Rituals

I have, apparently, a psychic rooster - a faithful, imaginary bird. He's not keyed to the sunrise, like the roosters I remember. Usually, he wakes me up just before the alarm clock goes off, irrespective of its setting. I'll lay in bed, pondering the time, when the clock sounds. I wonder if there's some change in the sound the clock makes, as it approaches the designated moment, but I set the alarm, all the same, every night.

And so my eyes came open in the dark and quiet ward, ears strained to detect the tell-tale breathing of my brothers. The face of my watch glowed faintly, too faintly to read in the gloom, when I bent my wrist close. I was too awake to roll over and go back to sleep; the rooster had crowed. I wriggled out from under my sleeping bag and stood up, swaying, leaning against the bed, using it as a landmark. My clogs waited where I had kicked them off in the night, when we had gotten back from the low blood sugar call. A thin blue light, the other colors wrung from it, filtered around the curtains, and I shuffled to the door, pushing it open.

Squinting from the fluorescent glare, I scuffed into the tiled bathroom. I never flush the urinal if anyone's sleeping, and I washed my hands in a pencil stream of hot water. I could make out the squeal of an opening bay door above the splashing, and I felt, more than heard, the cough of the fire engine starting up.

On the stairs, I could taste the burnt coffee in the bottom of a pot, stewing on a burner. Instead of simply pouring myself a cup, I'd have to find coffee somewhere and brew a fresh batch. Guys are gonna want some coffee... I pulled aside the sliding door to the kitchen / TV room, reached for the light switches, noting a sleeping body in a recliner, under a blanket - one of the medics - I dropped my hand. I quietly slid the door closed again, and blinked my eyes until I could see better in the dark.

The Bunn's switches both glowed red in the gloom, and I crept to the fridge, opening the door half-way for some light. Back at the coffee machine, the foul dregs of a pot sat on the top burner, but fresh coffee was tinkling in the pot under the basket. I flipped off the top burner and washed out the carafe in the sink. I grabbed a pair of cups from the cupboard, returned the clean pot to the still-sizzling burner. I was a Ninja in the dark, deftly pullng the pot and replacing it with a cup. As the cup slowly filled, I topped off the other with the pot. Another Ninja move, and the pot was back under the basket, two cups held in one hand, and the fridge nudged closed with a toe. I only lost a drop or two as I opened, then closed, the sliding door.

Out in the app bay, I ducked into the hose tower to grab a long-handled brush. I stepped into the drizzle where Geoff was already hosing the grime from the previous day's work off the engine. A bucket of suds, a brush tipping out, sat at the tailboard. I dropped my brush into it, and handed a cup of coffee to Geoff. Inside the station, the morning tones went off, rousing the sleeping crew, lights coming on automatically.

"Thanks, Schlem!"

"My pleasure."

I gulped a hot mouthful, balanced the mug on top of one of the concrete-filled steel bollards that guard the garage wall, and grabbed a brush. I scrubbed the fire engine in the rain, Geoff rinsed.