Weight of a Life -
Weight of a Life (excerpt) please see previous posts for more.
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I tucked my patrol car, ass end first against the block wall of the grocery store at 43rd and Thomas. I repositioned myself in the seat, shifting slightly to adjust the rise of my vest as it reared up under my neck. Hot air escaped from the layers just under my chin giving a break from the trapped heat under my uniform. My computer sprang to life, the glow filling the interior. A message from two of my guys said plainly; “Sarge, you gotta come see this”.
I headed south on 27th and by the directions given, my officers should have been about a block south in a parking lot behind a private business that sold payday loans. I was classified as one of the “baby sergeants, the new girl” both to supervision and relatively new to police work. I had no sense of gender differences in police work per se but knew plenty of women on the department who subconsciously had the need to prove something from the start with what amounted to perceived “bitchiness”.
Working the west side of Phoenix, calls ran the gamut from gang shootings, to prostitution, neighbor disputes to drop houses. I earned opportunities in this line of work to witness even every day scenes twist dramatically into a facade of normal life. One night's work could reveal the best and the worst in society and not all would make the nightly news or a daily headline. I parked my car behind the two patrol cars, both flanked nose to nose with spotlights illuminating the dark lot, a business that in the morning would reveal little evidence of our presence. Our work here like most nights in the dark behind buildings, went undetected with little to show the following day to those now sleeping. Settings on most nights lent little in the way of commentary from passerby and backdrops consisted of sturdy buildings, white lined parking lots and chaotic neighborhoods. The cool rain did not drop the temperature as much as it lent a heavy blanket of humidity and I tugged uncomfortably at a layer of undershirt, vest and uniform. Moistness collected hot against my waist where my belt sat as sweat tracked a path down my chest.
The patches of dark and light along the concrete and parking lot evaporated almost as you looked at it, giving off a percolating simmer. Margaret stood in the glare of the light shielding her eyes, engaged in conversation with the officers. Her hips cantered to one side, then the other. A hand went to her waist, a shift here to there. She ran her hands halphaserdly through tangled straw brown bangs. Drugs had her dance card and took her to the floor as we challenged her activities.
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About Me
- http://themothercenturion.blogspot.com
- I figured things out late in life, like what I wanted to do, getting married (age 30), having kids, (36 and 38) and changing degrees about 3 times. Now as a cop of 19 years and in my mid 40's, I am finally figuring out some things. My first career or dream of becoming a writer is playing more in my head and daily life than ever. I love it. Thus the blog. It is all mine. I also love being a mother. They are all ours. I love my husband and as a cop, wow.. have I seen some things. Street degree. I got it. Let us learn together. I also am on She Writes.
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