The Calendars

There are calendars in our house
So we know which day it is.
Station day or home day?
Upstairs, in our bedroom,
Each number is color coded
On the calendar every three days
In three different shades:
Red, blue, green.
A shift, B shift, C shift.
My husband has been on A shift
Since we met six years ago.
He was promoted to Engineer
Over the summertime,
And transferred to a new station,
But he’s still on A shift.

Downstairs, the freezer door
Holds a dry erase board.
We wipe it clean each month,
Carefully writing the days
In black, always sure to add
The little red F’s in the bottom,
Right-hand corners.
Station day or home day?

Those red numbers and letter
Affect me as they do him.
So many questions are answered
By looking at the calendar.
Station day or home day?
Will I eat alone for breakfast,
Lunch and dinner, huddled
In the corner near the sink
Because the table is too big
To bare sit at alone?
Will my conversations go
Unanswered by the pets
Who keep me company?
Will I call my mom too much
To hear another voice
Who just gets it? Understands?
Will I sleep alone in the middle
Of a queen-sized empty bed?
Maybe, today is a station day.

My cell phone is life,
In multiple ways.
If it rings from a call or text,
It means he’s alive and ok, probably bored,
Cause it’s a slow day, this station day.
A quiet phone means calls,
The ones made over the radio
By a dispatcher requesting Engine 201,
Assistance needed. He’s driving.
To structure fires, wrecks with entrapment,
Brush fires, medical aid needed,
The list goes on and on.
So do my worries.

When I meet new people,
Who ask me what I do,
I’m not sure how to answer them.
I attend College of Charleston, yes,
And I work part time at a pizza place, yes,
But the biggest responsibility I have,
I signed on for in May.
I am a firefighter’s wife.
I depend on the calendar.
Station day or home day?

Station one sometimes gets lonely,
He tells me this.
It’s a small station, manned
Only by a handful of firefighters.
They each have separate living space,
Which is a big deal.
They all eat at the same time
And watch movies together at night,
But during the day, on a slow day,
They part ways to entertain themselves.
We talk for a bit, about the past
And our future, and I don’t mind it so much,
The station days.

I never thought I’d be married
And in college at the same time.
The plan, my plan,
Always was college first,
Then a good, well-paying job,
Marriage and family.
So I did it a little out of order.
So what? Plans change.
I am so very proud of us,
Of my husband and all he does,
Of all the support I didn’t know
That I had to give.
Of all we manage to squeeze
Into our lives, onto our calendars.
We live our lives by the calendars,
The shaded numbers and red f’s.
I forget, is tomorrow
A station day or a home day?