Kaleidoscope
Take the world out of it. That’s what they always say. I don’t care, really, but I think the world needs a few more artists. My opinion, my view and nobody is gonna tell me I’m wrong. I am breathing the fumes of my existence and I am all the colors that you see. There’s also some colors you don’t see. But, again, I don’t care if you see them or not. I see them and I’ll keep them as my treasure--maybe I’ll share it, maybe I won’t. Take the world for what it gives you and don’t look back. Yea, my mama said that once, best I can remember. Who cares? I am the artist and I will make my statement, no matter what you say. I am the color of white . . .
*******
The tones sounded, cutting deep into the silence that had fallen over the sleeping firemen. Sheets and blankets shifted, turnouts and boots were slipped on and the men ran to their vehicles.
“Station 51, Engine 16, injured woman and fire alarm, 477 Lancaster Street, four, seven, seven, Lancaster Street, cross street Glouster, time out three forty three.”
The squad and engine rolled, their sirens and lights on full. Johnny wrote the time on his slip of paper for entry into the log later and slipped his pen back into the dash. He rubbed his eyes, smothering the last embers of sleep from his head and looked back into the inky darkness of the cool, spring evening.
“Man, Roy, I hope this is not another gang prank,” he said, trying to stifle his yawn.
“Yea, I hope not either,” his partner responded.
The gang related activity this past month had kept the city and county emergency units busy with false alarms and ride-bys. Unfortunately, some of the calls were not pranks and ended up being real tragedies including dying gang members, injured neighbors, or frightened citizens who bore the brunt of violent initiations or turf wars. Johnny rubbed his face again sighing at the thoughts.
“I don’t know . . .’fire alarm’ was in the dispatch,” Johnny said.
Just as Roy was going to respond, Johnny noticed the flames spewing out of the three story building up ahead. The squad pulled up quickly as Mike steered the rig around them with lines already unfurling from the back.
Johnny closed the toggles on his turnout coat as he stepped out of the squad. He and Roy pulled out their SCBA gear and hurried over to Captain Stanley.
The building was an older, small apartment community in one of the projects on Lancaster Street. The area was well known for its gang activity and poverty stricken community. People were milling about the cracked up sidewalk mesmerized by the flames that lit the night.
“LA this is Engine 51. We’re gonna need a second alarm, this building is fully involved,” he shouted into the mic as he stepped down from the cab of the engine. “Chet, Marco, let’s lay an inch and half on the first floor. Roy?” Captain Stanley looked at his senior paramedic with a question. “Do you see an injured woman? Isn’t that what was called in?”
“Yea, and I don’t see her, either,” Roy responded. He and Johnny continued to search among the people gathering closer.
“Engine 16, I need you on the west side of Lancaster and Glouster Street,” Stanley continued.
“10-4, Engine 51.”
A couple of police cars rolled up and the officers jumped out. They begin working to move the people back, mindful of the growing danger from the flame-riddled building. More engine companies pulled in and their lines were pumped with water, prepared to quench the angry fire.
A familiar face joined Johnny and Roy as they handled their own line through one of the broken windows.
“Roy, John!” Vince shouted, tapping on their shoulders. “We’ve got someone yelling for help!” he continued, pointing down the alley.
Captain Stanley gave them the thumbs up, signaling that he understood where they were headed. He watched as they followed Vince into the alley and began assigning another team to that end of the building. The smoke and flames bellowed from the building, breathing fire that scorched the air and dared the firefighters to enter its lair of hell.
*******
Have you tried eating out of a can that you could barely open cuz your knife’s not sharp enough? I sliced my finger that way yesterday. I remember when my mama would keep hidden that old can opener. She knew that we couldn’t loose it or we might go hungry for that meal. And we had to eat while it was still light outside. Otherwise, we couldn’t watch for the metal edges of those cans. I hate canned food. The metal spirals through whatever flavor the factory picked for that batch and I think I’d rather eat nails. Maybe the pain would squash my hunger rather than this junky shit they put in the cans to pacify the masses.
I watched the blood flow from my cut and grinned. It was kinda inspiring and the color mixed with my dirty palm. I am waiting and watching. The colors keep spinning and I keep creating. I am the color brown . . .
*******
The smoke lay across their field of vision. Roy and Johnny had urged Vince to go back since he was without any gear. The slick surface of the dark alley only enhanced the murky veil of smoke.
“Help me! HELP!” the cry pierced through the smoke.
“I heard that one,” Johnny remarked, running harder to the end of the building. He began calling out, hoping to locate the exact window to break through.
“Hey! Can you hear me? We’re from the Fire Department!”
“Nothing,” Roy commented. He looked up through the narrow passage watching smoke billow from the top of the roof. The police had already roped off the area and the spectators were in the front. A chill ran down Roy’s back as he looked for any sign that someone was trapped.
“Johnny? Let’s just break this one and go in--we may not have much time!” Roy instructed.
Johnny took his helmet and punched through the rotted wood and glass of the window. Using his gloved hand, he cleared the edges of the frame and hoisted himself into the opening. Roy quickly followed.
The interior of the room was full of debris and old clothes. Smoke danced off the ceiling and the crackle of fire could be heard in the distance.
“Hello! Anyone in here?” Johnny yelled.
“The dragon’s hungry, boys!” came a sneering voice behind the firemen.
Johnny turned to face the source and was met with a fierce stabbing pain in his side as the knife was buried into his side. Surprise and pain flashed across his face as the tallest teenager pulled Johnny’s arm back and stabbed him again. More teenagers descended on Johnny and Roy.
“Johnny!” Roy screamed, grabbing for his partner as he swayed. Johnny tried to reach for Roy but was intercepted by the group of angry boys. They tore off his mask and he flinched again when they pulled him away, ripping away his HT and throwing it on the floor.
“Come on, blue boys--this dragon’s ready to roar!” the tallest youth taunted, snickering as he pulled off Roy’s mask, flashing his knife. “Anton! Hurry it up, man! We’ve only got another minute!”
The teenagers shoved the two firemen down the stairs toward the back of the filthy room. The darkness of the basement enveloped the rest of the gang that had been waiting for the ambush. A young girl mocked the dazed firemen, “Help me! Oh, please, Mr. Fireman, help me, help me!” she teased, giggling with delight as they passed her.
Johnny only saw the shadows of their attackers as they shoved him to the floor. Roy was pushed down next to him and he tried to see his partner, making sure he wasn’t injured further. Roy’s hand found Johnny’s arm and he gave it a squeeze. “Hang on, Johnny,” he murmured.
“Anton! This is it, man, I’m not doing your dirty work no more!” the tall one threw his sheathed knife to a younger teenager smoking in the corner by the only working light in the basement. The bulb hung on a frayed string from the ceiling and swung as the others began leaving the room.
“Hey, Chas, man . . .” the younger one started. “. . .what about the fire?”
“Don’t you worry, little one. This will all be handled just like we said it would. You just make sure you keep your end of the deal and we’ll be square! Got it, amigo?”
“Jus’ leave me alone!”
“No problem--oh, by the way, we’ve got their air tanks, man. We’ll make sure they’re found!” the tall teenager laughed hard. He glared at Johnny and Roy and sneered again. “You’re the sacrifice, man--what an honor!” He saluted them and climbed the stairs laughing.
Roy looked over at the lone teenager in the corner. Johnny groaned as he tried to pull forward, easing the discomfort in his side. His movement caused the teen to stand up and kick the box away that he had been sitting on. He grabbed the gun from his back pocket and threw the roll of duct tape he was holding at Roy.
Johnny coughed, grimacing as the pain in his side flared. Blood was oozing and he tried to use his arm to keep the pressure tight, feeling woozy, weak, and wondering what they had stumbled into this time. Wisps of smoke started to float towards the trapped men, but the teenager was set on only one thing.
“Tape ‘im up, man--now!” he bellowed pointing his gun at Roy.
Roy looked up at the teenager, trying to determine his age. Can’t be more than 15 or so, he thought. The teenager looked agitated and tired, but determined to hold his ground. Roy quietly shifted toward Johnny, slowly picking up the tape while staring back at their captor.
“Look, he’s been hurt. I need to help him,” Roy tried to reason with the boy.
“Tape ‘im up, I said,” came back the angry response.
Johnny just shook his head and encouraged his partner to move closer. He didn’t want Roy to get hurt and Johnny worked hard at regulating his breathing, trying to stay calm.
Suddenly the flash over gutted the rest of the building and it succumbed to the forces of gravity and fire. Walls, ceilings, stairs and windows folded in and the third floor quickly landed on the first floor. The light bulb hanging from the ceiling crashed onto the basement floor and then there was silence.
*******
It doesn’t matter anymore if this is the road I’ve chosen. They kept telling me in school that dropping out wasn’t right. No good job, no one’ll hire a drop-out, stay in school. Hell, if I did that I’d still be learning how to count. I’m an artist, man, and no amount of schooling is gonna change that. This is my society, this is my world. Don’t tell me which road to go down. I’ve been told too much already. It’s bullshit and I’m gonna prove it. My colors are blending together and my latest work of art has really grabbed the attention of the coolest gang. I’m gonna prove that this road is my road. I am the color red . . .
*******
Captain Stanley raised his head as the last of the splintered wood and shards of glass showered over the scene. He quickly pulled his HT out and began checking for the assigned teams. He glanced back at the alley noticed a scattering of teenagers milling around the police barricade.
“Cap!” yelled Mike, while watching his pumps. “Did they get out?”
“They haven’t checked in yet!” Stanley responded. “Engine 51 to HT 51, Roy? Do you copy? Johnny?”
Static greeted him as he adjusted the knob. Nothing! Where are they? Captain Stanley began pulling back a couple of the teams, preparing them for a search and rescue effort. “LA, this is Engine 51, we have a possible Code I times two--request additional units!”
“10-4, Engine 51.”
*******
He’s on the white horse which I’ve also outlined in black. No mistaking the intent of this one. He’s wearing the traditional black bandanna across the forehead, the tails of the cloth caught in the wind of his forward charge. The horse is in full speed and together they are one, moving against the tide of uncertainty and claiming the prize of glory! They are the horse and the rider and I am the creator. It’s my new status in the gang. But, first I gotta claim the beast and quench the hunger of the dragon. I am the color blue . . .
*******
Roy tried to move carefully, slowly, making sure that he didn’t make a noise. He glanced around noting that the light was gone and now only subtle layers of gray and black made up the only way to identify where they were. He reached over, hoping to find Johnny.
“Don’t do it, man, you just stay right there,” the boy hissed. “Damn it, Chas!” he yelled in frustration and anger. “Where are you, man! Can you hear me?” The teenager waved the gun in the smoky air and stood up toward the stairway. Debris blocked the entry way. Anton kicked at the pile and turned back toward Roy.
“So, Mr. Fireman, where’s the rescue, huh? Big talkers, big blue boys with badges--you ain’t good for nuthin’, man!” He stomped the floor kicking up dust.
“Hey, look, I’m sure someone will be here soon. They’ll be looking for us,” Roy tried to reassure the youth, concerned that his anger was at a dangerous level in the confined space.
“We was jus’ supposed to get this done quick like, you know! My first one, and now look at this!”
“Um . . Anton? Is that your name? Can I call you Anton?” Roy tried to remain calm, looking for a way to reach the agitated teenager.
Anton sighed. Johnny groaned.
“Roy?” Johnny gasped. His throat was dry and coughing aggravated his side. He moaned as another bought of coughing caused him to flinch in pain.
“Johnny? How are you doing?” Roy asked, moving closer to Johnny.
“Who turned out the lights?” Johnny responded, trying to still his cough.
“Hey, man, no funny stuff--I don’t care what’s wrong. I’m still in charge, you got it?” Anton asserted himself.
“Take it easy, Johnny,” Roy quickly stripped off his coat and uniform shirt. He folded his shirt to form a bandage and begin to help Johnny off with his own coat. Roy knew he had been bleeding but was unable to tend to it till now. He wasn’t going to give up this opportunity to help Johnny out. Especially now that he was growing shocky.
“Hey, I’m watchin’ you, blue boy. Jus’ stay right in front of me,” Anton instructed. The shadows of their movements became more solid as the debris and dust settled down. Natural light began to filter through from a small old vent that had split a long time ago.
“Ahhh, easy, Roy . . hang on. . .” Johnny gasped again as another wave of pain coursed through him. The wounds were still wet and sticky and his own shirt was plastered to his clammy skin. “Oh, man, it hurts, Roy. ..” he said through clenched teeth.
“I know, hang on. Let me get this on and maybe we can stop the bleeding some, huh? Just let me do it, Johnny,” Roy pulled gently around the bleeding wounds. He slipped off his belt and was able to pull it around Johnny’s middle to secure the makeshift bandage. “How’s that?”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough! You, blue boy, get away from him, now!” Anton yelled at Roy. “Damn, boy, you can’t even take a knife, huh? Big, tough fireman, huh!”
Johnny tried to ignore the verbal baiting, knowing that the situation was critical. He was too tired and concentrated on keeping his calm despite the pain and the conditions they were trapped in. He shifted and leaned more onto his left side, hoping to ease the throbbing in his right side. Roy stayed his distance, anxiously watching Anton shift his gun from hand to hand.
“Anton, why are so mad, man?” Johnny rasped, trying to use his typical, bedside charm to ease into a conversation.
“None of your damn business, blue boy!” Anton shouted back. He looked back at the stairway and paced back and forth. “All’s I gotta do is blow you away and I’ve fed the dragon, man--simple as that! Poof!” He spat at Johnny.
“Hey, why me?”
“Why not you, huh?”
Roy shifted forward. The movement caught Anton’s eye who pointed the gun back at Roy. Roy glanced back to Johnny and watched as his partner tried to catch his breath, willingly engaging in a dialogue with Anton to distract him.
“Just wanted to know, why?” Johnny tried to make eye contact with Anton. Anton started to pace.
“You don’t care, don’tcha try to, man, ain’t gonna happen,” muttered Anton.
*******
Fences, street signs, buses . . . my pallets of creation. But, it was the wall, man, that got Chas pumped up. The billows of smoke that I created with muted pinks and grays must’ve inspired him to create this set-up. Take the world for what it’s worth and use it for yourself. Yea, well, that’s all that counts and I’m taking the dragon on by it’s fiery tongue! Chas may have set this up for my last test, but I’m gonna take it down and then no one will question my loyalty. No one. I am the color black . . .
*******
The air was thick. Heat from the dying fire and moisture from the gallons of water mixed to create a humid and clammy cavern that was once the basement of the building. Anton was sitting in the corner, rolling the barrel of the gun. Johnny had slipped into a light, drowsy state, barely aware of his partner’s hand on his head.
“Damn, Johnny, not a fever,” Roy sighed. The lack of immediate attention to Johnny’s stab wounds and the less than sterile conditions were sure to bring on infection. Roy made a decision.
“Anton?”
“Shut up, man,” the angry teen seethed.
“Anton, I’m gonna try to find a way out of this. You can try and stop me or you can try and help me. But, I’m not gonna sit here anymore and watch my partner die, just because you have to satisfy some unspoken gang law or something,” Roy said, aware that he was way off base on his understanding of the gang mentality. But, he was pretty sure that Anton was straddling the fence in his loyalty and he knew that he had to act, for his sake and more importantly, for Johnny’s life.
“But, what if I want him to die? I could just shoot him now and put ‘im out of his misery while you turned your back!” challenged Anton.
“Yes, you could. But, I figure you could’ve done that a while ago,” countered Roy.
Anton hung his head with fatigue.
“Look, Anton, I know this was a set-up. Where are your ‘friends’ now?”
“DON’T you dare go down that road, blue boy!” yelled Anton, clearly angered by Roy’s words.
“Roy,” whispered Johnny. He struggled to sit up.
“Johnny, stop. You’ve got to lay still, now. Come on,” Roy soothed as he lowered himself beside the restless, injured man. “Just calm down.”
“Roy, . . .maybe, . . maybe . . . just scared?”
Roy looked back over at Anton and watched as the boy’s eyes darted back and forth between him and Johnny. He wiped the sweat rolling down his cheeks and rubbed his eyes.
“Don’t tell me what I’m feelin’, man,” Anton quietly stated. “Don’tcha know who I am? I am the colors, man, all of ‘em. You think you’re so good, saving people and stuff, keepin’ everyone safe. Damn, you don’t even know what it’s like to feel unsafe . . .maybe you’re feelin’ it now, huh?”
“No . .” Johnny managed to whisper, struggling to stay awake fighting the fevered tendrils of sleep threatening to put him under. “. . just tryin’ . . .to survive . to help.” With that garbled thought, Johnny passed out. Roy stood. He walked toward the cracked vent and began to pull the plaster apart.
*******
Do you hear that? More sirens, more police. They’ve got us surrounded now and I’m thinking that Chas and the rest of that damn group have moved on. Yea, I see it now. Nothin’ but lies and garbage--they think I’m done. Well, I am the colors and I will go on. Everywhere they look, I’ll be there, mixing the colors, blending the hues and coaxing the strokes of my brush onto my canvas in the street. They’ll see my colors and they’ll see me. Everyone will know that no matter what, I am here. I am the color orange. . .
*******
“Why do you care?”
“What do you mean?”
“You goin’ to all this trouble and you know he’s gonna die on you--he’s dead, man, give it up--we’re next!”
“Anton, I can’t,” Roy wiped the grime from his forehead, determined to keep digging through the vent.
Anton continued to sit in the corner, no longer threatening with the gun. He peered back at the sweaty, dirty fireman with the blue, penetrating eyes.
“You really love ‘im, huh?”
“Yes, Anton, I do. He’s my brother. My partner,” Roy quietly said, looking over at Johnny with fear in his eyes.
“You afraid?”
“Yes,” Roy admitted. He was tired and the sense of hopelessness continued to build.
“What color are you?”
“Huh?”
“What color are you that he sees?” Anton pressed his question further, looking for an answer that he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear.
Roy sighed. This young man was in a place that Roy had never known and all he could do was try a rescue that he felt could only came from the heart.
“He is my brother, my partner. He’s saved my life over and over again; I trust him completely. I would do the same for him.”
“He sees blue,” Anton whispered, looking again at Roy’s blue eyes.
“Blue,” murmured Roy. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift to blue skies, blue water. . . the soothing, blue rivers, and blue tears.
******
He watched as Roy placed Johnny’s hand in his and whispered in his ear. Johnny’s fever had continued to climb and now hallucinations were no doubt distorting the injured man’s sense of reality. Johnny tossed and groaned with each movement. Tears left Johnny’s clenched eyelids and Anton turned his own eyes away, barely able to handle the scene in front of him.
The air was stale and the small room threatened to squeeze them into an early grave. Anton buried his head in his hands and shuddered. All the tension and frustration of this ordeal finally settled in his shoulders and reminded him that he had a burden to carry. Not only did he admit that he was abandoned by the gang, but now, he was faced with the distinct possibility that this man may not make it much longer.
He raised his head again to see that Roy’s words seemed to be having an effect. Johnny’s struggles lessened and he was gripping Roy’s hand with what little strength he had. Blood stained both their hands, intermingled with dirt and ash. The crimson stains and black soot blended together as Anton saw the color of brothers.
*******
It was hot, so very hot. His tongue was thick and he was unable to move it. He tried to pry open his eyes, but they too refused to work as he thought they should. Wisps of conversation and loud voices permeated through his awareness and he wondered by he couldn’t understand everyone. He knew he was moving but why or where he couldn’t determine. Reality barely existed and all he could do was to grip Roy’s hand. It was the only thing that made sense. It was his lifeline, he knew, but for the moment he couldn’t remember what happened. He tried to figure it out, but the last set of moves, caused the sharp pain in his side to flare up, eliciting a gasp. Roy’s hand gripped tighter and then he felt it. Cool air slammed into him and he shivered.
“ . . .easy . . grab that line . . .okay . . .”
“Cap . .we got him! . . on my count . . .Roy?”
“. . .let’s go . . .chopper’s on standby . . “
“Hang in there, Johnny. . . .Johnny?”
The wisps of reality grew narrow as he tried to re-claim understanding. But, it just wasn’t happening. Whatever was stuck in his side demanded his immediate attention and energy. He tried to open his eyes once more, knowing that Roy was still there by his hand. There was something he had to say . . .something about black and white . . .or was it gray? Well, maybe after they get this thing out of me, then I can think about it some more.
“Roy . . .?” he managed to whisper.
“Shhh, Johnny, save your strength.”
“. . .save. . .?”
“You’re safe; we’re on the way to Rampart,” Roy explained through the haze of uncertainty clouding Johnny’s brain.
“ . .did we . . save?” Johnny tried again. “. . color?”
Roy climbed into the chopper with the paramedics from 16’s, still holding Johnny’s hand. He sat beside the stokes and smiled at his partner. “Blue, Johnny. Blue.”
Roy looked back as the chopper ascended from the scene. And yes, Johnny, we did make a save today . . . A mural of bright colors and odd shaped people beckoned to him as he gazed down. The colors blended beautifully on the side of the building and he closed his eyes dreaming of purple flowers, yellow suns and true blue friends.
*******
Don’t tell me that I have to be someone else--just cuz I don’t fit your idea of what you think I should be. I am the colors of my world--my world that only offers blasting stereos, no jobs, cruising the streets, sales and distributions, exiled children, rampant crimes, and the other shades of gray that permeate through my world. I don’t see the blues, reds, or greens. But, I can dream about them. I can put them on the bricks and sheet rock, the signs and overpasses. I can tell you about my world but only through my pictures. Only through my colors. Leave me there and let me tell you the story about my colors. The story of how during my last grasp at “fitting in” with the gang, I learned about those other colors outside of my world--colors of friendship, brotherhood and loyalty. I am all colors. . .
Thanks to my VP’s, Mia and Sue--you are the best!
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Guest Dispatchers Stories by Robin W.
