Everyone Has Paver Ants: 9/11
I was an exterminator in Long Island, New York this summer. I worked from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. killing bugs in people’s homes, and got pretty good at talking to people about their lives because that’s what got tips. On August 18th at about 7:30 I began servicing a man’s home. Water misted through the golden rays of evening light, as he meticulously washed his maroon Pontiac GTO. His house was a routine service. Paver ants were his biggest issue, and everyone on Long Island has paver ants. He apologized profusely that his garage was a mess as I sprayed the baseboards, and explained that he was adding a ladder to the attic that weekend – hence the disarray. He had friends coming the next morning to help with the project. I said, “good that you have friends who will come help.” He laughed and told me that he had been a firefighter in Hell’s Kitchen for many years. “I have a lot of brothers who will come help,” he quipped with pride.
I began asking about his career as a firefighter. He is 59 and just starting a family. He had seen too many families lose a member to his occupation to justify it earlier in life. He missed Queens, but the move to Long Island was more conducive to raising his two small children. He was especially proud of the school district that he and his wife had chosen. He showed me his firefighter necklace on a gold chain around his neck and beamed.
“So you were in the city during 9/11,” I said, realizing suddenly. He smiled, but it was a different smile than the one he boosted a moment before. “Yeah, it was very interesting,” he began. “I had switched shifts with a guy that day so I saw it happen from my apartment.” He told me how he had left his ID in the station so he had to ride his bike into the city and convince the security that he was a firefighter, because they weren’t letting people in. He was part of the many crews of people that arrived first after the attack. We stood quietly in the setting sun. He was obviously lost in the memory. After a moment he looked up at me with damp eyes and said simply, “I lost my whole company that day.” I said nothing but understood what brothers coming to install a ladder and starting a family at 59 really meant.
Back in my truck I pulled onto a side street and sat in emotional science. I called one of my best friends in Salt Lake who is in the beginning years of his firefighting career, and left him a message. I wanted to let him know that I was proud of him.
Mark Bell is studying psychology. Cantankerous and fussy.