Reverse Polarity

Welding class was boring as usual. The basement of the union hall was filled with smoke and disillusioned apprentices, half of which where laid off. Our green jackets, long leather gloves, and face shields made us look like intergalactic visitors. Some of us felt the part more than others.

My phone rang during one of my contemplative homesick breaks in between pointless steel seams. It was Aaron, a kid in my class four years my junior. The runt of the litter, but a third-generation pipe welder. The one who would unabashedly make pipe his life. His long, long life. I listened for the back-country twang in his voice but didn't hear it. He sounded like he was dying.

"What's up, Aaron?"
"You there?"
"Did you leave already?"
"No, I'm upstairs laying down."
"Oh."
"Can you come take me to the hospital?"
"What's wrong?"
"I'm dizzy. I threw up and I can barely walk."
"Be right there."

I told the welding instructors about the situation while en route to my ill brother. Their concern was apparent, though somehow different from mine. Slightly distant. Almost sixty, and therefore mature. The three of us went up the steps. He was laying there in the lobby of the hall sprawled out like a wet noodle on that uncomfortable couch. What little color he usually had in his cheeks was gone. His voice shook when he spoke. I let the men do the talking, then I went downstairs to turn off my welding machine and grab my jacket.

When I returned the mood seemed different. It was an atmosphere of waiting apprehension.

"You ready, Aaron?" I pulled my keys from my pocket.
"You're not taking him anywhere," one of the old men said.
The tone used was almost accusatory. I was confused.
"God forbid something happens on the way."
"Yeah, you're right," I replied as I put my keys away.
"We called an ambulance."
I went back downstairs, but didn't turn my welding machine back on.
I was done for the night.

Twenty minutes later we cleaned up and went home. Aaron and the welding instructors were still waiting for the ambulance in the lobby. Good thing it wasn't an emergency. As I took that familiar winding road like a seasoned veteran the ambulance went by in the opposite lane, rollers still and no sirens. I could've had him there sooner. It was a chance I was willing to take for a friend who asked the favor. I guess that's the difference between a twenty-five-year-old and a man double his age, though: the willingness to risk a lawsuit.

I heard from Aaron the next day. The doctors told him he had a high fever and his blood pressure was low when he finally arrived at the hospital, but they treated him effectively. He thanked me for trying to spare him the five-minute, thousand-dollar ambulance ride. We laughed in spite of our youthful ignorance, silently applauding our foolish priorities.

If I ever ask you to take me to the emergency room, and I won't, just do it.