budsandblacklabell

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

Black lives matter, and police brutality is a fucking crime. Those bad cops deserve to rot and feel all the worst sorts of pain. I’m staring at the cop car outside the station, that’ll be either Melissa or Tyler because they’re both working doubles. They’ll laugh when I trip on the step going into the house, but be the first ones to push me out of the way if a scene gets bad. In active shooter drills they’ll sandwich me in the middle so I’m protected because that’s their job and I’ll silently thank them with a head nod and a smile. I’m swallowing my tears because Tyler spent some time talking about how his wife begged him not to go to work, because this violence is putting his life in danger. In all of our calls, these two are the ones who are the best, who’s jobs are their lives and being a cop is a passion. But now If I support them, I’m racist or entitled. I’ll never understand how violence towards my brother’s and sisters makes the world better. Until then, I’ll park my ass on the chair behind the bay door watching their backs like the thousands times they’ve done for me.

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

You’re probably dead. I’m not surprised. I cannot understand why you’re still in my head, but here we are, three shifts later. I don’t like to dwell on patients frequently, but your eyes have haunted a few too many of my thoughts. Your wives face, covered 3/4 by a home made mask, is impinged in my mind. I like to pretend that your daughter or son made her that mask, and that you were loved greater than I could ever know. She knew you weren’t coming home, and you were too confused to say goodbye. I know she’ll think of those last few moments with you, and me, for years to come.

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

I was blue, because that meant cold, and winter. Not dark, but just enough discomfort to be damp even with a rain jacket on. Then it was green, because it was sickening; the boat rocked too much and my stomach was in knots. But the sun was still yellow and the warmth under its rays was the same. Like the baby’s nursery of the couple who didn’t know the sex; neutral. When all was said, grey was all I felt. Bleak, boring and bland: my world around me. I’ve accepted all the colors, like life, will be one indefinite shade eventually. I’ve learned everything fades, colors, emotions and even our existence.

[budsandblacklabell]

by Eduardo Kobra 

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

I’m sitting on the bumper, with my coffee and my book. Unrelated to all fire service and EMS because I’m gravely searching for a break of some sort. I can’t even be inside currently, because the table isn’t six feet long and my partner is eating breakfast. He talks non-stop about the virus, politics and how bleak the world is so my bumper retreat is a well deserved palace. The new policies are discussed, it’s been three days yet five policies have changed. My eyes scan them blankly waiting for the red words to bounce off the page. Red words mean a policy created a day ago has changed and they’re all I care about to be honest. Within minutes, I’ll hop on the bus with a dirty N95 on my face because that’s policy and take a 99 year old man out of his bed. His family stricken with fears of the hospital because he went for hip surgery and came home with COVID-19. They’ll examen my eyes for the truth that he probably will die in the hospital. We all speak volumes without uttering words. The calls all fade into eachother, sick people which will turn into broken, grief families in roughly two weeks. I pray I’ll have a second to finish the cup of coffee from this morning and maybe finish a chapter in my book about anything other than this.

[budsandblacklabell]

[budsandblacklabell]

Don’t tell me this is what I signed up for, because it’s not. I signed up for riding tailboard with the windows open on the summer evening searching for the house fire seven people called in. I knew it was going to be lifting grandpa off the floor because he slid off the bed and grandma couldn’t lift it. Then leaving a few extra blankets because that’s what would make them smile a little more. I was aware it was going to sleepless nights filled with the occasional burnt out episode that my partner would listen to, not because he wanted to, but because he signed up for it. I didn’t sign up for not having the proper safety equipment to do my job. I didn’t sign up telling family members they can’t be with their family members when they’re dying, because of risk. I did not, sign up, for a pandemic. I’m doing everything in my power to keep a positive mental atmosphere, and it’s exhausting and taking a toll. What I need, what we all need, is support. You saying, “this is what you signed up for”, is everything but.

[budsandblacklabell]