Fireman’s Descent

Alhambra, CA

Fall 2012

His Christian name was Emmett. A good guy, this one. His momma lived in her home of six decades in Alhambra with full-time live-in help. He cared deeply about his momma and something needed amending at home, the task in need of mending pertained to bees. An inchoate beehive had burgeoned forth under the second floor eave overlooking the patio. What if mom were to get stung, he worried? So, with an important impetus as this he made a special trip to spend time with her, enjoy a light lunch of soup and engage in the obligatory conversation one must make with an aging parent before getting down to it. But get down to it he would, and did.

His friend from next door, Tim, saw Emmett’s car parked out front and dropped by for a hello. Having exchanged pleasantries the two boys went to the garage for the extended ladder and the recently purchased bee spray. With Tim holding the ladder at ground level from the patio Emmett began his ascent.

He was not afraid of the bees, he was also not overtly agile, so he was deliberate with each move. Having attained adequate altitude and proximity to the hive he drew up the chemical spray and was poised for his assault. One final deep breath, he held it and pull the trigger. That’s the last thing he remembered until awakening in a hospital bed.

“Good thing you’re not allergic to bees because you’d be dead. More than 30 stings,” his doctor said without so much as a courtesy chuckle to lighten the mood.

What exactly transpired during the black out, you’ll ask. To answer that we’ll start with Tim’s account.

Emmett was immediately enveloped in a cloud of angry bees. Then the amazing thing, he did a fireman’s descent from the second floor. As his blackout commenced, he dropped the bee spray, placed both hands on the outside rails of the ladder, did the same with his feet and performed an immaculate ladder descent that would have made any veteran firefighter proud.

His body, under the influence of stress-induced auto pilot, he ran inside, went upstairs to the shower, brushing bees out of his hair and shedding clothes along the way. Still getting stung but with decreased frequency. The bees’ counter-attack finally, and thankfully, petered out as the shower concluded. Without a change of clothes, still on autopilot, he shook out spent bee carcasses from his trousers, shirt and, yes, even his grungers, and put his clothes back on.

Tim’s dad, also next door, arrived at the front door as Emmett, still in a bee-sting induced stupor, came downstairs.

“Emmett, are you OK,” he asked with eyes wide open with concern.

“I’m fine,” responded Em calmly as he promptly passed out, collapsed into his neighbor’s arms who caught him, then issued a full dose of barf demolishing his neighbor’s trousers and shirt. The ambulance had by now pulled up in front of the house, paramedics hustled in to assist and drove Emmett to the hospital.

Emmett has, since the incident, developed an allergic reaction to bees. Bee-related emergencies have arisen twice since the fireman’s’ descent. On the bright side, the budding beehive was defeated.

[Based on a real life experience of my pal.]