Thanks for your opion. It is indeed based off my own life and so it is diffucult for me to remain as descriptive as I want to be. As you can tell, Im still working on it. :)
Short Story / rescue me... most up to date edition of ch. 1
She bowed her head and lit her cigarette with a match. She let the match burn itself down to her fingertips before shaking it out and taking a deep drag of the filtered Marlboro. She ignored the tremble in her hands as easily as she ignored the tears welling up behind her eyes. She refused to cry. O’Reilly women do not cry. They rage, they bitch, they nag and they brawl, but they most certainly do not cry. She took another drag. Her hair fell into her face and she impatiently rewound it into a bun. Dark brown and thick, her hair was her only vanity and it fell in a curtain to her waist. She rarely wore it down, and never while at work. You can’t fight a fire with hair hanging in your face.
“You shouldn’t smoke, you know. It’s bad for you.” She heard the voice but Peyton O’Reilly didn’t turn. She took a last drag and flicked her cigarette into the gutter. Jackson moved to stand beside her. She didn’t look at him as she said,
“You shouldn’t tell me what to do. It’s bad for you.” Jackson grinned that slow crooked smile of his and shook his head.
“Can I bum one?” he held out a hand. Peyton cocked an eyebrow at him but said nothing as she tossed him her trusty pack of 27’s. Jackson lit one and tossed them back. She tucked them into the cargo pocket of her turn out pants and sat on the curb, turning her face up to the moonless night sky. Jackson dropped down next to her.
“So you wanna talk about it?” he asked, not looking at her.
“No.” she hoped he’d drop it.
“You should.” Damnit. He was going to be persistent.
“So?”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
Jackson flicked his cigarette away and finally looked at her, trying to meet her eyes.
“Peyton…..”
“Don’t start Jack.” He saw the flare in her deep green, almost gray eyes and shrugged. He knew better than to start a fight with Peyton or her sisters. The youngest, Ava, had given him a black eye just last month over something he couldn’t even remember now.
“Ok, ok, ok.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. Then he walked back inside the station. A shrill ring sounded, followed by the clanking of the station door as it rolled up.
“Rescue 121” Peyton grabbed her gear and swung aboard the squad. Jackson flicked on the lights and siren and they maneuvered their way through the city. It was late and traffic was light. It was an older man having chest pain. Peyton ran through her protocols, made base contact and rode along with the ambulance to the hospital. She laughed and talked with her patients and the EMT’s on the rig but Jackson could see that her normally engaging smile was drawn and forced. Leaving the hospital, they ran a few more calls before finally getting back to station. Exhausted, Peyton stumbled into bed, still wearing her boots.
The crew’s quarters had no windows and so was dark no matter what the hour. Peyton blinked and tried to register what exactly had woken her. She could barely make out Jackson’s face in the dim.
“Are you going home?” Jackson asked in a whisper.
“Where else would I go?” Peyton replied, rubbing her eyes and sitting up.
“Don’t know. Want to go eat?” She shook her head at him, and then got out of bed. She stripped her bedding and tucked it into the cabinet.
“Nah, I’m not feeling real hungry today.” She opened the door and they stepped through. Walking down the stairs, Jackson nodded.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked. Peyton nodded. Jackson grabbed his bag off the apparatus floor and disappeared through the door.
Peyton heaved a sigh and took her running shoes out of her locker. She hated to run but she had to stay in good physical condition. She had quit smoking earlier in the year but started back up again. It was either that or drink and she’d rather smell like an ashtray than spiral down into the violent drunk her father had been. She changed and tied her laces tight, her mind wandering.
Outside, Jackson started his car but didn’t put it in drive. He was thinking about Peyton. He loved her, he knew this for sure, as much as one person could love another. He loved her since that crazy day, more than five years ago, when he’d introduced himself and she had told him to fuck off. He smiled at the memory. They had both worked for an ambulance company and were assigned to work with each other. They couldn’t remember now why she had taken such an instant dislike of him, but all that had changed after a while. Now she was his best friend, his partner, his better half. And he was worried sick about her. Peyton, clad in shorts, t-shirt and running shoes came out of the firehouse door and took off down the street. Jackson knew Peyton well and though she was spontaneous and a complete whirlwind of activity, she had one constant in her life. She ran. Usually in the morning. It never mattered where she was or who she was with, she ran. Jackson threw the car into drive and pulled out of the driveway.
It didn’t take him long to find Peyton pounding pavement on Tree Hill Rd. Jackson parked and got out. Seeing him, Peyton stopped and stood, sucking air in, hands on hips, and to Jackson’s utter surprise, she was crying. She shook her head at him and took off in the other direction. Perplexed, Jackson frowned. In all the years he had known her, Jackson had never see Peyton cry. Rage, yes. Blinding fury, absolute frustration, intense joy, Jackson had seen them all float across her beautiful face. But never tears. And it worried the hell out of him.
When she got home, Otis was waiting. Otis was Peyton’s ten-year-old tabby cat. She had found him as a kitten and he never left her side. Now that she was working 24-hour shifts at the station, Otis made his disdain well known. Laughing, Peyton dropped her bag inside the door and picked him up. He purred loudly and rubbed his face against hers. Peyton set him on the counter and poured cat food into his bowl. Otis pouted because it was dry but soon he was happily crunching away. Peyton pulled open the fridge doors and found nothing but bread, milk and beer.
“West! Goddamn it, West!” Peyton hollered down the hall. West was her roommate, sweet and completely unreliable.
“West!” West Adams strolled into the room, chewing on a piece of bread, scrawny legs peeking out from his Dickies shorts.
“You say something?” He scratched his bare belly and took another bite.
“Damnit, West. Didn’t you go to the store?”
“The store?” he repeated absently. Then he snapped his fingers. “I knew I forgot something.” Peyton sighed. West was a good kid but not the brightest bulb in the box. He was a glassblower and a damn good one. Peyton had vases and sculptures that he had made all over their tiny two-bedroom walk up. Jackson didn’t approve of her having a male roommate, and for that matter neither did her family but she loved having only her things in the bathroom and not having anyone borrowing her clothes. Although West did like to help himself to her vintage record collection every now and then.
“I’m really sorry Peyton, I was at the studio all day working on this new piece and I totally forgot. Here’s the money you pitched in back,” he said, pulling several crumpled bills out of his pocket. Peyton shook her head again and put the money back in the lunch jar. A policy adopted from the firehouse, everyone pitched money into the lunch jar and then someone would shop for the day’s lunch and dinner. Peyton and West put their extra change and random dollars in to buy monthly groceries. The collection system worked well. The spending system still had a few kinks in it. Peyton popped the top off a Corona, shoved a lime wedge in and grabbed a piece of bread. Munching semi-contently, she wandered into the bathroom and turned the bathwater on. Vanilla bath salt was generously poured in and she closed the door. Baths were one of her few luxuries. Her mother was a no-nonsense kind of woman who raised four girls on her own. Nevertheless, her mother had also taught her to appreciate a good soak.
*
Jackson went home and still it puzzled him. He had never seen Peyton cry. No matter what life threw at her, she handled. He admired the strength in her and after meeting her family, he realized where she got it. Her father was a raging drunk; much like his own had been, but her mother. Her mother was made of steel. She ran her house with an iron fist and warm embrace. In true Irish tradition, Peyton, as the third daughter was named after her mother. Nora Peyton O’Reilly. The others were Mara Anne, Cara Beth, and Ava Lynne. Jackson loved those girls. They were warm and open, funny and intelligent. And so much more loving than his own family. His parents had both been firefighters, from long lines of firefighters. His family was all business, all the time. It was living CNN around his dinner table as a child. Jackson wondered if Nora knew what was wrong with Peyton. Jackson groaned. He’d have to do some hard manual labor in exchange for any information, but it was worth it. He showered and threw on a pair of comfortable jeans.
“Well, bloody hell!” Nora O’Reilly was a handsome woman with long platinum hair. She stood on her doorstep as Jackson pulled into the drive. She waited for him to come up the walk before she threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “And what brings you to me doorstep? Peyton was by day ‘fore yesterday but you, I thought mayhap you had died or something.”
Jackson laughed. Nora’s brough was not usually that thick but she laid it on whenever he was around.
“Hey, Nora. I finally had some time to plant those flower things you wanted me to.” Jackson smiled at her.
Nora smiled and put him to work.
The next morning, when Peyton ran, she tried not to think about her job. It never worked. No matter how hard she tried the doubts, the fears, the insecurities and the names always found their way to the surface. It was easier to forget the bad calls when you didn’t know their name. Once you knew their name, they become a person, a person worth grieving over. Running back up her drive, she realized she only had time for a quick shower before work. It’s okay, she thought, I’ll eat later. Peyton showered, changed, grabbed her duffle and locked her front door. She threw her duffle into the back of her trusty 1985 Dodge pick-up and drove to work. She had had a CD player installed into the truck and she popped a CD into it. She didn’t know or care what it was, when it started, she turned it up loud enough it drowned out her thoughts.
The fire engine was parked out front, and Jackson and E.J., clad in department issue shorts, were washing it down. Every morning, the guys painstakingly washed and polished both the fire engine and the smaller fire squad, which contained all the paramedic equipment. Usually Jackson and Peyton did the squad but because Jackson was training, the trainee has to wash both. It was firehouse initiation. Peyton smiled. Chadwick Montgomery was a paramedic trainee who had earned the nickname, “E.J” for his fondness for insert intravenous, or I.V. lines, into the External Jugular, the big vein in the neck. E.J. had the whitest legs Peyton had ever seen.
“Wow. E.J. Am I gonna have to bring in some self-tanning lotion for those babies or what?” She ribbed him as she pulled her duffle out of the bed of her truck.
“Only if you bring the pretty smelling stuff back.” He retorted. The men in the firehouse referred to Peyton’s body wash as ‘the pretty smelling stuff’ and usually used it all before Peyton had a chance to shower.
“I’m not buying that expensive stuff to waste on you guys. You can buy your own pretty smelling stuff. “She called back.
“Are you saying we don’t smell good already?” E.J. was mock outraged. Living with six or seven firefighters was like living with six or seven thirteen-year-old boys. Strange sounds and strange smells were the rule, especially after a night of Mexican food. Peyton smiled at E.J. and went inside to put her duffle in the dorm. She wore the standard Navy blue shirt and pants of the Roxford Fire Department with her never shined, completely comfortable duty boots. She had just finished stuffing her feet into her boots when the tones went off.
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ria1985 reviewed Version 1 -
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This was probably one of the most enjoyable pieces of writing I have read on here. Dialogue was superb, really flowed, and the description of those little details, such as describing what Peyton does at certain parts of the story in minute detail. Really adds weight to her character. I found myself wanting to know why Peyton was upset and could relate to her character. Especially the part about smoking instead of drinking.. lol.
Good ending too. The tones went off….. and?? What next? Lol. Would love to read another instalment. Well done!
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Christopherrr reviewed Version 1 -
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Yeah i really dont dig short stories at all, but i decided to broaden my horizons. I acctually really like this story. It kind of seems like theres a bit of a cryptic meaning, as in experiences from your own life. Its very descriptive in some parts and in others its not, its not consistant, i mean like in wave. But hey what do i know, just giving my opinion.
alecthegreat reviewed Version 1 -
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My biggest concern with this is the fact that the title (Rescue Me), the occupations (firefighters) and the overall feel and content resembles too closely the Award winning TV show Rescue Me by Dennis Leary about Firefighters post 9/11 in NYC that’s now about to start its 4th season.
In fact, it almost made me wonder if this were based on the TV show.
With all of that said, I do think it’s fairly well written and would be intrigued to read more.
I think that if you broke up some of the paragraphs into smaller chunks, it would help with the flow a bit.
If you’re wanting to pursue having this published, I would consider at least changing the name of the novel, if nothing else.
Good luck with this piece, I’d enjoy reading more of it.
clap4fairies reviewed Version 1 -
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I liked this story, especially your characters. They seem real and i could picture them and their movements. You write good.
Persephonewaits reviewed Version 1 -
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I like how you move this story along. You really chose your narrative well, especially the adjectives. The mechanics of the piece need a bit of work, but a quick look-over will fix that. Overall, this is a very good piece!
mannythepoolshark reviewed Version 1 -
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I’m not totally sure that there is actully a story here. I mean the description is good and the tone is nice but nothing happened. Is this perhaps the first chapter of something rather than a short story? I was intrigued by the characters especially the no-nonesense Peyton but I would like to see something happen in this piece.
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