I haven’t been in the back of a police car in a very long time, maybe five and a half years? I guess most people would not think that was a very long break from this kind of experience but it’s all relative.
Relative, relatives…
No. There will be more than enough time for those thoughts all too soon.
We hit a red light and I slide further down my seat, feeling like a criminal even without handcuffs. People see what they expect to see, they don’t ask questions; cops go in the front, crooks go in the back.
I glance up to see Officer Cruz smirking at me in the rear view mirror. Anger flares up but I decide to stare at my shoes and keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to give him any excuses to lock me up.
Last time I took this lonely ride there were handcuffs and ankle restraints; I had been quite the handful. I wasn’t such a good citizen of the streets back then, still had too much pride.
I don’t remember the face so well, but I remember his words: you should all be rounded up and shot – you’re all worthless.
I have blurred images in my mind of tackling him to the ground and punching his face until someone managed to drag me off. I do have several crystal clear pictures though: two broken teeth on the sidewalk; a white business shirt stained cherry red; the look of disgust on a young mother’s face.
That little incident got me a month in jail and six months in rehab. The prison time had the bigger effect – never wanting to go back there was enough motivation to keep my anger and pride in check ever since.
And now here I am, one wrong word from going back.
We turn into the police station parking lot as a light rain begins to fall. Officer Cruz stops the car with a jolt that almost sends me head-first into the plastic barrier between us.
I catch a glimpse of his partner flashing him a dirty look before she climbs out and opens the door for me. I give her a quick nod of thanks and join her in the rain and the smell of wet leaves. The feeling of relief is immediate and overwhelming. I’m tempted to make a break for it.
Officer Cruz’s arm on my elbow, guiding me into the station, ends that thinking in a heartbeat. The lobby is pretty quiet, the calm before the evening storm of drunks and addicts. A few heads turn as we pass through but nobody can be bothered to say anything.
The two cops bring me to a room filled with desks piled high with paperwork. A few officers are busy typing away at keyboards, one is yelling into his phone, the remaining desks are empty.
Officer Cruz helps me take a seat by a desk near the back of the room, none too gently. After a whispered conversation with his partner he sits down across from me. Damn it.
“I’ll be taking your statement,” he says with a flat stare. He pulls out the keyboard tray and logs into his computer while I try to find a believable excuse for needing to tell his partner my story. I don’t even know her name but I’ve seen enough to know she would be more sympathetic than this guy. I’m pretty sure a rhino would be too, for that matter.
“I’ll be over here if you need anything,” she says and begins to turn away before pausing to put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m Officer Strickland by the way; don’t worry, we’ll get this all sorted out for you.”
“Tina, please.” I want to punch him so badly. I say nothing, busy myself with examining the floor tiles.
“Relax Rick, it’ll do you some good,” she says with a smile and slips away before he can reply. I look up to see him glaring at me, jaw muscles clenched.
This is not going to go well.
Relative, relatives…
No. There will be more than enough time for those thoughts all too soon.
We hit a red light and I slide further down my seat, feeling like a criminal even without handcuffs. People see what they expect to see, they don’t ask questions; cops go in the front, crooks go in the back.
I glance up to see Officer Cruz smirking at me in the rear view mirror. Anger flares up but I decide to stare at my shoes and keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to give him any excuses to lock me up.
Last time I took this lonely ride there were handcuffs and ankle restraints; I had been quite the handful. I wasn’t such a good citizen of the streets back then, still had too much pride.
I don’t remember the face so well, but I remember his words: you should all be rounded up and shot – you’re all worthless.
I have blurred images in my mind of tackling him to the ground and punching his face until someone managed to drag me off. I do have several crystal clear pictures though: two broken teeth on the sidewalk; a white business shirt stained cherry red; the look of disgust on a young mother’s face.
That little incident got me a month in jail and six months in rehab. The prison time had the bigger effect – never wanting to go back there was enough motivation to keep my anger and pride in check ever since.
And now here I am, one wrong word from going back.
We turn into the police station parking lot as a light rain begins to fall. Officer Cruz stops the car with a jolt that almost sends me head-first into the plastic barrier between us.
I catch a glimpse of his partner flashing him a dirty look before she climbs out and opens the door for me. I give her a quick nod of thanks and join her in the rain and the smell of wet leaves. The feeling of relief is immediate and overwhelming. I’m tempted to make a break for it.
Officer Cruz’s arm on my elbow, guiding me into the station, ends that thinking in a heartbeat. The lobby is pretty quiet, the calm before the evening storm of drunks and addicts. A few heads turn as we pass through but nobody can be bothered to say anything.
The two cops bring me to a room filled with desks piled high with paperwork. A few officers are busy typing away at keyboards, one is yelling into his phone, the remaining desks are empty.
Officer Cruz helps me take a seat by a desk near the back of the room, none too gently. After a whispered conversation with his partner he sits down across from me. Damn it.
“I’ll be taking your statement,” he says with a flat stare. He pulls out the keyboard tray and logs into his computer while I try to find a believable excuse for needing to tell his partner my story. I don’t even know her name but I’ve seen enough to know she would be more sympathetic than this guy. I’m pretty sure a rhino would be too, for that matter.
“I’ll be over here if you need anything,” she says and begins to turn away before pausing to put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m Officer Strickland by the way; don’t worry, we’ll get this all sorted out for you.”
“Tina, please.” I want to punch him so badly. I say nothing, busy myself with examining the floor tiles.
“Relax Rick, it’ll do you some good,” she says with a smile and slips away before he can reply. I look up to see him glaring at me, jaw muscles clenched.
This is not going to go well.
No comments:
Post a Comment