Date: Wed, 30 Aug 2000 18:43:35 -0500
From: haztech <haztech@email.msn.com>
Subject: Flip pt8

Flip
Part 8

        Philip quietly stood under the warm water with his arms
outstretched, supporting him against the tiles. He didn't trust his shaking
legs to hold him this morning. He'd spent what was left of the night
silently staring at the pattern the plaster in his ceiling sprayed across
over his head. When his mom had called him to make sure he was awake, he'd
rolled off of his bed only to find his fears avalanche with renewed vigor
as his legs slowly collapsed under the mental strain. Taking a few deep
breaths, he'd finally shaken loose and unsteadily risen to make his way to
the shower, leaving a trail of forgotten clothes behind him.
        The only family he had left in the world was dying. His dad and
uncles hadn't been part of his life for years after he'd refused to have
anything to do with the bastards. Thankfully his dad hadn't even bothered
to challenge Philip's decision, so he figured the feelings were mutual and
had been happy for it.
        "Philip?" Mrs. Nevins rapped on the bathroom door, noticing the
sudden stop in the flow of water. "I'm going to take you to school this
morning. I'll be ready in about ten minutes."
        "OK," Philip responded as he blindly reached for a towel and ran it
through his bright red hair. He was glad to find more mundane thoughts
fight their way to the fore while he regarded himself in the mirror. He'd
need to get a haircut. He usually kept it very short, but it had grown out
to the point it had started to curl on its own, making his tired features
those of a little boy and not someone of his barely sixteen years.
        "Mom?" Philip's eyes grew wide as his numbed mind started to work
again, not getting an answer. Why was she offering to drive him to school
this morning? He needed to drive! He quickly stumbled back into his room
and rummaged through his clothes, finally settling on some nondescript
jeans and blank red T-shirt he could pull on without thought.
        "Mom?" Philip walked into the kitchen to grab a quick swig out of
the milk carton as his mother looked on with a barely concealed amused
grimace. His mom hated it when he did that but had given up trying to
correct his habit. He was the one who usually drank it all anyway, so she'd
figured it saved on having dirty glasses to clean. "Should you?...I
mean...Why do you want to drive to school today?"
        "Of course I can drive!" Mrs. Nevins smiled at him and squeezed his
neck reassuringly. "I decided I want to take you this morning because you
can't stand up straight right now....and I want to talk to your principal
and counselors." She stifled her first inclination to start giggling when
she saw the `oh lord, what did I do now?' look of worry cross her son's
face. "Don't worry. You haven't done anything. It's just that you're going
to be on your own a lot, while I'm in and out of the hospital. So I need to
set my spies on you."
        "Mom?" Philip's hoarse voice cracked again as his chin and lip
wrinkled with the attempt to forestall another emotional outburst. "I would
never do anything to hurt you. I...I...love you...."
        "Oh, Philip." She reached up to gently grasp his head in her hands,
wiping the renewed moisture from his cheeks with her thumbs. "I know
that. I'll always love you, no matter what happens, but I need to know that
you're going to be OK...OK?"
        "OK." Philip smiled through his emotions and turned to wipe his
face. "I'll be ready in a minute...I just need to call Marty and tell him I
can't pick him up today."
        "You will do nothing of the sort!" She turned her son back and gave
him a gentle shove out the door. "I'll take both of you! Last I looked, I
had enough empty seats." She smiled and let her eyes gaze upward as she
silently followed, just mouthing the words, `God bless you, Michael.'

        Marty finished pushing his pants leg over the end of the false
leg. He continued to push the jeans lower until they were gathered around
the foot he'd never feel again. He quickly inserted his remaining leg into
the socket and attached the damp nylon strap he wore around his narrow
waist, then followed with his `whole' leg into the other leg of his jeans.
        His prosthetics guy had told him his final piece wouldn't need the
strap any longer and would be cosmetically more like his natural leg, but
he found it irrelevant at that moment. Every morning, he'd be reminded of
his limitations. Hell! He couldn't even shower standing up any more, he'd
always need that stupid plastic stool in the shower that his brother
smirked at.
        He grimaced as he pulled his bruised arms through his shirt and
settled it over his upper body to hide the damage. His mom and dad had
suspected he was `different' but had been willing to overlook his lack of
girlfriends when he'd been able to make them proud up on the diving
platform. They may have seen him as a `mistake' but were still proud of
their queer but talented little boy.
        Now, with his mom and sister dead because of him, and his leg gone,
he was just damaged goods, trash in the eyes of his remaining family. Even
his grandparents had turned away, unable to look at him.
        Marty quietly shook his head as he finished dressing and reached
for his crutches. He remembered sitting on his dad's bed the previous week,
revolver in his shaking hands as he tried to decide whether to use it or
not. His dad's arrival back home had stopped him that time as he'd
struggled to place it back under the mattress. If his dad had found the
gun's change of position odd, he'd said and done nothing.
        Marty knew then, when he wasn't beaten for messing with the weapon,
that his father couldn't stand the embarrassment of his son behind bars but
was willing to accept his death. Hell, he probably even hoped for it! It
would lower his insurance rate once the trash had been taken out! No tears
came with his disturbing thoughts. His time for tears was over.
        Quietly trying to ignore his still grumbling stomach, Marty hobbled
though the dark hallway, unsure of his reception that morning. "Dad?"
        "Cereal's on the table." Marty let out the breath he'd been holding
when his father answered calmly, never moving his eyes from the newspaper
he'd been reading. "Don't use all the milk. I'm not going to the store
today."
        "Yes, sir." Marty quickly poured his breakfast into a bowl and
quietly began to shovel as fast as he could before his dad could change his
mind. Thankfully, his dad and brother ignored his existence altogether and
he soon finished, struggling to place the empty bowl in the sink while he
balanced precariously on his crutches.
        "Next time you're late...call me." Marty's dad glanced up to bore
holes through his oldest son. "It's bad enough I'm going to miss another
day's work on Friday so you can get your new leg."
        "Yes, sir....Dad?" Marty gulped back his trepidation. "After I'm
done...." he hesitated under the withering gaze he received. "After my
appointment...I...I...thought I could help you at the job
site...like...like...like I used to?"
        "And do what?" Mr. Miller scowled quietly back where his son
shifted, trying to back up. "I'll need a hundred percent to catch up, not
half a boy. You'd just get in the way."
        "But...." Marty felt himself reeling from the mental blow. He had
to figure out a way to get his dad to love him again.
        "But nothing!" Mr. Miller flushed at his son again. His little girl
should have been the one to live and not this little fag his dead wife had
made. She'd coddled the little shit, let him act any way he'd wanted. He'd
been willing to reluctantly go along with it while the boy could at least
hold up his end of the work and bring good recognition to the family, but
now?
        He'd had to spend an awful amount of money to keep the family name
out of prison and gotten nothing but a cripple in return. He had no use for
half a son. No, not even half a son, he grimaced again. As far as he was
concerned, he had a crippled boy who wanted to be a girl for a son. Marty
was useless at everything now, he couldn't even figure out how to find a
girl, much less fuck one. "You're useless to me. Now get out of here. Maybe
you'll find something you can still do at school."

        Philip stood, nervously shifting from foot to foot as he waited by
the front door to Marty's house. He dried his hands again when he saw the
shadow cross the curtained window set in the door just before it opened.
        "Mr. Miller?" He extended his hand and smiled at the large man
confronting him. He felt his stomach lurch with the hard look that passed
across the man's face but was relieved to see it quickly replaced by a
friendly expression. "My name is Philip Nevins. Is Marty here? I'm here to
pick him up for school."
        "He'll be right out." Mr. Miller smiled at the youth standing
before him. He wasn't happy that his son had failed to tell him about this,
but then...it really didn't matter to him one way or the other. He eyed the
boy suspiciously. "So tell me....Philip?...How do you know Gabriel?"
        "I was one of the firefighters that pulled Mart...I mean Gabriel
out of the wreck." Philip pulled his eyes away from Marty's dad. The man
was making him sweat under his sharp probing gaze he was projecting
now. Philip felt himself flush uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "I...I'm
sorry we couldn't do more."
        "So am I." Mr. Miller fought back the wave of bitterness that rose
within him. This boy wasn't responsible for the wreck or the final
outcome. "I'm sorry. I know you did everything you could."
        Mr. Miller quietly stood aside then to let his son limp past. This
Nevins boy seemed to be OK. He obviously wasn't a fag, firefighters weren't
queers. He'd have to warn Philip about his son soon though, just like he'd
told all of Gabriel's friends at his old school.
        Three or four still called and tried to talk to his son or leave
messages, but he figured it wasn't his job to pass messages between a bunch
of faggots, and anyone who still wanted to be friends with his son had to
be a fag as well.
        "Glad to meet you, Mr. Miller." Philip let his polite smile linger
through the discomfort he felt. "I'll be busy after school, but if it's OK
with you, I'll drop Marty off by five?"
        "That's fine," Mr. Miller continued his own penetrating smile as he
regarded the stranger at his door, "...but I think you need to know
something about Gabriel, Marty as you call him." He let his carefully
crafted demeanor slip a little. "You need to be careful around him. The
boy's not right...Fact is, he's queerer than a three dicked mule."
        "Yes, sir?" Philip rocked back as he felt himself start to sweat as
the revelation hit him like a bolt out of nowhere. What the hell was going
on here? He left his questions on his lips. Why did Marty's dad just say
that and how could he respond to it? It was bad enough his former
associates were ready to tell the world about him! What did this man expect
him to do with this information and why would he do that to his son?
        His thoughts raced back to his mom sitting in the car behind
him. He'd promised he'd never hurt her and she would hurt enough without
his adding to it. What did this man want him to say and would it get back
to her? He quickly chose his words carefully, "I don't mind, sir. Marty is
a friend now, but I'll be careful."
        "All right," Marty's dad reflected at the unexpected response from
the new kid in his oldest's life. He'd wait for a while. He could always
stop their contacts later. "Good to have met you as well. My son's lucky to
have found a new friend so soon."
        "Thank you, sir." Philip quickly moved away from the strange man
and his unsettling manner. He suddenly wanted to be as far away from there
as he could. "I'm just glad I could help."
        Marty watched the exchange from the side of Philip's mom's car. He
quietly let his weight sag onto his crutches when he saw the glances and
expressions thrown his way by his father. Seeing Philip's body suddenly
tense, he knew then that he was alone again. His old friends didn't want
anything to do with him any more and now this new friend wouldn't either.
        He'd tried to drive Philip away by calling himself a `white trash
little faggot' but now it was being confirmed by his own dad! He steeled
himself for the certain rejection he was going to receive as he moved away
from the car and turned for the bus stop, his physical pain all but
forgotten.
        He had nothing left, nothing to bring to a friendship but more
problems. He stopped and glanced up into the lightening gray sky, wishing
for the rain to come and the sky to clear. He wanted to see the morning sun
one last time before he reached for the revolver again, but that wouldn't
happen either. It was time to take out the trash.
        "Marty? Where you going?" Philip smiled in relief to be back at the
car but was confused, looking at Marty's retreating back as he opened the
back door for his new friend. "Don't want to be late."
        "Huh?" Marty turned back to face Philip. He was jolted when his
love of puns surged into his mind through his despairing thoughts. `That's
what I'll be...,' he couldn't help thinking, `...the late Gabriel Martin
Miller!'
        Marty's mind seemed to fog over with the realization that Philip
hadn't just left like he'd thought he would. "But what my dad said...."
        "Doesn't mean shit!" Philip renewed his smile to put his friend at
ease as he furtively glanced into the car at his patient mother. He felt he
needed to tell Marty about himself, but not now, not with his mom right
there. Hell, if Jeff and the others carried through with their threats,
Marty would know soon enough without his having to say anything. "I don't
care. Now get in before we get wet."
        "Yes, master!" Marty felt the beginnings of a grin as his eyes
welled slightly with the tears he didn't think existed anymore. His sense
of humor had been his refuge through the terrible downward spiral his short
life had taken. If he didn't laugh, he'd never have survived as long as he
had, he'd have used the gun by now!
        "OK, smartass!" Philip shrugged as he held his associate's crutches
while Marty settled himself in the back seat. "That's enough of that shit."
        "Philip Nevins!" Philip blushed as he heard his mom's voice cut
through the stillness, "That's enough of that from you too! At least wait
until I'm out of earshot!"
        "Glad to finally meet you, Marty." She turned farther around to
present her hand to the grimacing boy behind her. "Are you all right this
morning?" She watched the boy settle himself and return her handshake. She
couldn't help but be drawn by his large deep black eyes. There seemed to be
so much hidden behind their pained yet piercing gaze.
        "Thank you." Marty quickly shifted his gaze away from the woman to
linger on the back of Philip's head. "I'm OK. It's just my leg," he lied as
he pulled his invisible mask down to hide his thought.
        "So tell me, Marty...," she glanced quickly into the rearview
mirror as she pulled out and guided them all through the twisting roads,
"...you think you can teach my rock of a son how to swim?"
        She couldn't help but chuckle as she squeezed her son's hand
reassuringly. They'd discussed this last night when she'd insisted he take
the time that Saturday to be with his new and only local friend she knew
about. She was scheduled for surgery that Thursday but had insisted she
didn't want to see him Saturday at all. He'd spend enough time with her in
hospitals soon enough.
        "Well, maybe I can teach him to float." Marty's renewed grin became
genuine as he remembered their plans for Saturday. He found the thought of
the quietly beckoning revolver fast receding into the back of his
mind. Philip's reaction to his dad's attempt at sabotage lent him hope. He
was hoping his dad had failed and that Philip would continue to be his
friend, even after his mom had left. Hell! They'd somehow managed to put up
with each other so far. "But then you'll have to change his name!"
        "Change his name?" Mrs. Nevins noticed the sudden mirth that
appeared in Marty's eyes and voice while her son cringed silently next to
her.
        "Yeah!" Marty almost laughed at Philip's reaction to what he
thought was coming as his sense of humor blossomed to his internal defense
again. "If I teach him to float at least...We can't call him Flip. We'll
have to call him Bob!"
        Mrs. Nevins couldn't help but laugh as she reached over to tweak
her red son's cheek. She knew she'd grow to love having Marty around her
overly serious, loner son. His teenaged sense of humor was what she'd hoped
for Philip, what she'd looked forward to having around the house instead of
only from her `clients' at the gym where she coached.
        After her news last night, Philip would need the companionship more
than ever. She'd received pledges of support from her friends and
co-workers already. Her son was the one she was worried about now and she
was so glad to see Marty beginning to fill that hole of friendship in
Philip's life. `Marty's dad was lucky to have such a child in his home,'
she thought as she parked the car in the front `visitors' lot. `He must
love his oldest son very much. How could anyone not love him?'

        Philip sat quietly, shaking with rage and fear for his mom as he
waited for everybody else to arrive for the rehearsal that
afternoon. Everything had been normal for him that day and he'd been able
to avoid any contact with Jeff and Peter and the rest of that group until
he'd had to use the restroom after the last bell of the day.
        He'd just managed to finish zipping back up when Peter had shoved
him against the wall and Jeff had demanded his response to their ultimatum
that he resign from the fire department. They hadn't been pleased when he
said nothing to them. Then Jamie had come in!
        "Hey! I saw the fag's mom drop him and that new crippled kid off
today. Then she went to the office!" Philip could still feel his words
echoing through his heart like a knife.
        "So your mommy dropped you off?" Jeff had sneered at him. "What?
Can't fight your own battles any more?" Philip was able to let that slide
across his shoulders and didn't flinch at the taunts.
        "At least I know who my mother is!" Philip had finally responded as
the hair on his neck rose with his temper. He'd started to push his way
back through the three to get to the door when Jamie had spoken again.
        "I wonder if she'd still try to protect her little boy if she knew
he wanted to get screwed by other boys?" Jamie's cutting voice had dripped
with venom. "Is that what you'd like us to do to you? ...Huh? ...Is it,
fag?"
        All Philip's attempts at self control had evaporated in an instant
and he'd struck hard, his legs putting all his weight into his tightly
clenched hand and arm as they struck his larger opponent in the middle and
sent him flying to land at Peter's feet.
        "Go ahead and tell who you want!" Philip had coldly spoken as he'd
squared himself for the next attack that never came. "You will anyway, no
matter what I do."
        He'd had to stop for a moment to wipe his eyes clear of the
fury-induced tears that had formed. "But if any of you ever hurt my mom or
try to fuck with Marty...I'll hunt you down and only one of us will be able
to get up afterward!" He'd then let his burning eyes travel from one boy to
the next, finally settling on Jamie as the other had gasped for breath on
the floor.
        He'd then slowly backed out the door while Peter finally advanced
on him, having come to a decision. Philip had thought his heart would stop
when he backed into someone behind him in the hallway and had turned to
find Mr. Alexander staring at the boys intently.
        The assistant principal had merely excused the others with a glance
and pulled Philip aside, saying he was sorry to hear about his mom's
illness and offering help, before he let Philip go.
        Philip didn't know what to think about the principal's presence. If
he'd heard just the end of the confrontation, he didn't say anything and
let Philip get away with it, but if he'd heard the whole thing, he didn't
intervene either.
        "Jesus Christ!" Marty exclaimed as he flopped down into the seat
next to Philip's with an expectant look on his face.
        "Huh?" Philip glanced back, his anger slowly draining away with the
memories of the incident just minutes old.
        "No!" Marty grinned back in mock frustration. "You're supposed to
say `Yes?'. That is who you're playing, isn't it?"
        "Oh....Yeah...OK." Philip stumbled through his confusion. He was
going to have to start thinking faster to keep up with his friend. "I'm
glad you stayed. I didn't know if you were taking the bus home."
        "Naw." Marty's smile became forced as he wondered how much he could
admit. "I don't really like being at home right now." He quickly turned
away to stare at the floor, worried that he'd said too much already. "I
want to apologize for how my dad was this morning. He's usually a good
guy."
        "I don't understand?" Philip stared back, trying to catch those
black eyes he was falling in love with. "Why would he act that way, say
those things?" He took a deep breath before he took the plunge, taking some
small comfort in the thought that it would be all over the school tomorrow
anyway. He held up his hand to stop Marty's answer, "Before you say
anything, I've got to tell you something but you've got to promise not to
say anything around my mom. She doesn't feel well and what I have to say
would hurt her. She can't find out...."
        "So tell me!" Marty ducked. He shouldn't have interrupted Philip's
rambling. His new friend was obviously uncomfortable with his news. "I
won't say anything."
        "Well, OK." Philip stopped and glanced down at his own sweaty hands
before he blurted out the rest. "I don't know if what your dad said about
you being gay is true or not but you need to know...thatIam." He rushed
through the end and sat still, desperately willing his pounding heart to
slow. He cast a sidelong glance with trepidation and was relieved to see
Marty hadn't made a grab for his crutches yet, though he was staring back
with mouth agape. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."
        "No, no, it's OK." Marty closed his mouth and reached out his hand
to Philip's. "I'm just glad you didn't tell my dad...otherwise he'd never
let us be around each other. He told all my old friends the same thing I
think he told you and now I never hear from them any more."
        "None of them?" Philip finally let his eyes move back to Marty's.
        "Yeah...well, I tried call them..." Marty frowned at the memory,
"...but my dad found out and pulled the phone out of my room so I can't
call any more without his permission." He left off that his dad never gave
his permission, but the look on Philip's face told him he didn't have
to. Philip was beginning to understand.
        "But why?" Philip couldn't believe what he was hearing as the
unease he felt that morning roared back. "Is what he said true?" Philip
instantly regretted his question when he saw Marty's reaction to it.
        "Yeah, I'm his white trash little faggot son!" Marty grimaced as if
he'd been stabbed as he ducked his head again. "All I ever thought about
was my friends and teammates. Never thought about wanting to go with a girl
but I've never been `in love' with anyone yet either."
        "Stop saying that!" Philip's anger built again at the hurtful words
that had been so drummed into Marty, he'd parroted them unconsciously. "You
are not trash! You're my friend! Don't you ever say that about yourself
again!"
        "Whatever," Marty sighed and glanced away.
        "No!" Philip pitched his volume back down. He'd started to get
loud, causing some of the other arriving players to stop and stare at
them. "Don't give me that `whatever' shit! I said you're my friend. The
only one I've got around here!...So just stop it."
        "OK," Marty quietly replied; the morning's trials receded even more
as he felt the fight in Philip's voice transfer itself into his own
battered psyche. He fought back his emotions, they were too public for him
to show his feelings easily. He realized then that he really didn't want to
die. His earlier, seemingly vain, hope in Philip's friendship had gone
beyond his wildest meager expectations. He straightened his thin shoulders
a little more and squeezed his friend's hand in thanks. He didn't know what
would happen at home eventually, maybe he'd still be able to get his father
to be proud of him again. But whatever happened, he saw life beyond his
fifteen and a half years again!
        "Well, my friend..." Philip got up to join the others on stage to
begin their rehearsal now that Mrs. M had arrived. Mr. Craig had been given
the rest of the week off for his verbal attack on Philip the previous
day. He was suddenly struck by the simple pleasure those two words gave
him. He'd missed that pleasure more than he'd thought possible the last
three years.
        He smiled warmly at Marty's beaming face, ignoring Lash as she
winked at him. She'd probably take all the credit for finally overcoming
her `greatest challenge' but they wouldn't have to deal with that until his
Saturday swim lesson. "Enjoy the almost show."

______________________________________________________________________________

        Philip collapsed onto his bed early, the lack of sleep starting to
catch up to him. He and his mom had dropped off a much happier Marty and
then he'd tried to help his mom pack her small bag for her time at MD
Anderson Cancer Hospital. He wished she'd be at a hospital closer to home
than the Houston Medical Center but he hoped the trade-off would be worth
it....
        He closed his eyes and willed them to stop throbbing from the
previous effort to stay open for so long, and his body finally relaxed as
his brain threw in the towel and drifted off in the still light from the
late afternoon streaming through the closed drapes of his window. It was as
if a curtain had suddenly come down on his past life. Tomorrow the next act
would begin. Everything would change at home and school but there was no
going back. The new day would come, ready or not. He only hoped he was
ready....
        "Philip?" His mom quietly peeked around the door before she entered
and crossed to tuck his naked form under the sheet he'd been too tired to
remember. She gently sat on the edge of the bed so as not to wake her son
and simply ran her fingers though his soft red hair. She wiped the tears
forming in her eyes as she regarded his peaceful countenance. The thought
of fighting for her life against the cancer didn't frighten her nearly as
much as the thought of being separated from the boy she'd brought into the
world. If she eventually lost this fight, like the doctors had warned, he
would be alone in the world.
        Financially they were secure so far. Well, about as secure as she
could hope, facing a long illness. She'd never told him that his dad still
sent money for his college even though Philip had severed all his personal
contact with him. His dad was obviously sorry for his earlier actions and
hoped for an eventual reconciliation with his only child, but Philip wasn't
ready to forgive yet. She sighed as she continued to stroke her son's head,
the only response being the slight fluttering of his long eyelashes.
        She wished the dreams he was having would be pleasant as she
quietly rose and left him to his long delayed but needed sleep. She still
had instructions and other resources to leave him. She hoped she'd remember
everything she needed to tell him. She wouldn't be here when he got home
from school tomorrow. He'd be alone at home for the first time when she
wouldn't walk into the house after work.
        She'd call Mike's parents tomorrow and had called the fire
department's office today. Maybe with Mike to talk to, the support of the
department, and Marty here to help, her boy wouldn't be facing the world
alone after all.

        "Bebebebebeep!" Philip jerked awake and blearily cocked his eyes at
the offending pager staring back as its static filled the room, the clock
next to it serenely reading just after two AM.
        "Fuck!" Philip shoved his head back onto his pillow face first. He
should have turned the damn thing off. All the other times the pager would
just sit there quietly, but now that he'd finally gotten to get some sleep,
the damn thing went off!
        "Department Nine, engine ninety four, tanker ninety four. Assist
department five with the three alarm apartment fire. 16345 Apache at the
Pine Hill apartments...."
        Philip's heart jumped, in its now familiar way, when the
announcement was a `real' call, as he rolled off the bed, barely getting
his feet on the floor before his bare ass. He scrambled upright and moved
quickly to his dresser and stopped in confusion as he began looking through
his socks, trying to find a pair that matched.
        "What the fuck are you doing?" Philip whispered to himself in
disbelief and, shaking his head to clear it, grabbed the first pair on
top. Hell, they were all white even if the stripes didn't match. Grabbing
his sneakers and a pair of coveralls his mom had bought for him while he
was gone, he quickly made his way through the house and out the back door
to his car. He stopped again and glanced down at his dick swinging around
guiltily while he struggled into the clothes as quickly as possible,
causing him to grimace once when the zipper caught his pubic hair suddenly.
        He blushed at himself when he slipped behind the wheel to start for
the station. He could only thank God it was still cool enough to wake him
up enough to notice he'd stepped outside naked. He had no doubt that he'd
been very close to driving to the station with nothing on but a frown. So
much for his practice of sleeping nude. That would have to change too. Yep,
from now on it would be underwear and socks on. All the time!
        Philip pulled up in the station's lot and glanced nervously at the
engine sitting on the ramp. Bill was behind the wheel as usual and Mary was
in her normal seat up front next to him. What made him hesitate before
getting out was the sight of Jeff and Peter sitting with Terry in the crew
compartment.
        For the brief drive to the station, he'd forgotten about the others
he'd joined with and used to be friendly with. Now, as he cautiously exited
the car to stand there looking for a moment, he didn't know if he'd still
be welcome to stay and the thought was beginning to crush in on him harder
than he'd have thought possible.
        "Move your ass, boy!" Bill snarled in frustration. He always got
that way, waiting for the other station members to arrive. Everybody had
kidded him about it, stating it was his curse for living the closest to the
station. "Dress in the truck! We got'a go!"
        Shaken from his discomfort, Philip broke away into the building
and, grabbing his personal gear, raced back to the open back door of the
waiting engine. He threw his gear inside and stepped up into the crew area,
careful to avoid the nonskid surface of the running boards with his sock
clad feet. E-One called that stuff `Gator Grip' and he wasn't too anxious
to feel the cut, raised treads on the bottom of his shoeless feet.
        "Long time no see!" Terry yelled over the siren and engine noise as
they pulled away with acceleration that felt like it belonged to a Ferrari,
not a forty thousand pound truck. Thankfully, once they were on their way,
Bill finished rolling his window up and it became quiet enough you didn't
have to yell any more. "Where you been?"
        "Out of town." Philip stole a glance at the older man next to him
as he fed his feet into the thick rubber boots and stood slightly to pull
the heavy pants up, slipping the red suspenders over his shoulders in the
process. Next, he fished out his Kevlar hood and slipped it over his head
and down around his neck. He'd pull it back into place after he got his
airmask on. He found himself looking at Jeff and Pete while he struggled
into the coat, careful not to jab Terry with his flying elbows. The other
boys had said nothing since he'd arrived and seemed to be doing their best
to uncomfortably ignore his existence.
        "Take your time, Flip." Terry still loved rookie
firefighters. Their unflinching eagerness always seemed to rejuvenate him
as well. "We've got about ten minutes." He glanced over his shoulder at
Mary up front. "Flip! You've seen fire...so she'll probably split these two
virgins...," he jerked his gloved hand at the other two boys in the cab,
"...between us. I'll take one, you the other. You want the big one or the
not as big one?"
        "Uh..." Philip forced his answering grin at Terry but could tell he
wasn't hiding his concern very well by the change in the older man's
expression. The prospect just proposed was one other thing he hadn't
counted on. He shook his head slightly. If he was going to try to keep his
vow to himself that he stay in the department, he'd have to work with
everybody sometime. He just hadn't thought it would happen this fast,
"...whatever! I'll just follow orders."
        "Engine ninety four to Pine Hill command! Two minutes
out. Requesting orders?" Philip's attention was drawn away from his
thoughts by Mary's voice at the mic. They were rapidly approaching a
tell-tale glow in the night sky.
        "Engine ninety four, stage behind tanker fifty two. Report to water
supply. Send your crew to staging at engine fifty one."
        "Engine ninety four received." Mary quickly replaced the mic into
its clip and turned to look back. Everybody was dressed and ready except
for their masks. "Terry? You and Peter. I'll go with Flip and Jeff, unless
I'm needed for something else."
        Philip jerked his gaze away from Mary to land on Jeff's hate-filled
eyes. He turned back silently. What could he say? He had his orders. If
there was a problem, it would rest squarely with Jeff, not him.
        When the engine pulled to a stop, he stared in wonder at the scene
that unfolded as he exited the truck. The whole world seemed to be made up
of red flashing lights trailing off in all directions. He pushed all his
other thoughts to the back of his mind and followed Terry around to join
the others as they made their way down the line of trucks, the airpack
riding comfortably on his back for once. There was considerable relief in
the job thoughts, allowing him to block out everything else. The looks Jeff
and Peter cast his way were still disquieting but he found it easier to
push them aside.
        "What's wrong?" Terry glanced between the three youths. It was
obvious to him that Flip was miles away from the others. "You having a
lover's spat with those two?"
        "Yeah," Philip answered. He felt himself grow uneasy again as Jeff
and Peter cornered Mary for a moment. She glanced his way briefly, her
eyebrows knit together as she scowled at the two boys confronting her. He
forced his attention back to Terry and the unfolding scene behind him. "You
could say that."
        "Flip!" Mary barked as she approached him. "You're with Terry
now. I'm gon'a be the third floor sector of that building." The one she
indicated caused both firefighters to pause before leaving. It looked like
half of it was still burning fiercely, as the heavy smoke with orange glows
shooting through it would indicate. "Go relieve the crew that's there now!
Jeff and Peter will be with me. Then they'll relieve you!"
        "Showtime!" Terry was grinning as he and Philip made their way to
the external stairs up the side of the apartment complex. "I'll back you
up! Stay near the wall, the floor may be bad by now."
        "OK," Philip mumbled as they finished the last of their
preparations and quickly checked each other. They wouldn't go on the air
they wore until the last moment just before they went inside. He was glad
to let Terry back him up. The number two man on the hose would be the one
looking for unexpected threats to them, something he couldn't really do
yet. Terry would also have their radio.
        Following the hose, on their hands and knees, through the open door
into the absolute blackness inside made Philip sport an unseen, quirky
little smile. `If this kept up,' he thought as they advanced toward the now
growing glow, `I'll be a good monk. I'm already spending all my free time
on my knees!'
        They quickly found the previous crew inside and, tapping them on
the shoulders, were able to switch with the exhausted pair. Philip reopened
the nozzle and pushed back against the heavy pressure and, now visible,
flames. He began a careful advance but soon was happy just to hold what
they could. He could see where the fire from below had savagely torn the
floor away in its attempt to escape through the charred and holed
roof. Thankfully the holes above them had provided an escape for most of
the heat as well, so he almost felt comfortable behind the barrier the
water stream provided.
        Finally, his stream of water, combined with the ones on the floors
below them, began to tell against the beast they battled that night and the
room they occupied became darker and darker as the flames surrendered to
the inevitable. Half the building was gone but they had the satisfaction of
knowing that everything behind where they'd made their stand would still be
there with the dawn.
        "OK, back up," Terry yelled through the mask when the floor jerked
a little from another hard blast of water under them. What the fire hadn't
destroyed was becoming waterlogged. "Our relief is coming! We're close to
no air!"
        "OK." Philip pulled back a little while he searched for any
remaining visible flames. He stared incredulously at the suddenly sweeping
flashlight beam coming from behind them and turned quickly to see the two
figures slowly walking on the soft floor instead of following the hose
line.
        "Over here!" Terry yelled out, trying to get the fools away from
the center of the floor as Philip felt the low pressure alarm start ringing
and vibrating through his mask. Both their hearts jumped wildly when the
barely audible crack was followed by the figure in front losing its footing
as one leg broke through the floor, landing its owner face down on its side
with a sickening thud.
        Philip couldn't remember having thought at that point as he shut
the nozzle down and he and Terry scrambled, on hands and knees, over to the
fallen form of another firefighter. The fourth figure in the room had
disappeared completely and for a moment Philip felt sick, thinking he'd
completely fallen through to land on the crew below them.
        Reaching the figure, he grabbed through the airpack straps and
pulled as hard as he could back toward the wall that Terry remained in
contact with. The other yelled once in pain when Terry was able to join in
the effort and they started on their way out, following the trail marked by
the inert hose line.
        Philip didn't know how long it had taken to reach his victim but
his mask was starting to collapse over his face with each breath he was
taking. He'd never considered himself even remotely claustrophobic but he
had to fight the urge to break and run with all his might. Terry's alarm
had begun to thunder in his ears as well. He couldn't remember it having
taken as long to get in as it was to get out. His brain issued multiple
curses when he took another ragged breath, only to have the mask collapse
completely against his face. He knew he was out of air but thought he could
just make out the dim glow from the lights of the fire trucks outside. He
felt his chest burning with the pain of trying to hold his breath but
finally had to exhale uncontrollably, only to be rewarded by a gasping
intake that yielded him nothing! The exhalation valve only worked one way,
so when he tried to inhale he vacuumed the mask even tighter than he had
before. His eyes narrowed in his fight against the panic building
within. His world was now the doorway and his friends with him. There was
nothing else.
        Philip silently collapsed as he struggled frantically to remove the
regulator from the front of the mask when they'd broken out onto the
landing at the top of the stairs and out of the deadly cloud of smoke
within the building. His fingers didn't work right and the damn latch
wouldn't seem to let go! He barely registered the hand drop from above him
to swat his hands aside to quickly reach and turn the regulator. He felt
the rush of air speed through his painfully vacuum-sealed lungs as the
regulator dropped away. He collapsed completely in relief and rolled to his
side gasping loudly, to stare into Mary's worried eyes as she continued to
lean over the three of them.
        "Wha...wha...where...is...the...other...one?" Philip barely managed
to gasp out in his effort to catch up on the breathing he'd missed.
        "Don't worry..." Mary smiled at them. "He's safe outside with
us. Now just relax! Wait until you get your breath back."
        "Ohh...K." Philip turned his head to give his gloved hand access to
his helmet strap. He had to remove it before he could finish taking off the
mask completely. His eyes narrowed when he noticed the `Taz' decal on his
victim's...no, he corrected himself, Jeff's helmet.
        "I should have left your ass," Philip whispered, barely audible
even to himself. `No,' he thought, quickly recriminating himself. For all
their differences and fights, he'd done nothing more than help a fellow
firefighter. There was no way he'd ever be able to do anything
different. Bill had taught him well. Even if he and the others were the
bitterest of enemies away from the department, here they were brothers.

        "Hey, Jeff." Philip nervously glanced into the open back doors of
the ambulance where Jeff lay on the stretcher, leg encased in an orange
nylon and graphite splint, a paramedic and Peter his only company. "Are you
gon'a be OK?"
        "Yeah," Jeff grimaced from where he lay, staring at the IV buried
in his arm, "I just have to get some X-rays."
        "OK...uh..." Philip shifted from foot to foot, "I'm gon'a take your
gear back to the engine. I'll hang it up for you when we get back."
        "Flip?" Jeff hesitated before continuing. He couldn't believe what
Philip had done. If the situations had been reversed, he didn't think he'd
have done the same. "I mean...Philip,...Mary knows. We told her tonight
while you and Terry were inside." The sorrow in Jeff's voice and eyes was
evident as he watched Philip quietly gather the gear in his arms and
silently turn to leave.
        "Flip,...I'm...Philip?" Jeff called to the redhead's retreating
back but, all too soon, the only part of Philip still visible was the
reflection of the truck lights off his reflective safety stripes as he
disappeared into the cold dark morning

_____________________________________________________________________________

        Marty lay on his stomach and silently sent a prayer up to heaven
while he listened to the distant receding sirens. He prayed that if Philip
was on that fire truck, he'd be safe and careful that morning. He'd wanted
to go to the window to try to catch a glimpse of it as it passed by on the
distant main road, somehow hoping that the sight would bring them closer,
but the pain from his streaked back kept him from moving.
        He'd decided to move through the house that night without his
crutches like his therapist had wanted him to do. He was actually proud of
how well he was doing. He was finally able to have both hands available to
help around the house that night. Even his father had offered a few scant
words of encouragement, words Marty had clung to like a drowning man to a
life jacket. But then he'd stumbled against a lamp, almost knocking it over
while he'd told his dad about Philip and the planned swimming lesson. His
dad had flashed in anger over the clumsy display from his once graceful son
and he'd reminded Marty of his destruction of most of his own swim suits
and short pants.
        Then his dad had left for the bar like he did every night now, and
then the nightmare returned as soon as he'd returned, like it did almost
every night now!

			       End of Part 8


Please let me know what you think. It means a lot to me.  My grateful
thanks to ED for his editorial assistance with this story. I'd also like to
thank ED and my friend Steve (Terrific author of "No Greater Love", a great
story in the historical section) for letting me vent at them (and putting
up with my sense of humor) while writing some of the more unpleasant parts
of this chapter. Thanks for the feedback, my friends. It keeps me sane!

Finally, let me again thank the faithful readers who've hung in there so
far. Stay tuned for part 9

PS: Any artists willing to volunteer their drawing talents for illustrated
versions of some of Steve's and my stories, let us know.

	 Thanks again, everybody! Willy B. (haztech@email.msn.com)