Frank had always wanted to be a paramedic. Between chronic pains, EBV, and utter clumsiness, Frank had had too many ambulance rides to count. So he wanted to help other people when they were hurt. He did a good job, too. Usually he sat in the back with the patients while his partner Bob drove. He joked with them, held their hand, played music, and generally tried to be a buffer to the situation. Today saw a hard call. A teenager on their bathroom floor, unconscious with meds on the floor next to them. Bob and Frank barely managed to pump their stomach in time. Now, the kid was pale and tight lipped on the stretcher, Bob speeding back to the hospital. Frank was quickly filling out charts and trying to speak to the kid. “Do you want me to play music?” He asks, to no avail. He sighs internally and goes back to the chart. “What’s your name? I gotta put your name in here.”