Wildfire

Chapter 9: Smokey

Wednesday, June 9th

"So, what the hell is wrong with you?"

The voice interrupted my thoughts on the frat party, (where Lisa gave me the flyer) transporting my brain back to reality. My new job, that was hours and hours away from home. From the bed, I moved next to the transceiver and pressed the red button. "I'm sorry?"

"What made you come all the way over to Oregon anyway? Got any issues back home?"

"Uh, no offense but, asking that sort of question at work is kind of, you know, anti-moral?"

"Don't tell me what is anti-moral to me, Heath." The lonely watchtower in the distance glowed underneath the clear blue sky. Was Mark sitting too? Or was he laying down with his transceiver in hand, killing time with some nanogram on the side? "In case you missed the memo, this isn't a nine to five shift in a dingy cubicle. Here you have your workspace and your home all in one. And it is not a comfortable, nor a pleasurable trip for someone your age. So, what's the catch? Why are you here?"

Mark did not offend me, but his line of candid questions implied that it would take us time to get comfortable with each other. Mark is admirable, but as with every supervisor, they must exhibit a level of dominance in the work field.

"Does the phrase, because I was looking for a job and this was the only available count?" My eyes squinted toward the shadowy watchtower. I grabbed the binoculars, but it only made the shadow enlarge and blurry. There was a movement from the inside, but nothing that resembled another human being.

Mark made a small grunting, thoughtful noise.

"Could be. Listen, Heath, not everyone is courageous enough to leave behind their families, home, friends, whatever, to work among the woods protecting others- especially for a kid like you. It might be just another summer job for you, but to me," He trailed off before calmly affirming. "It's therapy. And I take therapy seriously."

His voice was smooth. There was a passion for what he does, and it is easy to see why. I didn't bother looking back when I decided to apply for this position.

My head turned to one side, setting the binoculars in a thump.  "I have a girlfriend back in California."

"Oh." A minute of silence went by before Mark spoke again. "Is that the reason you came here?"

"What? No— I mean, no. You said families, and I'm telling you about her, Jennifer."

"What about your parents?" He asked wholeheartily. Mark had a comforting, deep voice that I could listen to all summer.

"It's, uh, complicated."

"Are they strict?"

"Christian." I sighed. "Close-minded. Same thing."

"Must be stressful to be home, huh?" I recognized a rhetorical question when I heard one, and Mark implied like he knows this situation all too well. "At least you got Jennifer."

I did not respond to that. Instead, I walked toward the balcony that offered an infinite view of mama nature in her glory. The quiet sound of the breeze brushed the trees, leaving behind a trail of fresh pine for me to breathe in.

My duties (like Mark said yesterday) was to report anything that represented a fire hazard and prevent it. Only you can prevent wildfires, that bastard bear would say on a commercial about forest fires. Mark never told me that stupid line, which was a relief.

A job like this leaves little room for entertainment, so I tore a page from my notepad and wrote my everyday routine. A planner added comfort and a sense of a habit that I had accustomed to since my parents read Supervision in Early Childhood Education.

6 am =Jogging/river bath & breakfast 7 am =Read/finish a page of sudoku or nanogram.

As well as hiking to new areas to mark the map, get supplies if required and take photographs. At night I would get my head stuck on my Gameboy (I brought some spare batteries to keep it alive for a month or two.) or talk to Mark— if he softens his hermit shell.

Not losing my sanity, should've been included as well. I had no interaction other than Mark, and I am barely dealing. Thankfully, the uneasiness I felt the first day he spoke slowly panned out. He is still rough around the edges, but I'm sure we'll get along with time.

As soon as I wrote in capital letters THE LONE SURVIVOR ITINERARY I pinned the note on the corkboard next to the Smokey the Bear poster.

Thursday, June 10th

After a long day tracing ground, I heard the sound of my transceiver. "I see you're not at your tower."

This comment coming from someone else would have been unnerving, but it was only Mark. I passed the unmistakable smell of old urine and climbed the stairs to my lookout.

"Can you see me?" My head bobbed to the side.

"I see, a white teenager with a brown uniform and khakis reaching for the handlebars."

"Those must be some expensive binoculars. Mine makes birdwatching difficult."

"Birdwatching, sure." He extended the sure to a doubtful pitch. "The only way you'll get to see me is with a telescope, which is what I'm using right now."

"How come my tower isn't equipped with one?"

Mark made a pitiful Aw sound. "Shucks, because you're not elite enough, Heath. Next time, aim for the fire lookout chief supervisor, and you'll receive a telescope to spy all you want. Even the campers."

I slowly climbed up the creaky planks, with my shadow ahead of me. "You ever heard the term, cabin fever?"

"We are very well acquainted! So well, so, that I can't even stand him sometimes."

"How do you handle?"

"You need to see things from a different perspective to appreciate. Like bedsheets, you got to change them once every week to keep off the bed bugs."

"That was, oddly philosophical." I'd no idea what he just said. Maybe I have already lost my social skills, or maybe I pushed my head relentlessly to process Mark's words.

"My granddad used to recite stuff like that. He was a wise man with a short fuse. Everyone loved and loathed him."

I sat on the top step, contemplating the sea of pines and the now orange sky. It wouldn't be long before turning into my claustrophobic cottage, gnaw on some canned vegetables and hopefully get some shuteye.

"Sounds like my grandparents."

"How so?"

"I love them to death, I really do. But they can be so overcritical that being with them is just distasteful." A wave of guilt consumed me before vanishing in less than a second. Why worry? I was miles and miles away from California. My family had no idea who am I talking to or where am I exactly. All they knew was that I left. "Well, my grandmother is judgy. My grandfather..." Had dementia, which caused him to switch. Is what I would say, but why would Mark care. "He's good."

"Well, that's family to you. But look at it this way, you'll be out here for three months. That seems like more than enough time to reflect on any bearings you carry." I smiled. It was like Mark just read my mind.  "You are safe out here, believe it or not."

"Good thing you're here, otherwise, I would have gone talking to the rocks already."

A gentle laugh from the other side, it helped me relax and sink even further into the outside world.

"Let me know if anything comes up."

"Will do."

It was only Thursday, at least I think it was. At first, it started to feel like Sunday. Boring, mundane, peaceful. But Mark somehow made this job all the more worthwhile, a legitimate reason to be bored.

The sun leisurely ducked behind the pines. I grasped the transceiver, combating the urge to call Mark again and hear his voice.