EMILY PRATT SLATIN

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She/Her/Hers Lesbian

Retired Career Fire and EMS Lieutenant-Specialist, Writer, and Master Photographer, living in Vermont.

The Places I Left Behind

October 29, 2026—Buffalo, New York (Amelia's House)

This morning I woke up to an angry dismissive text from someone at the bank in Upstate New York who apparently got pissed off when I texted her about my meeting with them being a waste of time. My time is valuable and if someone decides to waste it, I’m going to waste theirs in return by telling them stories of all the crazy things I’ve done that I’ve only confessed to in my diaries.

Today Amelia took me to Lowe’s to buy a new washer and dryer combo for her house in Buffalo. Afterward, she drove me to several Wegmans locations until we finally found the one I used to frequent when I briefly lived in the area. So much has changed in the twenty-eight years since I left that being here feels like an alternate reality.

Mom’s side of the family was from Buffalo. They were second-generation Americans, born and raised in Buffalo, and many spent their entire lives in the area. Almost all of them are gone now. Ironically, Amelia has decided to make her home in the very place where my mother’s family established its roots generations ago.

I asked Amelia if she would mind going to the Walden Galleria with me. I told her I wanted to drive my Bronco, but would love it if she came with me. I’ve been to the Galleria hundreds of times, although I’ve never driven myself there. When I was younger, I got there by whatever means were available—a school bus, a friend’s car, or a friend of a friend who happened to have a car. Getting there was the only thing that mattered.

I haven’t been back since 1998, when I ran away from boarding school and hitchhiked to attend EMT training. After graduation came and went, mom and I took up residence in Springville that was used as a bed and breakfast where my parents and I used to stay. It was a rather unconventional beginning to a career in emergency services, but it worked. The years I spent responding to emergencies left behind memories I couldn’t escape. When I first met Amelia, I was drinking enough to make my own party. There was a war inside my head, and alcohol seemed to quiet it. I was drinking myself to death.

One day, Amelia told me I had to choose between her and Captain Morgan. She took a brand-new bottle of spiced rum, poured it down the drain, ran the cold water, rinsed out the bottle and the sink, and slammed the wet bottle onto the counter.

“I need to know this moment.”

I chose her.

Amelia saved my life.