The First Call (another chapter)

This is another chapter of my book Men of the Skull.  It tells the story of my first rescue squad call, and first (no funeral) dead body.

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Chapter 2.104 First Call

            In this book, I’ve done the due diligence and made sure that all dates are accurate, etc.  However, I’ve obscured this date intentionally.  Do I know the exact date?  Yes, and it’s around this time.  And I still mark it quietly. 

            Some things you never forget.

Chapter 2.104 First Call

January 12, 1988 LCB says fraternities liable for serving minors

The new pledges had already gone home as study hours were over.  I pulled one of the big black leather chairs over to face the fireplace.  I was feeling a bit, well, depressed.  Melancholy.

            I had with me a bottle of Southern Comfort, from which I sipped as I stared into the fire, thinking.

One of the new pledges, Ty, came over and stood aside me next to the chair.  He was a surfer dude with long black hair

            He looked at me and said, "Hey Lens, like, are you okay?"

            I looked up at him without moving my head, and said "just a bad memory."

            "Want to talk about it? he asked.

            “Well, it's kind of gory. It was my first Rescue Squad calls as an EMT."

            Oh, that’s right- you're an EMT," he said.

             "Yeah, still am," I said, offering a swig from my bottle.  "This is back in 84 and today was the anniversary of that call."

            "Okay, tell me about it," he said.

Rescue Squad truck, 1984

            I smiled grimly.  "Well, it was a motorcycle accident involving three cars.  Morning commute.  And without getting into all the gory details, the biker, who had survived three tours of Vietnam, was knocked off his bike, hit by a second car, and dragged over a hundred yards face-down on the highway by the third.  We all hoped the impact killed him before that."  I took a swig and handed the bottle back to him.

Accident diagram

            "And we got there, the rescue squad, and after checking the other drivers for injuries, the captain told me to go over with a body bag to the biker, and to roll him into the bag, as a doctor had already declared him dead.  Don't ask me where the doctor came from. Didn’t see him."    

             Swig.

             "I said sure, no problem.  So, I...  I followed the long blood and shit streak up the highway to the body.  And there he was faced down- my first dead body.  No helmet, dark hair matted with blood.  Open leather jacket with Harley Davidson and Vietnam veteran patches.  Uh, blue jeans. Boots.

Swig.

            You want any more?  I asked.

            "Nah, got more studying to do.  Thanks though."

             "So, I set out the body bag, knelt down, and I put my one hand under his head and the other under his stomach to roll him into the bag.”  

I moved my hands to show him what I did.  The bottle sloshed in my grip. 

             “And I did.  Most of the intestines, they stuck… to the ground or to my hand, and his brain stuck… to my other hand.  Leaving a trail of entrails between that bag and the highway.  I still remember it as clear as day.  The brain was sticky in my hand.  Whole face and chest rubbed  away.  I also remember the smell.  The smell…”

             Finished the bottle.

"So, after I finish throwing up all over the side of the road, the captain, Don, put his hand on my shoulder and says, 'welcome to the rescue squad."

 

             Ty stood there for a moment as I stared into the fire, then looked at the empty bottle.

             "I'm sorry" he whispered. 

             "Yeah thanks.  Anyway, that was four years ago today.  Never even learned the guy's name."       

            I kept staring into the fire.  I have no idea how long he stood there before leaving.

            I didn’t cry. 

A Man doesn’t cry. 

Just… stared into the cleansing flames.

 

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            Ty would become one of my best friends in the house.  He listened.  Cared.  About everybody.  He was among my biggest supporters when I came out as Sophie.  He became a college philosophy professor and youth baseball coach in California.

            He died in a surfing accident onelection day 2024.  Hundreds came to his memorial vigil on the beach where it happened.  There’s a plaque in Skull house now, dedicated to him.  On it is quote from Vonnegut, but encapsulated Ty perfectly: “And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’”

A singular honor for a great man.

 

Halloween 2008

I don't think I ever wrote about this night for my blog.  So, I wrote this for my book, Men of the Skull, and, well, here it is. 

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            It’s an ancient cliché that the smallest events, even a single word, can change a life. In this case, an off-hand suggestion over dinner.

 

Interlude 4: Forty-Two (Halloween 2008)

Friday, October 24^th, 2008 World Series tickets a hot commodity

The past year had been very hard— what with a newborn and all.  For my wife’s fortieth birthday, she wanted a weekend at Bethany Beach, Delaware, at the Addy Sea, a beautiful, haunted bed and breakfast.  We left our daughter—with her first birthday just days away—with my parents, who’d retired nearby.

That night, we went south a few miles to Ocean City, Maryland, for dinner at the Blue Ox.  With Halloween just days away, the subject turned to costumes.  We both loved Halloween and often did couples’ costumes.  But “we went as Lois and Clark last year,” I mentioned.  As in Lois Lane and Clark Kent. 

“Yes,” she said, “but this year, you’re Lois.”

At that moment, our meal arrived, and the server refilled our wine glasses, which ended the discussion for the moment.

Me as Lois?  I hadn’t dressed as a woman in twenty-five years.  I had shut down and sealed off that “freakish” side of my life.  Should I do it again?  Could I?  I was now much taller and heavier—testosterone poisoning does that, as does age.

 

What was I thinking?  Twenty-five years… no problem.  One night in a skirt and out.  No biggie.

After all, I was a MAN.

 

Friday, October 31st, 2008.  Parade for the Champs

Halloween

It had been a busy work week.  I asked a bookstore co-worker, Elizabeth, to help.  She showed me a memoir by a famous drag queen called I Am Not Myself These Days.  Brilliant book.  I figured she wouldn’t be weirded out by my request.  She wasn’t.

In fact, Elizabeth was very enthusiastic—too enthusiastic.  She helped me choose an outfit at a store specializing in plus sizes.  I found a wig and shoes online.  The memoir suggested using birdseed in cut pantyhose to fill the purple and black lace bra (it was on sale- 42 D).  An old friend who worked at a salon said she’d do my makeup.  Oh, and she invited us both to her Halloween party.  So, we had someplace to go—but we’d have to bring the baby.

 

No problem.

 

Everything was ready.  What could go wrong?

 

Halloween night.  I showered, shaved my legs, and after a quick nap dressed up in the girl stuff in the bathroom.  With me, I had the Superman T-shirt my wife would need.  She already wore glasses, as do I.  But that night I wore contacts.

On a whim, I brought my digital camera into the bathroom. I figured I’d take a picture of her reaction upon seeing me.  I came out of the bathroom armed with a camera in one hand and a Superman T-shirt in the other.  I adjusted the camera, my hand bouncing off the birdseed breast as I did.  She was in the kitchen, maybe thirty feet away.  She turned and saw me.

CLICK.

The look on her face was utter disgust- a stark contrast to her smiling jack o’lantern t-shirt.  I stumbled over in heels and tossed her the t-shirt.  “I’m ready.  Your turn.”

She looked confused, still disgusted.  She had forgotten all about her idea and thought we were staying home with our baby daughter.  So, I explained her idea back to her—and that our friend would do my makeup at the party.  She reluctantly agreed.

Fast forward: the party, me going into the bookstore where no one recognized me (except Elizabeth) which set me a bit at ease, a bunch of us later at a local sports bar where one of my female co-workers grabbed my fake boobs, curious how they felt.  Lots of people in the bar laughed. 

At the book store

Laughing while wearing a constricting bra and waist cincher was a new experience.  Also, I got some looks when I went to the men’s room.

Driving home, I realized that I had a wonderful time that night.

But something felt… different.  Strange.

I looked down at my sweater covered, birdseed breasts and realized what it was.

I felt at peace. 

The anger and depression I’d carried for decades was gone.  Missing.

I knew then that I had made a major mistake.  I was in big trouble.  The metaphorical wall I had built to contain my feminine self, the one that had held strong and firm for twenty-five years, had been breached.

 

I felt right.

 

God help me.

 

 

 

I still have that purple bra, and even wear it occasionally, despite it being a cup size too small.  Now it’s me, not birdseed, filling out the cups.  Funny how things change.