Next Tuesday is the season finale of ... *gulp.... *tear... Rescue Me. I place full blame on Denis Leary for the 'not so hot' grades I received on my finals, due to the fact that I discovered the show toward the end of the semester and laughed, cried, yelled (well, in my head), at the brilliant piece of modern art dancing before my big blue engaged eyes. That's right, 4 whole seasons! But, the only problem was that I watched all of these seasons in a matter of two days.
I wish I had the power of a siren. To have people stop and pay attention to me, no matter what they are busying themselves with during their repetitive blue-collar days. On second thought, that could become very dangerous. Maybe I just want to be the person behind the siren, who makes it crank and soar through the air, causing alert and a hint of thrill in people's eyes. I wonder how fast my heart would beat while racing to save a life while risking mine. I guess when you arrive at the scene instinct takes over. But what about when you are making your way over there? How many times have heroes asked God to care for their families if they don't return home that day? Or an ambulance driver's life may not be in danger, but they don't always beat God to the chase; they breathe death. What do heroes see at that very exact moment before their bodies sink into wonderland?
And who is a hero? Maybe someone who saves a life physically, and someone who saves a once weak and empty soul.
Someone who breathes life. Someone who rescues me.
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