Love in the Fire: Revisited

He stood there, looking at what was left of the building that held all his memories. His love, his dreams, his wishes...

His girl.

Her.

All gone, in that one fire.

His hands ran through the remains of the charred pillars, and he sighed. Shrapnels of charcoal crackled every time his feet landed on them. He never wanted to return to that place, but he had to. His memories haunted him. The memories, like a demon, refused to leave his soul and body.

He taught he got over her. He thought now that she's gone, he's free to walk a free man again in this world. He thought wrongly. Not only is he not a free man, as a matter of fact, he is instead a slave, a prisoner, a captive of his very own actions. It should be She that hurt him when she left for the 2 other boys, but now he realized that he allowed himself to be hurt and now he's bearing the consequences of his actions.

So much so until he could never forgive himself. So much so until he could never stay in the same college to finish his academic studies. So much so until he spent 2 months alone, locked himself up in his own room to think things through. So much so until he lost what made him complete.

Kneeling down in the midst of the ruins of her home, he closed his eyes. Crystal beads rolled slowly but steadily from the corners of his eyes. Wincing like in pain, he clutched his fist and slammed it into the ground. An outburst of frustration, disappointment, anger, unforgiveness, bitterness....

"God, why?"

Perhaps God heard his cries, perhaps God felt his pain. A drizzle followed, then a downpour of refreshing water from the skies. The heavens opening up to wash his tears away from his face. He allowed the raindrops to gently hit his face, and feeling every drop falling onto his cheeks, his fist unclenched, his fury slowly left him. He opened his eyes, and the first object that came to his sight forced him to close his eyes again.

It was a little rose plant. He refused to look at it. The rose that was supposed to save his love from the very fire itself. It all was a myth, but what was it doing there?

And again, his tears fell. The rain still fell on his face, mixing the rain and his tears together, leaving him wondering which is which.

Son, why are you running away? A still small voice, from the depths of his heart surfaced. He knew that voice. It was the same voice that told him to approach her when she was sitting all by herself on the table.

Why are you still running? He ran to the fire academy after that 2 months of depression to be a firefighter. If I can't run away from my fears, then it's time to face it, he told himself. Probably fighting the fire would get his mind off her for good. It never did. Every single moment he spent training and every subsequent day he spent putting out the fire, it all only reminded him of her even more.

Why are you still here then? Now he noticed that something has changed. The tone of that voice now carried a sense of urgency. People need you. Get up, and go! He quickly got up from where he knelt down and swiftly jogged to his car. Looking into his pager, he saw a message that sent chills down his spine.

In no time, he was in the next fire-engine, zipping down the busy streets of Manhattan. Zipping up his attire without saying much, the captain briefed the people all about the situation in New York.

"It's a terrorist attack soldiers," the captain said solemnly. "World Trade Center was slammed by 2 planes say 15 minutes ago. It's hell over there, but there are people still stuck in there."

"Rule is simple. Forget about the fire, just move in and save those who are trapped there."

The fire engine jerk to a halt, and the firemen stopped in their tracks unlike the usual jump-off-the-truck-and-grab-a-hose-and-run-to-the-fire stance. Only then did the captain's words actually sank into them. All hell is lo0se over there. The twin towers were sputtering with smoke from both towers. People were running away from the towers. Some were looking in horror, some were videotaping the whole unfurling scene.

And as usual, the fear resurfaced in his memories. The Fire. But it wasn't the time now to mop over his loss. There was a greater fear right in front of him. A bigger fire that he has to put out.

He grabbed an axe, put on his helmet, loaded his oxygen mask and ran towards the building. The crowd made a little pathway for the firemen to pass by. As they jogged into the towers, the crowds on both ends were teary and broken. An American defeated, the hope loss, and amidst the catastrophe that is unfolding before their very own eyes, a group of brave men rise to that challenge.

"God bless you son! God bless you!" One old lady cried out with tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Be careful!" Another one chanted.

Some stretched out their hands to touch the firemen. Maybe they were blessing them with their prayers of protection. The firemen were now, the last hope of the Americans. The last hope of survival not only for the people who were left caught in the building, but for the nation as a whole. That hope was still there despite what was going on.

And as he ran through the crowd, seeing how people looked up to him as a symbol of survival and hope, he wondered then, where is my hope?

He and his colleagues slammed on every door that was locked and eventually found the staircase. People were dashing out of the stairway and headed for the door. "To the roads people. To the roads!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Then they ran up the 75 flights of stairs. It was a painful run, especially for him. Every step was heavy. Every floor hurt him.

Every fire he tried to put out, he remembered about the love he tried to rekindle, the relationship he worked so hard to save, the fire he so hard tried to keep alive.

Suddenly the building trembled. Tremors sent cement dust falling from the ceilings. The firemen grabbed the railings of the stairways. The worst that all firemen feared was now a reality.

"This building's coming down people. Abort mission, get the hell out of here!" The captain yelled. They all quickly turned back and ran down the stairs.

Only he stood there, in his steps. Watching his fellow colleagues brush past him, he knew that the only way to overcome his fear and his pain, is to face it. But differently. He ran up, opposite the direction of his colleagues, despite the yells of his friends to follow him back, despite the many calls of his captain from the radio to get out, he pursued. He continued to run up the stairs, smash down every single door that was lock, and allowed at least a couple more trapped people out and running down to safety.

The oxygen mask hid his tears. But it wasn't tears of pain anymore, it was tears of joy. He knew, that it wasn't the fire that scared him, it was the significance of what a fire meant to him. He should have realized from the very start, that it wasn't just the memories of saving her and his rose from the fire that he kept reliving, but it was the roses of others that he saved in every fire.

For the years that he stayed on even when every fire hurt him to the core of his heart, he hung on and pressed on, despite not knowing why he did it for, despite that even if he did it to really run away from her, he still did it. For those years that he never gave up, he not only saved people, he saved second chances, opportunities, or perhaps, another chance to love. Now he knew what he was doing. Seconds away from his last moments on earth, he smiled. Been such a long time since he last smiled, and there in the shaking building spewing smoke and dust on the verge of collapsing, he felt an overwhelming satisfaction and meaning in life. Finally able to understand what God had made him to be, he was ready to leave this world.

At that point of time, where the world was watching with horror and shock, as the buildings came down one after another, it was there, as though time had stopped for him to overcome his grief and savour every last joyful moment he finally reclaimed, it was that very point of time where he became a free man. A man that is, at last, free from the hurts of his past, the tears of his heart, and the pain of saving his loved one. He never turned back to the ground, he never moved away from the fire. He stayed in there, he challenged it, and he became free.

And later the week, as people recovered the bodies from the wrecks and ruins, some said that they found a fireman, with an axe in one hand, and a red rose in the other. They said that rose was most likely to be fresh at the time he died. Some said it was a gift from God, one girl knew remembered a rose was once saved from a fire not too long ago, was kept and left for her. For the second and last time, he saved a rose from the fire, with his life. It was a rose that will never die or fade, an everlasting beauty that will never wilt or dry up. It was not for her, but for himself.