The license plate on the car ahead of me read ‘B-HAPPY’. The car was black, sleek, European and expensive. “Must B-NICE to B-YOU” I mumbled as I sipped my coffee and hit redial on my phone for what felt like the hundredth time. To win I just needed to be caller number ninety seven on the radio stations contest call in number. Even though I wasn’t sure what I would win I wanted it all the same.
My heart jumped as a voice came on the line. “You’re caller ninety five, sorry, try again.” and the line went dead. All I could do was look at the phone, as if it were a snake that just bit me. The sound of a horn drew my attention back to the rode just as ‘B-HAPPY’ was eaten up by my front bumper. My extra-large coffee flew into my chest, coating my ivory cashmere sleeveless sweater and matching silk pants in sticky mocha java latte. Damn! Stunned for a moment I sat motionless. The hot liquid stung but at least the airbag didn’t explode, thank goodness.
Out of nowhere a livid red face peered into my window and screamed some indiscernible words at me. It was the face of the driver of the black, slightly less than sleek, mildly dented car. ‘What happened to ‘B-HAPPY’’ I wanted to remind her, but a vision leapt into my head of the two of us engaged in a, hair-pulling, faces-scratching, rolling on the ground cat fight as the police arrived. The polished middle aged blond in glossy black leather vs. the copper toned honey in coffee stained white silk, gripped in a perverse enactment of MJ’s Ebony and Ivory? I don’t think so. Instead I reached for my phone. It had flown from my hand and landed, along with the contents of my purse and my tote on the floor of the front seat. I dialed 9-1-1, still seated in my now warm puddle of java.
At the instant a voice connected on the line I saw the lights of a police car pulling into my rear view mirror. “Never mind,” I said to the dispatcher. “They’re here already.” and clipped the phone closed.
Ms. Not-so-HAPPY raced to the driver’s window of the police car. The officer exited the car, hand extended to compel her to keep her distance. That really made her day. She snorted in disbelief and stomped of her elegantly shod foot. They exchanged words that I could not hear. So I rolled down my car window to listen. Talk elevated to shouts. So I stuck my head out the window to gawk.
“…you just need to recognize who you are talking to!!!” she yelled, spiting acidic epithets at him, her body trembled. “You arrest her! Now!” she commanded with a voice that was accustomed to wielding authority.
The officer calmly repeated, “I-said-that-I-need-you-to-calm-down. Ma’am.” His words were slow and measured like a count down. There was an ominous emphasis on the ‘Ma’am’. I watched as her hand rose. I gasped as a rigid finger extended obscenely from her bony alabaster, blue veined fist. My hand clamped over my mouth as she started to jab the tall muscular uniformed man in his chest. I sat stunned and motionless, oblivious to the chilly dampness of my coffee soaked clothes, as the officer grabbed her bonny pale wrist, spun her around, bent her over the hood of his cruiser and slapped cuffs on her in one swift agile motion. The woman’s eyes widened with confusion, her mouth in an expression of disbelief. My face no doubt mirrored hers at this bizarre scene.
The officer held Ms. Not-so-HAPPY in this posture of humiliation with one hand, as he depressed a button on the radio perched on his shoulder with the other. “I will need back up at Hall and Vincent Blvd.” He said with the poise of an android.
His attention turned toward me momentarily. His voice rose so I could hear him in my car.
“Ma’am, I will need you to turn off your engine and stay in your vehicle please.” As if I was about to do anything else. The pitch and pace of his voice gave life to his otherwise controlled composure. Irritation at this whole turn of events was clear.
I pulled my head back into the car window, turned it off as ordered and watched through the rear view mirror as Officer Tall-Black-n-Hansom assisted Ms. No-So-Happy into the rear of the police cruiser. “Wow! What the hell was THAT?” I said out loud. Laughter welled up in my chest and was just about to explode from my lips as I saw the officer approach my vehicle.
“Please reach both of your hands through the drivers side window, ma’am.” came a voice from over my left shoulder. I complied and choked down a giggle.
“Please open your car door from the outside handle.” The instructions continued. I once again complied. “Please step out of the car and place your hands on top of your head.” This guy was not playin!
I emerged from the car and stood facing him. His brow wrinkled and his head cocked to the right at the sight of me. “Is that coffee?” He asked. I nodded. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he tried to not to laugh at my two toned outfit. Coffee now dripped from the hem of my pants onto the pavement. I looked down at myself and the laughter I had held back now erupted.
His badge read ‘Walker”. His eyes glimmered but he would not give in to the hilarity. He was on the job. “Are you OK ma’am, did you get burned or injured?” The words sounded a little pinched.
“Maybe a little,” I sighed through my chuckles, “It did sting a little.” The initial adrenaline rush vanished and exhaustion washed over me.
He walked up to me, reached for my hands still perched on my head and lead me to a bus stop bench on the curb. “Sit here for a moment. You look like you might fall over. Have you been drinking?” he asked, then clarified, “Alcohol that is, not coffee.”
“Not yet…” I replied honestly. A chill ran though me and made me shiver. “I was on my way to meet some friends.”
“I’m going to need to get a statement from you, but from the looks of things I am going to have to site you for follow to close and fault you for the accident. Would you like to be checked out by the EMT’s?”
“I don’t think so.” I shivered again and looked down at my coffee stained front. “I just want to get out of these wet clothes and into hot shower and then a warm bed.”
“Yea, sounds nice.” He murmured, just under his breath, not expecting me to hear. His words and the way his voice softened caught me off guard. I glanced up, a question in my eyes, but he had already turned to walk away.
Officer Walker walked to his trunk and returned with a standard grey, cop issue blanket and draped it around my shoulders. “Thank you for being patient, ma’am. I need to take care of the other driver and I will be back with you.” I nodded and relaxed against the back of the bust stop bench, assessing the scene.
Another police car pulled up behind the first. The two brothers-in-blue talked a moment, nodded, gestured, reached into their respective cars and emerged with identical report binders. The new officer didn’t know what he was in for as he opened the back door of the first squad car He was immediately assailed by a verbal tirade from the passenger. A glance over his shoulder at Officer Walker (a.k.a. Officer Tall, Black-N-Hansom) shouted a ‘you owe me one, big time.’ look. Then he began the work of calming the woman down enough to get a statement.
“Do I have you permission to retrieve your identification, registration and insurance from your car?” Office Walker was back with me now. Fatigue and stress in his face that I hadn’t noticed before made me feel a little sorry for him.
“Yes, you have my permission.” I wanted to be as cooperative as possible.
He went to my minimally damaged ride and rummaged about for a moment. He returned with my pink patchwork Coach wallet and the other documents he needed from the glove compartment.
“How did you get here so fast?” I asked as I remembered how quickly he pulled up while I dialed 9-1-1.
“I was just pulling out of that parking lot when I witnessed the collision.” The corner of his mouth turned up again in that ‘almost’ smile. “I am still on the clock. I was obligated to stop.”
“So you’re not a traffic cop usually?”
“No.” Was all he offered as he copied down my information, jotted down his notes and scribbled a signature. “Here you go Ms. March. I won’t keep you any longer. Your car looks drivable and you say were not injured. Look for a card in the mail with further instruction on your court appointment and you may want to contact you insurance company. You’ll be able to get a copy of the police report after about 24hours.” Blah, Blah, Blah. The automaton drone was back as he recited lines he must have said a thousand times before. He looked up when he finished and hand me my things, my ticket and his card.
His eyes fixed on my face for a moment and he said something curious. “Funny that it took this for us to finally meet.” He turned away quickly as the second officer called his name and jogged back to his car, to the caged wildcat in the back seat. This effectively halted any further conversation.
I was done. I could go. So I did. I went home and did just as I said. Hot shower, warm bed with the addition of some hot tea to warm my bones, as grandma use to say.
* * *
My clothes were ruined but the bed was indeed warm and the tea was very hot. Just as I settled in under my gold satin comforter my cell phone rang, of course. The remote was in one hand and my mug in the other so I rushed to set the mug down and sloshed a drip of tea on the front of my pj’s. Damn!
“I just got your text. Are you OK!?” the excited voice if Da’isha, my best friend and Friday night happy-hour buddy, exploded through the line.
“I’m fine! Just another crazy day in the life of Nya March. What else is new?” I gave her the details of the events of the evening. She laughed so hard I could hear the tears choke her and could imagine that her whole body shook.
“So you say you don’t know what Officer Walker was talking about, about finally getting to meet you?” She was finally able to get a question out past the laughter.
“Not a clue. I searched my memory for his name or his face and came up empty.” A yawn forced its way into the conversation. “I can’t think about it anymore. I’m too tired. I’m gunna sleep right now.” Maybe I’ll get the answer in my dreams. I thought. Di hung up and I rolled over under my covers. I was asleep within moments and the answers did come, just as I predicted, in my dreams.
* * *
“Alice Walker!” The memory hit me about three o’clock in the morning and sat me straight up in my bed. “Ouch!” The stiffness in my neck and back from yesterday’s forgotten accident assailed me. I reached and massaged my shoulder and made a mental note to set an appointment with the massage therapist at the office. But without a doubt Alice Walker was the connection. It had been almost a year since she died. Each time she had come to me for physical therapy after her stroke she teased me about being too pretty to stay single forever. Over and over again she tried to set me up with her nephew. I had almost forgotten about the sweet old lady. How sad. But that had to be it. Officer Tall, Black-n-Hansom Walker must be the nephew.
I slid from the bed, stumbled over my shoes and hobbled to the closet to retrieve my tote bag. Each step was unexpectedly arduous. Sympathy for the wails and tears of my patients as I worked out their injured muscles and joints leaped into my heart. The ticket and card from Officer Walker was stuffed into a side pocket. A flip of the light switch flooded the closet with the soft light of a single bulb. It read Sergeant Abraham V. Walker, Metropolitan Police Department; Community Liaison Officer. Mrs. Walker had called him Avey or something like that. It must be a family nic-name. This Abraham V. Walker had to be him. Mystery solved. Back to bed. The business card now positioned prominently atop my dresser. I would call him in the morning. If nothing else I could share a story or two about the time I shared with his aunt and offer belated condolences.
I headed back to bed with a yawn and a stretch. “Ouch!” Cramp!
* * *
Dont be fooled or think this is the end. You will be surprised by the twists to come!
