In the Nick of Time (43 page)

Yes, a fresh start…

What a beautiful thing it was indeed…

Nick watched the
scene unfold as he sat alone in the cafeteria. The woman clad in distressed blue denim overalls sat down, flipped her sandy brown hair over one shoulder and blew her nose into a tissue. Christmas had come and gone, bringing on a bit more depression to many of the residents. Family gatherings were nonexistent, but visitors were welcome. Some came, some didn’t. It was simply the way things were. Being in rehab proved in some ways similar to being in prison. Some families ostracized the person once they passed through those gates, went into the ‘system’, and became officially tagged a ‘societal failure.’ Nick had made it quite clear he wanted no one coming to see him. Not that he didn’t miss his friends and fellow officers, but he simply wasn’t ready to stare them in the face just yet, despite Tomas’ unplanned visit.

When he came out of there, he wanted to be on top of his shit, looking and feeling his best. Things were still too fresh. He hadn’t marinated long enough in his own sobriety driven juices but he knew these were truths, deceptively disguised to cover a bursting pride he refused to admit lay at the core of the issue. People simply did not see him in a wrecked state. From the moment he’d enter his precinct, his clothes were so clean, they could be eaten off of. His shoes were so shiny, he could see his reflection and he walked with his back straight as an ironing board, each step orchestrated in a determined sort of way.

The only person that had witnessed his seedy defects, the hideous person within that made a mess of everything and ate his own aspirations, dreams and desires in one greedy gulp, had been his mother…and now, Taryn. Today was particularly stressful, though, and the wall wobbled, the foundation weak as a newborn baby trying to raise their head for the first time. He was depressed. No ifs, ands or buts; he’d fallen into a pitch black hole and couldn’t climb his damn way out. The funk morphed into a fog, and the fog grew thick and devouring. Worst of all, the holidays usually always left him feeling downer than down, and with him being in such a place, it put a whole new, ugly twist on the matter. Nevertheless, he had time, and time was a gift. So, he sat there, and drifted away into a daydream chock full of memories.

His thoughts wandered to memories of his mother…

Every Christmas, along with his presents wrapped in newspaper as neatly as could be, she’d buy him a big chocolate bar in the shape of Santa. She did this up until the time of her death; it was their little tradition. They’d drink eggnog spiked with a splash of Island rum, the kind he imagined she enjoyed as a child back in Puerto Rico. The pint of liquor would sit there day after day on the kitchen counter, and then, he would taste it, sample it, covet sip after undercover nip when it wasn’t Christmas or anywhere near the holidays any longer…

His mother didn’t drink much except an occasional beer here and there, that’s all. It simply wasn’t her vice, her thing, her medication. His thoughts drifted somewhere deeper, darker, wetter… like alcohol pouring into a shot glass in the middle of midnight under a pitch-black sky. The sound it made as the liquor hit the glass and filled to the rim rang like an angelic orchestra from the very core of heaven. King Curiosity arched his bow and hurled it in his direction—made him question things. He wondered whether his mother knew of his problem. That question nagged at him to the point of irritation.

Ma, did you know I was an alcoholic and would be a drug addict, too? Besides being a thief, a loafer, and cheeky, did you know I’d end up like this? Did you know I was stealing alcohol out of the kitchen? Did you know when I stole money out of your purse that it was for alcohol? One time I gave it to an old drunk so he could buy him and me a beer? Did you know? Did you know, Ma?

…I survived the holocaust of disease and poverty but I didn’t really endure at all…I just pretended to…

Fraud.

Frieda’s voice broke through his dampening, dismal thoughts.

“Well,” she looked at the clock on the wall. “We only have a few more minutes left and—”

“Wait.” He placed his hand up and slowly rose from his seat. He shot Oliver a glance; the bastard wouldn’t make eye contact with him, kept his cowardly glare away. This had been his way since their altercation; the motherfucker knew better than to say two words to him, and he liked it that way.

The hell with Oliver. He won’t stop me from doing what I need to do. I’m not here for him; I’m here for me.

“Yes, Nick? You wanted to speak?”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got something to say.”

“Great.” She smiled wide, and gestured to let him know he had the floor.

He looked casually over at Taryn. Her head was cocked to the side, ever so slightly, and a half grin creased her face. She leisurely crossed her long legs and ran her fingers slowly up and down her arms, as if experiencing a sudden chill.

Wish I could hug you, keep you warm…

“I want to share a story with you all, a page from my life, if you will.” Several people nodded, seemingly quite interested as they moved about in their respective seats, giving a listening ear. “As you all know,” he said, placing his hand against his ribcage, “I’m a police officer. Obviously I’m on a much needed leave of absence.”

This caused a few chuckles.

“Well, when I was a teenager, sixteen to be exact, I was having a really hard time. It was one of the worst years of my life. Matter of fact, those twelve months of me being sixteen were pure hell. To me, it was a joyride at the time.” He looked around the room, grim-faced. “Me and my friends would do all kinds of bullshit, and I lived for the moment, never the future. If asked what I was doing the next day, my response was, ‘Who cares? I might be dead. Ask me what I’m doing in the next ten minutes…then I’ll have an answer for you.’ And you know what? That wasn’t any show. I meant that. I believed that my life could be over at any minute. I’d seen it happen too many times to others, people I knew. I was a hardcore, hardheaded hoodlum without hope, a hurt little boy believing I was a man. By the end of that year, things changed.” He pointed ahead of him at nothing in particular. “I didn’t know it, but I had truly turned a new leaf. I say I didn’t know because I never gave myself any credit for it. Unfortunately, right before I turned seventeen, my best friend died.” He paused, took a deep breath, and heard someone whisper, “Take your time…”

In that moment, he recalled Frieda pulling him aside several days ago, and calling him into her office. She handed him some faxed papers, let him look them over. Jonathan’s killer was dead as dead could be. Santiago had bitten the dust some time ago. It gave him a sliver of peace, something to hold onto… but it also brought to the forefront more memories that he’d buried and needed to sort through.

“He and I were thick as thieves. Literally.”

This caused another roll of chuckles.

“Jonathan was a good guy though…better than me.” He swiped his knuckle gently below his right eye, curing an itch. “He was smarter than me, nicer than me, and had great potential. Well, he and I and a group of other teenagers, the ‘Outlaws’, would sometimes get into it with other guys in the neighborhood. This caused some animosity. People eventually wanted to hurt us.” He shrugged, “That’s nothing new, right? You give it, be ready to take it. We weren’t a gang by the traditional definition, and we weren’t organized enough to hold that title either, but let’s just say we had a gang mentality.” He took another deep breath as he slicked his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Well, apparently, there were a few guys in our hood who didn’t take too kindly to getting their asses kicked by me and my friends a couple weeks prior to his death. They’d been watching us for days, and one night, they decided to get even. Up high on a rooftop loomed fate.” He raised his hand in the air and waved it about like a streamer.

“Fate invited Karma. And Karma invited Death. Death declared them a Trinity, and it was time to come home to Jesus.” Closing his eyes, he worked hard to reel his emotion in and regroup. “As Jonathan and I were walking home from a party, two young men stood up on this building, waiting for us. One had a gun, but the damn thing jammed, and the other had a bunch of bricks. We naturally were unaware of this at the time.” He paused, took a long look across the way and met eyes with his damn heart. She gave a slight nod, encouraging him to go on and on and on until he beat this demon the fuck up… Her eyes sparkled, and she mouthed, “You can do it…”

She has faith in me. She believes in me. She doesn’t see the thief or cop, the drunk or drug addict in me. She sees the power in me. Thank you, baby…I got this!

“As we neared where they were standing, we were still none the wiser, completely oblivious. We were laughing, joking around, talking about girls we’d seen at the party we’d just left, things like that.” He sniffed. “So, we went past, and one of our enemies timed it just so…just right…” His eyes narrowed as he lifted his right hand upward, held it out as if pinching a tiny shot glass of truth serum… “And he dropped a brick. A huge cinder block, and then another, and then another… Two missed him, one got him, and the one that got him fell right smack dab in the center of his head.

“Oh man…” someone uttered. “Damn.”

“I screamed out in shock, in total disbelief. I looked up, and saw the guys surrounded in darkness, like, instead of glowing like angels, I remember it appeared as if black halos—nebulous shadows—waved around their bodies like some sort of demonic force… It was the strangest thing, like a warning that came far too late. One of the boys kept waving a gun, but he was stomping about, like he couldn’t get it to shoot. A crowd began to draw, and the two boys fled but I was left there with my dying friend… I saw him trying to live, trying to hold on to a tiny fragment of life. I panicked, trembled in fear. I felt angry, cowardly, and enraged all at once. I wanted to run off, afraid the cops would get a hold of me.

“You see, just less than a month before this party, I’d gotten into some trouble and decided to turn my life around. I had a few rough starts. Kind of like what happens in recovery. This is a process, a never-ending voyage. It’s not twelve steps; it’s a lifetime of paces. We oftentimes relapse, and in this situation, I relapsed, too. My friends talked me into going out to this party and I missed them,” he said with a shrug, “so I thought ‘Why not?’ I lived to regret that decision. I always blamed myself for Jonathan’s death. I often asked myself, ‘Why did I live and he didn’t?’ I wondered why God took Jonathan, the easy going one of our group, the smart one, the fella with the most potential, the encourager, and not me?

“I couldn’t wrap my head around it and, to make matters worse, I figured if he’d been alone, or with someone else, maybe they wouldn’t have targeted him. You see, that fight we’d had a few weeks earlier with these guys—I instigated that. There was a boy I didn’t too much care for. I saw him, kicked his ass and then, the rest of my friends jumped in. What happened to Jonathan was retribution for something
I
had done. I knew it deep inside, and it has haunted me my entire damn life!” His voice trembled as he clutched his hands over and over, coming undone, emotional wounds gaping and bleeding all over the place. He looked down at the floor, his vision glassy, broken up into disjointed waves as heat flushed his core. He quickly swiped at his face and continued on.

I’ve never told anyone about this! No one! Are you crazy, Nick?! You can do this… She said I can do this, and I can…

“Then, a few years later, I lost my mother—happened suddenly. One minute she was here…” He pointed to the left side of the room. “Then, she was gone.” He pointed to the right, and snapped his fingers. “Just like that! I betrayed that woman’s trust on a daily basis. I always believed she’d be there, alive and breathing! I never imagined Ma not being around. She appeared healthy, spritely even… Looks can be deceiving…

“In the middle of all of this death, loss and denial, my mentor, a positive guy, brilliant and warm, was accidentally gunned down during an altercation that had nothing to do with him. So, I lost three of the closest people to me in fast order, in a matter of a few years.” He held up three fingers. “It’s like I was being punished. Instead of dealing with it, feeling the losses, accepting the nature of grief, I ran from the emotions. I became cold, focused, hard. As stated, I had already decided to change my life around before all of this happened. So…I focused on
that
. I felt like I was doing my mom, Jonathan, and Frederic proud by just keeping on task. That was all an excuse, though. I used it to bury the process…and we must go
through
the process.

Taryn, you will NOT be the only witness… I will tell others of my pain. I will set myself free…

“We must allow ourselves to feel it
all
. We have to acknowledge the pain, all of it, or it will come back again and again and again until we can control it, or it will control
us
!” He swallowed hard.