requirements because they cannot have just any old scrubs signing on to the service. You have got to be special. You have got to be special, and I have got to be patient.
But I am growing the mustache. It might sound stupid, but it feels important. I am building the body and the mind as hard as they can be, and I am growing the mustache. Nobody is going to confuse me for an 1890s baseball player yet, but getting started on this is my quiet, for-myself way of feeling that little bit closer to the service, to the guys, to the team. That much closer to the man.
I am staring at my shadowy reflection in the smoky glass door, opposite my high bench seat in the sauna. I can almost see the man.
âSomebodyâs getting ripped,â The Girl says, slipping in through that same door.
âHi,â I say.
She climbs up to the top bench next to me, sits right close. She is wearing an electric blue bathing suit, Olympic swimmer type. Her figure is Olympic swimmer type. I was not previously aware.
âYou been doing triple sessions at this place, or what?â she says, lightly squeezing my biceps.
We are the only two people here, but itâs still extremely embarrassing.
âA little more than usual, maybe,â I say, and politely pull from her grip.
ââRoids? Iâm betting âroids.â
I feel far too weak for this. I start to stand.
âJeez, itâs getting awfully hot in here,â I say, and lean to leave.
She grabs the seat of my shorts and pulls me back down with alarming ease. I am weak.
âDonât be antisocial,â she says.
I lean back against the scalding wooden slats of the bench. Remarkable, how if you move off them after getting accustomed to them, they instantly become foreign and searing again. Itâs not the worst feeling.
âSo, you enjoyed the party,â I say.
âI did. Thank you very much for inviting me. What a great group all around.â
I suppose I do expect her to go somewhere with that. She doesnât. We sit and become one with the heat. Itâs almost like a sound, itâs so baking. The Girl leans back alongside me, feels the same hot slats across her back.
She makes the sizzle sound, âTssssz â¦â but she doesnât flinch.
I am no good at this. âSo, DJ â¦â I say.
âDJ,â she says.
We sit and listen to the heat some more. Thatâs it.
I stand for real now, and The Girl is happy enough to let me. âIâm completely noodled,â I say, stepping down to more breathable air. I see my ghosty reflection again as I approach the door.
âLook out for him,â she says as my hand rests on the door handle. I turn. âJust keep an eye. Heâs not as strong as you are, I donât think.â
I shake my head, and head out of the heat. âDonât be fooled. Iâm not as strong as I am either.â
Firefighters insist on doing stuff. Everything they do seems to require bigger motion, more action than the regular one-foot-in-front-of-the-other routine of most peopleâs days. And since these days are anything but routine, they are now insisting on doing something big.
They are being honored, DJâs dad and mine. By the Hothouse, at the Hothouse, with a big public show-off of a permanent memorial.
There is to be a big department-sponsored tâdo for the two Outrageous Courageous heroes of the community. Tâdo is my motherâs term for any organized gathering we are required to attend, especially if she would really prefer not to attend.
âSheesh,â she says after getting off the phone. âThis is one tâdo I could really do without.â She plunks herself onto the couch. I plunk beside her.
âWell you canât just tâdo without it, Ma,â I say.
âI know that, Russ. I understand there are a lot of situations where you have to do things you donât want to do, because people feel they are doing those things
Learning to Kill: Stories