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The Erasure of Guilt

By LaJuan and Jamie Simmons

The psychologist said writing would make it better

And against my judgement and to his taste, I will cater.

He suggested to Roy to do the same.

Concentration and erasing our guilt is the game.

What do I say to tell the tale?

I guess it begins when I got the mail.

I heard the klaxon ringing when I was in the street.

I rushed to the fire engine and into the driver's seat.

It was just a trash fire run, but they called out the station.

For Roy and I, as drivers, it required our concentration.

We traveled the streets with our sirens running.

The squad was following as I was gunning.

We weaved in and out with our lights flashing,

To get other drivers to slow, so there was no crashing.

It had been a busy morning; this was our fourth run,

Two house fires and a business, victims there were none.

I live it repeatedly in my nightly dreams

And will accept any punishment the department deems.

I dream of reporters clamoring on the nightly news,

Each station weaving a story of their different views.

We were headed up the onramp for the highway.

I thought it would shorten this run for us today.

I was going faster and faster in order to merge,

When alarms went off in my mind like a durge.

From the corner of my eye I caught the movement.

Into a slow motion snaking slide, the fire engine I sent.

On the wet pavement we all were thrown to the side

As, with horror, I saw Roy's pallid face as he drove wide.

I can't get the stark picture out of my head.

The thud of human flesh being hit by Big Red.

He flipped through the air landing on Roy's hood.

The open accusing dead eyes did Roy no good.

I pulled to a stop, dropped my arms and covered my eyes

To keep from seeing the engine crews' silent whys.

The quietness of my private hell drew me deep

And numbness spread through my brain and I couldn't weep.

Time was still and without feeling I swam further in my despair

All I could see was the staring eyes and the blood in his hair.

They've told me since that Roy and I were like twin brothers.

The doctors said no one could wake us, not even our mothers.

The guilt I experienced was so overwhelming.

The devil himself could not be more damning.

We were just doing our jobs; it wasn't our fault.

But our hearts were closed off within a dark vault.

Timid at first I emerged from the dark velvet refuge in my mind

Not knowing; not wanting to live life in fear of what I would find.

It was decided then to put us both in the same room

And friends would shower us with TLC to fence off the doom.

Each day for an hour I see the hospital shrink

He asks how the writing goes and I think it's rinky-dink.

How can recording thoughts on paper erase my guilt

Of taking his life with Big Red and deleting all he built?

Roy DeSoto stared at the bare white walls of the hospital room, his eyes sliding from one wall to the next, past the open doorway of the small bathroom to the TV mounted near the ceiling in one corner, coming to rest briefly on the empty bed before moving on. Whether he looked at the two empty wooden chairs that visitors sat in or the flowers that filled the top of the chest of drawers, Roy’s eyes always came back to the empty bed of his roommate, Mike Stoker.

Roy reached for the television remote lying on the stand between the two beds, thinking that if the psychiatrist assigned to the two of them could see the way his eyes were darting around the room, he’d be locked up for sure. His mind pictured two men in white coats entering the room and very politely placing him in a belted white jacket then firmly leading him to a room where he could endlessly bounce off the rubber walls without hurting himself. His hand touched the remote and drew back as a sound reached his ears. The sound was his own: he was chuckling at his mental images.

Roy opened his mouth and allowed his laughter to spill out into the sterilized, depressing room. It felt wonderful. How long had it been since he’d laughed, he wondered. The answer came fast: since that damn man’s suicide put him in this damn place.

Roy frowned and sat up straighter, allowing the waves of feeling to wash over him. Three days. Three days he’d been in this room, going once a day to a shrink’s office for an hour. All that time, he’d felt nothing; he’d been a zombie going through the motions, living a numb existence. He’d read, watched TV but not any news, idly listened and chatted with Joanne and his shift mates when they’d visited. But he’d hardly exchanged two words with the man sharing his room; a man who was also his friend and shift mate. Neither had he said much to the shrink.

Roy turned his head toward the empty bed, realizing that he’d been so consumed by the open eyes of the dead body as it had landed on the squad’s hood he’d barely spared a thought for Mike, let alone himself. He glanced down at his watch. Mike would be returning from his daily therapy session soon. His turn would follow.

Roy looked around the room slowly, with determination. God, he hated hospitals. The snow-white walls, the antiseptic smell, the struggle to heal the injured, to save the dying. And to think the career he loved, being a firefighter/paramedic, thrust him right into the heart of a place he’d otherwise avoid like the plague. He laughed at the irony of it all and decided it was time to take matters into his own hands so he could return to the life and career he loved.

The door opened and Mike entered. Roy watched the engineer, surprised at how docile he acted. Had he also been like that, Roy wondered. Well. He wasn’t going to let Mike go on being a zombie, not if he could help it.

“How was the session today, Mike?” Roy asked. He watched the engineer sit down on his bed facing the window, with his back to him.

“Same as always. I talk, he listens or I say nothing and he waits,” Mike said.

Roy walked over to stand in front of his friend. “Mike, about the suicide…”

Mike recoiled at the word and averted his eyes. “Your session is in 15.”

Roy placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Mike; none of it was. We’ll talk when I get back. It’s time we got out of here.” He smiled as Mike raised startled eyes to his. “Do you think I want Brice driving my squad and working with Johnny forever?” He walked to the door and opened it. “See you in an hour,” he said over his shoulder as he stepped into the hallway and let the door close behind him.

“Good afternoon, Roy,” Morgan Clark said as the paramedic entered the office.

“Hi, Doc. How are you today?” Roy sat down in a leather chair and faced Morgan.

Morgan stared at the paramedic, immediately noticing the changes: determined walk, timbre to the voice, clear gaze. Roy was back. Now he just had to make sure Roy wouldn’t slip away. “I’m very glad to see you’ve come out of your shell.”

“About time, wouldn’t you say?” Roy laughed. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing that sound again.

“It takes as long as it takes, Roy. The mind has to adjust when a traumatic event occurs.” Morgan stared intently at the man before him. “It appears that your mind has adjusted to the suicide.” Roy barely flinched. Good, he thought. “I need to make sure that it has. How about telling me what happened to cause this?”

Roy looked sheepish. “I was thinking about being hauled away in a straitjacket. It made me laugh, which allowed me to feel other things about the guy who killed himself. Things that I couldn’t let myself feel because a man had died. I couldn’t help myself because I didn’t think I deserved to be alive. Then I thought of Mike and realized I hadn’t been much help to him either because I was so wrapped up in that man’s stupid selfishness.” He leaned closer. “I made up my mind that Mike and I are both alive, we did nothing wrong, and that we’re going to get back to living.”

“They say laughter is the best medicine for whatever ails you.” Morgan chuckled. “You know you’ll have to go through the usual tests to return to work.” Roy nodded. “What about driving the squad?”

“I’ll be able to drive, Doc. I won’t ever forget the sight of that guy landing on the squad’s hood, and I expect I’ll be a bit nervous the first time I get behind the wheel of any vehicle. But I have a life I want, unlike that other guy, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give it up so easily.” Roy paused, lost in thought. “Doc, I told Mike we’d talk when I got back from my session with you.” He hesitated. “I plan on talking to Mike directly about that guy killing himself. Would you mind calling Captain Stanley? I’d like to have the entire A-shift present when I talk to him. Mike doesn’t seem to want me to talk about it. I think he needs to hear me. I think the entire A-shift needs to be together for this if we’re going to heal and move on. Is it wrong for me to try that approach? Will it do more harm to Mike than good?”

“Well, you’re a part of the incident. I think your talking to Mike about it, since you also lived it, would definitely help him. It may not be easy to get through to him though,” Morgan said.

“Nothing worth fighting for ever is,” Roy said. “I’m not going to let him spend the rest of his life blaming himself for something he had no control over.”

“Let me make that call, Roy.” Morgan picked up the phone. “I’ll have everyone meet in my office. We’ll chat some more while we wait.” Morgan smiled. “If everything goes according to your plan, I’ll have two less patients tomorrow.”

“Hi, Joanne,” Johnny said as he approached the sign-in desk of the Psych Ward at Rampart General Hospital.

Joanne looked up from signing her name to the spiral notebook and smiled. “Hi, Johnny.” She enveloped the paramedic in a big hug then completed her signature. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said, her eyes bright, as she stepped back to let him sign the notebook.

“Yeah, this is getting to be a habit.” Johnny signed his name and slid the notebook toward the receptionist. He affectionately studied Roy’s wife as they waited to be buzzed into the ward. She grasped his hand with trembling fingers. Frightened eyes met his. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and said, “It’ll be okay, Joanne. Roy and Mike will get better. They ‘will’.” He smiled his crooked grin. “They have to; working with Brice is killing us.”

Joanne laughed and quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. Johnny was right; they ‘will’ get better. “Poor Brice.”

“Poor Brice? You should try working with him,” Johnny sputtered.

“Mr. Gage?” the receptionist asked. “You’re wanted in Dr. Clark’s office.”

Joanne gasped and grabbed Johnny’s arm. “That’s Roy’s therapist.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “What could he want?”

Johnny looked at the receptionist. “Well?”

“Dr. Clark called with a list of names. Said that when they signed in, they should be directed to his office,” the receptionist said.

“Is Joanne DeSoto’s name on the list?” Johnny asked. “She’s Roy DeSoto’s wife; a patient of Dr. Clark and my partner.”

The receptionist looked down at the sheet she was holding. “No, her name’s not here.” She looked up at the visibly distraught woman. “You go ahead and accompany Mr. Gage. I’ll call Dr. Clark and let him know.” She pressed a button and the door to the ward buzzed. She reached for the phone as Johnny and Joanne thanked her and entered the ward.

Morgan hung up the phone. “That was the receptionist. Your wife and partner will be here any second.”

Roy jumped up. “Joanne? Joanne! I’d forgotten she always visits me after my sessions.” He ran to the door and threw it open then stepped into the hallway. “Joanne!” he cried, hurrying toward his wife and his partner.

“Roy!” Joanne ran the few feet that separated them and threw herself into her husband’s open arms. Felt them hold her tightly as if they’d never let her go. “You’re all right,” she murmured against his neck and raised her head. Clear blue eyes met her own. She smiled and hugged him. “I missed you.”

Roy kissed the top of Joanne’s head. “I missed you too, honey. I’m just fine now.” His arms tightened around her. “I’m so sorry I forgot to have Dr. Clark give your name to the receptionist.”

“Can a lowly partner get a hug in too?” Johnny asked. He stood slightly behind them grinning from ear to ear. Laughing, Joanne stepped away from Roy and Johnny came forward.

“Good to see you too, Junior,” Roy said as he hugged his partner and best friend.

“You too, Pally,” Johnny said. “I was just telling Joanne about Brice.”

“Oh? I was just telling Mike about him,” Roy said as Joanne nestled herself in the crook of his arm. He looked at his partner and wife. God, to think he had been going to walk away from this because of a dead man! “Come on; let’s go to Dr. Clark’s office and I’ll explain everything.”

Roy had just finished his tale when the rest of the A-shift arrived. For a few moments, pandemonium reigned in Dr. Clark’s office as the men greeted each other.

Morgan stood off to the side with Roy’s wife and marveled at the tight-knit group of men before him. He’d been a bit skeptical about the need for the entire A-shift to be present when Roy talked to Mike, but seeing the bond that existed between the men, he knew the paramedic had been right.

Roy turned to Joanne after explaining his plan to his shift mates. “Honey, do you mind waiting here with Dr. Clark? I may not be able to go home with you tonight, but rest assured I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Joanne touched her husband’s cheek. “Go ahead, Roy. I’ll say a prayer for Mike.” She watched the men leave the office. “Dr. Clark, will they be able to bring Mike back?”

“After what I just saw, Mrs. DeSoto, I believe they can,” Morgan said. “Let’s see about getting those two released, shall we?”

“Hey, Mike, look who’s here,” Roy said as he entered his room. Mike looked up from the book he was reading.

“Hi, guys,” Mike said as the men filed past Roy and took up various places throughout the small room: Hank and Johnny sat with Roy on his bed while Marco and Chet pulled the two chairs closer and sat down. “This looks like a meeting.”

“It is,” Roy said. “I’m going to talk to all of you about the suicide.”

Mike scrambled off the bed and ran to the window. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m trying to forget about it, Roy.”

“By turning into a zombie? Are you willing to give up your life for a stupid, selfish man?” Roy asked.

Mike whirled from the window. “You sound like a damn shrink, DeSoto.”

Roy laughed. “Come on, Stoker. You know better than that. But I do know how you’re feeling. I felt the same way until several minutes ago.”

“Oh really.” Mike took a step forward, his eyes blazing. “How do you think that ‘you’ can have felt the same way as me?”

Good, Mike. Get angry, Hank thought to himself. It may not be laughter, but at least you’re showing emotion.

“You may have hit him with your engine, Mike, but he landed on our squad,” Johnny said. “I saw his face, his accusing eyes. They were a lie.”

“Johnny’s right, Mike. Our minds gave him that expression. If you want to be angry with someone, you should be angry as hell with that guy, not yourself,” Roy said.

“I’m not angry,” Mike said.

“That’s because you’re afraid to feel anything,” Chet said. “Why get angry? There’s no one for you to fight. After all, the guy’s dead. He was a selfish coward who made victims of you and Roy.”

“You guys are smearing a dead man who can’t defend himself,” Mike said.

“If he wanted to defend himself or thought of anybody but himself, he wouldn’t have thrown himself in front of Big Red!” Marco shouted.

“Do you think he was thinking about you and Roy?” Hank asked. “If he had, he wouldn’t have thrown his life away by involving you two. Right? Right, Mike?”

“You had no control over what happened, Mike. The man made a stupid choice and he died. It’s as simple as that. It wasn’t your fault,” Roy said.

“I didn’t want to hit him,” Mike said, his eyes filling with tears.

His friends surrounded the engineer, touching his shoulders and arms, letting their strength and affection flow into him.

“You tried not to,” Roy said. “You did more for him than he did for himself. It’s enough, Mike. Let’s show him that we know what it means to value our lives by living them to the fullest.”

Mike swiped a hand across his eyes. “I saw you were different when I came back from my session. What did you do, Roy?”

“I thought about being put into a straitjacket and bouncing off rubber walls like a piece in a giant pinball game,” Roy said.

Mike slowly smiled. “That’s…” He chuckled softly. “That’s funny,” he said and laughed.

Roy laughed and hugged the engineer. “Good to have you back, Mike.”

“Thanks, Roy. It’s good to be back,” Mike said as he took turns giving his friends a hug.

It was so difficult to meet with Roy and the A-shift.

I was afraid my depression they couldn't lift.

I was startled to realize the laughter was mine

And their care and hugs confirmed I would be fine.

Bunches of tests the department put us through.

Returning to Station 51 our confidence grew.

We were nervous the first time we heard the call

And jumped into Big Red and the Squad to treat a fall.

Our lives are back to normal, as normal as can be

When you realize the horrible sights daily we see.

Giving up on life, the soldier was his family's youngest.

We've erased our guilt by resolving to live life to the fullest.

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