Ketchup with the Devil

I dreamt about the Fireman. Haven't thought about him in years. Can't imagine why I'm thinking about him now. Maybe it's because someone I know is dating a fireman? I don't know. I think I knew his real name at one time, but it's long gone now, though Eric sticks out or something starting with E. No matter. Everyone called him The Fireman because he was a paramedic on the . . . Mississauga force? Or was it Brampton? Again, doesn't make a difference. I don't remember the first time I met him or how these people came to be in our group, but The Fireman and a bunch of his co-workers used to come out to Brown's Line every weekend for Karaoke at Centennial, dancing at the Eastwood and of course the infamous parties on Foch.

The Fireman was educated and I didn't know too many people at the time who were. He read books, kept up with the news, had gone to university, could've been a doctor (his parents wanted him to) but he wanted to be on the front line as a paramedic instead. Thought he could make a bigger difference that way. He came from money, so he wasn't concerned really about the lesser income of a paramedic. He already owned a house, property, cars. And he was only about 25 or 26 years old.

I was always the youngest person. Most of the group were a good 10-15 years older than me. But The Fireman was closer to my age. So it seemed natural that at parties, out at the club, or wherever The Fireman and I would end up in discussion. Well actually, discussion is the wrong word. We debated. We had these twisted war with words about the issues -- abortion, euthanasia, Russia, capital punishment, Quebec, controversial new laws like the one where TO cops were going to have to fill out paperwork every time they drew their guns -- if it was happening in the news in any shape or form we were debating it. If we both agreed, one of us would argue from the other side regardless. I became expert at debating issues I didn't even believe in. And it was so much fun! I would look forward to running into The Fireman on the weekend, store away topics and facts during the week to spring on him. It was strictly friendship, Kevin was there. They were friends too. All was right in the world.

Until Leigh showed up.

Leigh was an ex-girlfriend of one of the guys in the group. She showed up at his place one day with nothing but the clothes on her back having been kicked out by her new boyfriend. She had no job. No money. No prospects. No place to stay. And an expensive habit. He took her in reluctantly and with the agreement that it would be just for a few days until she could find something else. Leigh was TROUBLE. I disliked and distrusted her from the moment I laid eyes on her. I knew she was a manipulator. She was the type of girl who would pretend she couldn't do things, so some guy could feel important helping her out. She would pretend to be stupid so guys would puff up with their knowledge and feel superior. If you mentioned something you heard in the news or something you had done, she always had a story about how this same thing happened to her only worse. God, she was so shallow and transparent. Her acting sucked! And I loathed her. I couldn't believe people were buying into her crap. Giving her things. Welcoming her into their homes. It was enough to make me want to vomit . . . and that was all before she met The Fireman.

I swear that night when she first laid eyes on him, I could see the dollar signs swirling around her little brain. Suddenly she had all manner of illnesses about her. Cat allergies. Smoke allergies. Heart palpitations. Wasn't it lucky we had a paramedic in our midst to check her out and make sure she was okay? *GAG* I remember one night in particular, probably the second night Leigh and The Fireman were in the same room together. We were at Foch, in the basement, quietly buzzed. Probably a dozen or so people, nothing wild and crazy, just mellow. The side door opened and people started coming downstairs. We could hear voices and one of the voices "Hello-ing" down the stairwell was The Fireman. As soon as she heard his voice, Little Ms. Leigh had an asthma attack. Everyone screamed for him to come help. And I couldn't stand to even be in the same room with her anymore. I got up and went out into the other room, sat on the deep fridge. The guy who had been her ex, who brought her into our midst, came out to see if I was okay. I asked him if in the years they had dated, she had ever had allergies or asthma or anything wrong with her. He said she hadn't. I said it was kind of convenient now. He agreed. Then he just patted me on the knee, shrugged, and said, "Leigh wants something, she's going to get it."

I didn't want to believe it. Surely, The Fireman, of all men, would not fall for these absolutely conspicuous ploys. He was the smartest person I knew! I felt like screaming, "What the hell is wrong with you people?! Can't you see what she's doing?" And then they hobbled out of the room, The Fireman supporting Leigh as they shuffled up the stairs, so he could drive her home.

Two weeks later she told him she was pregnant.

Three weeks later he announced they were getting married.

Eight weeks later they got married in a small civil ceremony that none of us attended.

Twelve weeks later she miscarried . . .

Or so she said . . . I've never believed there really was a baby.

And I never heard tell of The Fireman again, though I'm certain his life took some rough turns he never saw coming. It was all a little like a season of some night soap like Dallas or Melrose Place.

So, last night I dreamt about The Fireman. It was actually more like a memory than a real dream. We were at Centennial, debating the proposed law about police having to fill out paperwork every time they drew their weapons. He was against this law, had many cops for friends and thought this was an unnecessary paperwork burden to place upon them, that it would cause them to hesitate before drawing their guns in order to avoid the paperwork, that people could get hurt or killed as a result of this hesitation. I thought that was just absurd. If you're not going to save somebody just because of a little extra paperwork, you really shouldn't be a cop. I thought this was a practice they would've (should've) been following all along. Leigh popped into the conversation then with her story about her sister being raped in the park and the cop standing there watching because he didn't want to draw his gun. It didn't seem to matter that the law hadn't passed yet, that there was no way this could have happened, people listened and patted her on the back and gave her hugs when the tears came as this led into her own rape memories . . .

I got up and went to the bar.

The only thing different from real life that happened in the dream was that as I walked away The Fireman called out to me saying, "I knew. I knew, but I thought I could save her anyway."

And then it made sense.

Mood: coming to consciousness
Drinking: tea, King Cole, with a dash of skim milk
Listening To: what appears to be a kazillion birds in the yard . . . and 3 Doors Down, Loser
Hair: And today it likes being long again . . .