall into their bunks and talk. After a bit of time an insult would be tossed. A pillow, then two, quickly followed that. He smiled remembering those moments. Knowing he had to leave soon, he walked back into the kitchen. This room was also empty. The kitchen table and chairs were gone, but their marks were left on the floor. The leatherette couch was also gone. The sofa was the home to their beloved basset hound, Henry. One day he appeared resting on the couch and became a staple to his station. He lost track of how much time he spent in this building. He knew he could spend more time reminiscing of the good times. The bad times, the fatalities, and the injured coworkers he didn't care to remember. Just as the station was going to be leveled for progress, he too decided it was time to move on. He put in his years and was eligible for his pension. Part of him didn't want to leave the organization that had been his life. It would mean he would be ending a life stage. But he knew firefighting was for the young. He was still young at heart but his body aches and old injuries were making it tougher every day. After he left the building and closed the door behind him, he made up his mind. When he returned the keys to his battalion chief, he would inform the chief of his desire to retire. It would be a fitting end to his and the station's career. feedback goes to Kajakat. |