1
Buck stank.
Just what exactly the smell was that was exuding off his new partner he didn’t know, but he knew that he couldn’t take the stench for the two week training period. His assaulted senses were already strained to the breaking point. His eyes, which had begun to water when he entered the ambulance, had seemed to become somewhat used to the stench and had stopped tearing up, but his nose just couldn’t learn to live with the smell.
Tim had begun to try to discern exactly what Buck’s component smells were. So far he had come up with three overpowering odors. The first was fried chicken; the second was motor oil; and the third was Pine-Sol. [And how Pine-Sol had gotten anywhere near Buck was beyond Tim’s comprehension.]
These were the thoughts that ran through his head until he realized that Buck was speaking to him. “What?” he asked when he found that Buck was staring at him with a look of expectation on his face.
“I ast if you was listenin’ to me.” said Buck.
“I’m sorry,” said Tim. “My mind was wandering. What was it you were saying?”
Buck frowned and gave Tim an appraising look. “Just so long as you keep your mind on the job when the time comes.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tim, “I remember my training.” ‘How can I forget it,’ he thought, ‘It’s been drilled into my head for the last two years.’ He sometimes thought that he would never forget it, and that scared him:
2
“Yours is a necessary function in society,” the droning voice of Dr. Weeks intoned. “The things you will see, to put it mildly, will not be pretty. The situations that you as a member of the Elite Ambulance Corps will find yourself facing on a daily basis are not the things that most people would choose to face. We don’t require that you enjoy what you do, but we do require that you learn all that you need to know so that you can function in these situations. Not only function, but function well.
“That is what you will learn here at the Elite training facility over the next two to four years. Some here will complete their training in the minimum requirement of two years.” He paused to gaze down at the young, eager faces. Many wore smiles. “But this is only a small percentage of our students. The majority, about eighty percent, receive the full four year course. While only around five percent graduate any earlier. The rest...” He let his voice trail off at the unspoken thought. ‘Now watch their faces,’ he thought to himself.
The realization that fifteen percent of them would not finish the full course caused all of the smiles to disappear from the faces that had worn them. As heads began to turn around the room, Dr. weeks knew what they were thinking: “Who is it going to be?” Some faces showed more concern than others; these were the unsure. They would have to be noted and watched. Indecisiveness was not a trait of a successful Elite candidate.
“But have no worries,” Dr. Weeks continued, “to have made it this far through the testing is a worthy feat in and of itself. No one here will ever have anything to be ashamed of.
“Now let’s begin by getting acquainted. Starting with this young man here.” He had pointed at Tim and Tim remembered the surge of pride that had welled through his entire body as he stood and told the class a little bit about himself. ‘I am Elite!’ he had thought.
As the smell of Buck wafted past his nose, the same thought occurred to Tim once again. ‘I am Elite.’
He winced.
3
As Tim came slowly out of his reverie he noticed that Buck was still talking. ‘Won’t this asshole ever shut up?’ he thought to himself. ‘I don’t think I can take this guy for much longer.’
“So what ya’ gotta’ do,” continued Buck in his highly expressive southern drawl, “is just think of it as a necessity. Sorta’ like takin’ a shit,” he continued, “necessary and kinda’ fun if ya’ let it be.” He looked his gap-toothed grin at Tim again and then suddenly burst out laughing.
It was all Tim could do to keep the disgust off his face. ‘Play along,’ he thought to himself, ‘you just have to make the two weeks, that’s all.’ They couldn’t assign him as Bucks’ partner permanently, could they? He hoped to god that they wouldn’t.
Ya’ know, kid,” said Buck matter-of-factly, “you don’t talk much. I’m beginnin’ to think that you don’t like me.”
“It’s not that,” Tim replied, “It’s just nerves, that’s all.”
Buck frowned. “What’s to worry about,” he asked, “You been trained, ain’t ya’?”
“Yea, but still,” Tim said, trying not to show just how worried he was at the prospect of having to put up with Buck for the next two weeks, “the reality is always different from the classroom.”
“That’s true,” replied Buck, sagely, “but you been properly trained for this job. I don’t think that the professors would let you out if you wasn’t ready.” He paused. “They just don’t let any asshole do this job, kid. Ya’ know what I’m sayin’?”
“I know,” said Tim, “but-”
“But shit.” said Buck. “They think you’re ready and that’s good enough for me. And it should be good enough for you.” he ended somewhat ominously.
Tim decided to let it drop. He didn’t need that sort of hassle on his first day on the job. ‘Don’t rock the boat,’ he told himself. ‘This is what you were meant to be.’
His father had told him so:
4
A door slammed and Timmy was instantly awake. He had been sleeping rather soundly until that moment. It had been a good day with his mother. She had played with him all day. They had even baked cookies. [Not that he had been much help. Mostly he just spilled stuff and knocked things over, making extra work for his mother. But she never got mad at him, at least as far as he could tell. She just laughed and called him her ‘little man.’ Mother never yelled or called him names; not like his father.]
All in all it had been a pleasant and memorable day for mothers’ little man, and he had fallen asleep feeling happy about things and not dwelling on anything bad. If he had been older and able to express himself, he would have said that he was feeling contentment. But he was young yet and all he knew was that he was happy.
And then he had awoken to the slamming door that meant only one thing: Father was home.
Little Timmy’s’ bowels tightened at the sound. He pulled the covers closer around his neck and scrunched his eyes shut and hoped and prayed that his father wouldn’t come into his room.
There was a loud crash and he heard his fathers’ voice swearing all the swear words that Timmy’s’ mother didn’t want him to learn. But he had learned them, mostly from his father, who thought that swearing was a much needed skill in every young mans life. “And goddammit,” he would say, “my boy’s not gonna’ be left behind in any category. Not my son. My son’s gonna’ be Elite.” Then he would smile at Timmy and ask, “Ain’t that right?” And little Timmy would nod in mute acquiescence, not quite understanding what his father meant but old enough to know that when father asked for agreement you gave it and liked it. So Timmy would nod his head and smile. “That’s right,” his father would say, “My boy’s gonna’ be the best. Just like his old man.” Then he would usually pass out in a drunken stupor. [That’s how Tim remembered his father; drunk and insistent. He always got his way.]
Footsteps resounded in the hall and little Timmy realized that his father was coming for a visit. He closed his eyes tighter and tried to look asleep.
The door banged open with a loud explosive sound that sent the picture of his mother he had on the wall crashing to the floor. The lights flashed on and little Timmy’s eyes flew open moments before he let out a small cry of terror. There was his father standing in the doorway, a still unfinished bottle of Jack Daniel’s clutched in his hand. He swayed from side to side and tried to focus his eyes on his frightened son. Timmy stared wide-eyed and frozen into immobility. He waited for the worst.
But nothing happened for the longest time. His father just stood there in the glow of the overhead lamp and looked at him. Minutes passed as the fear inside of little Timmy began to grow into something that seemed almost alive, something that was eating him up from the inside out. He wanted to cry out to his mother; he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for his mother to come and save him, even though he knew she wouldn’t. Timmy wasn’t the only one in the household to learn his fathers’ lessons. Besides, his father would get angry if he were to cry out. So he just lay there and waited for whatever it was that his father was going to do.
“You know I love you.” The voice was his fathers’ voice, but the words were alien and didn’t sound quite right coming from his father's mouth. Timmy cracked his eyelids, ever so slightly, to sneak a look at this suddenly unfamiliar man. His quick look showed that his father agreed with him on the wrongness of the words, he was frowning and seemed to be scowling at the words that still felt as if they were hanging in the air.
The frown on his fathers’ face deepened and he staggered back drunkenly into the door jamb. The bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor. Timmy jammed his eyes shut and bit back the scream that threatened to erupt from his throat. He prayed for his father to go away.
“I know you’re afraid of me.” Timmy almost jumped out of his pajamas when his father’s voice whispered right in his ear. “That’s all right,” he continued, “You’re supposed to be afraid of your old man. I was.” His voice trailed off with these words, and silence once again fell upon the room.
After a few excruciating minutes, Timmy could take it no longer and he peered through his barely open eyelids. There was his father’s staring down into little Timmy’s eyes, a strange, twisted grin in full bloom on his face.
This time Timmy did scream. But it was not the scream that he had intended. It was not the loud, resounding cry of the triumphant hunter, nor was it even the high-pitched wail of the prey, singing its last death song in honor of its race. No, it was not one of these noble sounds that issued from little Timmy’s frightened throat, it was an almost imperceptible whimper. Not even that, it was more like a squeak, a hopeless, defeated sound that was dead before it even had a chance at life. Little Timmy just lay there in shock, looking into the grinning, almost leering, face of his father.
