Crash: Love in Scrubs

1. Sametra

“ D amn, that was close,” I said pulling off my helmet, sweat cooling under my gear as me and my friend Halo stared at what used to be somebody’s living room.

The fire was out, but adrenaline still buzzed through my veins.

I lived for this. The rush of saving the structure was already giving way to something heavier.

This was the part I hated about my job. When the reality of what this family had lost crept in, I felt the loss just as they did.

“At least we got it contained before it spread to the neighbors,” Halo said, yanking off her gloves. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah, could’ve been worse.” It was a phrase we always said. But standing here looking at the destruction, knowing some family was about to come home to find their life turned upside down, it never felt like enough. It felt like this was worse.

Poor family.

“You good?” Halo asked, watching me check my phone again. I’d been doing that shit all day, waiting on that acceptance email. The wait was starting to wear my nerves thin. But I was remaining patient, maybe this meant I would be getting good news. Good things came to those who waited. Right?

Samaj: I’m good.

No emoji. No “love you.” No kiss my ass. Just those two cold-ass words as a text back from the person I gave birth to.

My jaw clenched.

Halo caught the shift in my expression before I could even hide it. “Samaj?”

I nodded, she already knew how bad he’d been giving me the blues trying to grow up too fast. “I texted to check on him. That was the response.”

“Whew. Teenagers,” she muttered, dragging her jacket off one shoulder. “Y’all good?”

I shrugged because what did good even mean these days. “He’s seventeen. I’m annoying. He thinks he’s smarter than me, and I’m trying not to pop him every other day. So, you know. Just vibes.”

She smiled, but it was soft. “Sis, he loves you, though. You know that, right?”

“Some days I feel it. Some days I feel like his warden. The delicate balance has alluded me. I don’t remember doing this to my dad.”

Me: Dinner at Sheena’s tonight. Be ready. Please don’t make me call you twice.

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.

Typical.

“I don’t know,” I said, sliding my phone back in my pocket. “Lately, he’s been carrying something. Shoulders all heavy, attitude on a hundred. I swear he went from my sweet little boy to some grown man with secrets overnight.”

“He’s growing,” Halo offered gently. “And you’re doing your best, Mi. Hell, better than most because I’ll tell you right now at eighteen, hell even twenty, I was not raising no baby, you catch my drift? No disrespect.”

I nodded, but I didn’t feel reassured. Just tired.

But I was slowly coming to terms that it was time to start living for myself.

It was why I’d been checking my emails all day.

I had pulled the trigger on applying to get back in school.

Granted, it wasn’t my Master’s, but it was a start into my psychology degree and a push in the right direction.

Plus, Samaj would be leaving for college soon, and I’d have more than enough time on my hands.

I loved being a firefighter, had been doing it for ten years, and would continue until I walked across the stage, but now my mind had shifted to all the things I’d missed being a single mom, actually a single sports mom. My life consisted of snack weeks, practice, and travel ball for years.

“Aye, Lieutenant!” Moya called out. “You coming back for spaghetti night?”

“Nah, I’m done after this. Got family dinner.” I checked my phone again. “Y’all be careful out there. It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

“Good luck with that,” somebody laughed.

“Always in mama mode,” Moya commented before I pushed him a little.

“Always,” I said with a laugh.

By the time I made it home, the rain had started. Again. I peeled off my turnout gear and stepped into my role as Samaj’s mama, part disciplinarian, part therapist, part punching bag, depending on the day. Verbal of course. Samaj would never lay a hand on me.

“Samaj, come on or we’re gonna be late,” I called out from the foyer, snatching my keys from the hook near the door.

The metal was cold against my palm; still wet from the rain I’d walked through coming in.

I’d been home for an hour, which had given me just enough time to shower, brush my teeth, and change out of my uniform into something comfortable for dinner tonight.

A few spritz of my Oakcha Sweet Addict perfume, a swipe of lip gloss, and I was ready to walk out the door in a simple pair of ripped jeans and a cropped hoodie. I gave myself another once-over in the mirror when I realized there was still no Samaj.

“Son of mine if you make us late, you’ll never forget it. No practice for a week. I want that phone...” I continued to rant, heading toward his room when he finally appeared in the hallway, and I nearly walked straight into his chest.

“I’m coming, Ma, dang!” he said, looking down at me with that mixture of annoyance and amusement that only teenagers could master.

Our dinner with my daddy and stepmom, Lorana, at Sheena’s was non-negotiable.

It kept me grounded and connected to those who mattered most. Laughing and catching up with them reminded me who I was when I wasn’t suited up, running toward what everyone else was running from.

I was a true adrenaline junkie who lived for the rush of saving lives, or maybe just the rush.

But time with them, I was just Sametra, not Lieutenant Andrews barking orders and making life-or-death decisions. I needed nights like tonight.

I exhaled hard, closed my eyes, and counted to three.

I knew the no-practice threat would do the trick. Baseball wasn’t just Samaj’s sport; it was his life, his future, his shot at a scholarship and hopefully the major leagues. Hopefully, to play for the Colorado Storm, missing even one practice would kill him, and he knew I meant business.

“Lord, give me strength,” I mumbled, shuffling around him and heading back toward the door. Our home was humble, not overly large, but there was more than enough space for he and I. Plus, it was mine. So, it didn’t take us long to reach the front.

“Ma, you too tiny to be doing all that yelling,” he mumbled, patting my head.

Daily, I was being reminded that dealing with teenagers was like handling Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; you never knew which version you were gonna get. But he was skating real close to getting popped in the mouth and reminded exactly who was the boss in this house.

“What did I tell you about your mouth?” I said, pointing a finger at him. “If you saying ‘dang,’ you might as well say ‘damn’ and be done with it.”

Samaj looked like every bit of a typical seventeen-year-old, tall, lanky, hoodie thrown on over a tank top, basketball shorts, and wearing slides with those high socks that made no sense to me.

And of course, his eyes were superglued to his phone like the whole world lived inside that little screen.

I watched my pride and joy, well, on most days, come toward me with his hair freshly cut, edges sharp enough to cut glass.

“Winnie did a good job, huh?” I said, admiring my friend’s work. Samaj missed my hand, and I groaned. Gone were the days of my baby boy looking forward to seeing me and thinking I hung the moon.

“Yeah, but I think the owner’s daughter likes me. The whole time I was at the shop, she was staring and laughing all loud.” He didn’t even look up from his phone.

Who didn’t like Samaj Andrews? To me, his attitude had been and was trash, and if I were a young girl, I’d have no time for his moody ass.

But to the little girls running around St. Ambrose Prep, he was the man, cute, smart, athletic and, when he wanted to be, Mr. Personality.

All I prayed was that he didn’t bring any babies home anytime soon.

I wasn’t ready to be anybody’s grandmother.

“Anyway, you say that about every little girl who looks at you too long. You ready?” I asked, pulling him into a hug that he reluctantly returned. At least there was still hope.

“The weather’s a mess. You might want to change shoes—it’s wet out there.”

“Nah, I’m good. Had practice today. My feet are tired.”

Silverrun was in that weird weather stage where it was warm during the day but turned cool when the sun went down, with rain threatening at least twice a week.

That was May for you. I hated being cold and definitely wouldn’t be caught dead in slides and socks.

But he was Mr. Independent; his wet socks would teach him a lesson.

I studied his face. Something had been off about him lately, the slumped shoulders, the way he moved through the house like he was on the receiving end of a shit sandwich. The nerve and audacity when he didn’t have to do anything but exist. “Are you depressed, son?”

He groaned like I’d asked him to solve a calculus problem. “Ma, no. Just tired. And we do this every week.”

“Family is everything, Samaj. Don’t you ever forget that.

” After his daddy walked out, after all the nights I worked doubles just to keep us afloat, my daddy was what held us together.

“Your granddaddy won’t be here forever, and when he’s gone, you’re gonna wish you had these Thursday nights back.

And if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here. Always.”

He didn’t respond, just headed for the door.

We rode in silence for the first ten minutes, nothing but rain drumming against the windshield and squeaky wipers that needed replacing. The sky had opened up, turning the streets into slick ribbons of reflection and danger. I had to lean forward, squinting through the blur of water and headlights.

“What’s new with you? Coach been on you?” I asked, finally breaking the quiet. The silence felt heavy. Something was eating at my boy. I could just tell.

Samaj didn’t answer right away. Then came the sigh, that deep, dramatic exhale that always meant he was about to say something designed to raise my blood pressure.