FIGHT: Volume 1

“True love isn’t the same as love at first sight. It’s not your first love. It’s the one you can stand with in a storm. It’s having them see everything you lack and hearing you’re worthy. It’s fighting for them when they don’t know how. It’s the one who lights the darkest parts of your soul on fire so life can bloom again. It’s hearing those three words and truly understanding their meaning.”

“Still with me?” he asks.

“Always.”

This is home. This is true love. This is living.
“Thank you.” He chuckles.
“For what?”
“For fighting for me.”

“What are you doing before you start ski patrol?” King asks.
“Probably blow all my hazard pay at the strip club. Then maybe steal a car… cook meth… rob a bank...” I count on my fingers.
“So, the usual?”
“Everybody’s got their hobbies…” I shrug.

“Humans just like patterns. They find comfort in coincidences that are mistaken for proof of a higher power.”

“If the rig’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’,” he jokes, his voice hollow.

Everything we do is a coordinated effort, and you give it your all. There is no work-life balance here. It’s all or nothing.

Every year, less and less fire positions are filled. Less wildland firefighters equal less fire suppression and preventative measures. But hey, recruiting is a bitch when the perks include sleeping on the ground, spending time away from family for weeks or months at a time, pushing your body to the absolute limit day after day, and risking your life and safety in inhospitable terrain—all for the same base pay as a Starbucks barista.

It lends itself to the old stereotype: nurses and firefighters go together like tequila and poor choices. We’re a match made in hell.