LJ Idol Season 8 Week 15 - Law Out on the Street
o/` "Late one night down on Crack Street Alley
He walked up on a bad deal goin' down
He knew what he'd done
When he saw that shotgun swing around
He drew then froze in hesitation
When he saw that fourteen year old face
Then the fire from that shotgun barrel
Blew all his burdens away
Blew his burdens away" o/`
-- "Southern Justice" performed by Travis Tritt
You might as well know that I'd initially had another, less personal missive chosen for the topic prompt but well...ironically, I've had some good reasons to be preoccupied.
Thursday evening, Mr. Shapeshifter mentioned in passing that on his way home he'd seen a residential section of Middleburg isolated by police blockade and yellow crime scene tape. We hadn't heard anything or seen anything on the news and so the topic got shelved.
The next day we had some errands to run in the city, namely picking up my new prescription lenses, so we piled into Lone Star and headed to St. Johns Town center in Jacksonville. Dorie noticed the flags at half mast first and then pointed them out to me. I frowned. "In a community this small, it usually means that a soldier or law enforcement officer has died, but I hadn't heard...."
At that point, Dee's iPhone chirped. That particular tone indicated that an urgent e-mail had come through. If Mr. Shapeshifter had been driving, he would have simply handed the phone to me and I'd have read him the message. Since Dee was the one driving, he had to pull over and tend to the message himself. It seemed to me that the world went silent at that point save for the beating of our hearts and the swift whispering of other vehicles as the truck rocked gently in the backdraft of their passage. A muscle in the side of Dee's cheek jumped as he scanned the e-mail again. Before I could ask him what had happened, he leaned over the steering wheel and buried his head in his hands. Perhaps a few minutes, which might as well have been an eternity, passed before he sat back up and announced in a dead voice, "You were right, Kitty. I just received notice that one of our Clay County detectives was fatally shot and his partner seriously wounded in a drug raid."
Dee did not know either man personally nor had he worked with them but, as many of you might recall, he was himself shot in a similar incident two years ago. Not only could he sympathize but there's a kind of brotherhood at work here; if you hurt one, you hurt them all. Everyone feels it. In a small, rural community like this one that's even more the case. I did know both men, not by name but as members of my community. Detective White was the man at the deli counter who always politely asked how I was feeling and if I could get around the grocery store and the town all right. I'd guessed he must be one of our deputies because I could see the gun on his hip but I'd never seen him in uniform. His partner was the bull dog faced officer we would often see at the local Race Trac as we filled up the truck and got our morning coffee before errands or appointments. He always smiled and waved...and more than once, I saw him buying a homeless man breakfast or paying for the gas of a harried looking family whose luck had run out.
I still cannot believe their luck ran out. I'd expected to see them both around the community for many, many years to come. I can't imagine my town without that man asking me how I'm doing and making sure Dorie and I can get the groceries in the car and the wheelchair loaded. It will be a long time, if ever, before I see my friend at Race Trac or sitting in the median making sure no one speeds through the school zone.
When you become involved with someone who chose law enforcement as an occupation, the first thing you learn to deal with is that horrific possibility known as The Call. All families and friends think about it, though we try not to do so. It's almost as though acknowledging even the possibility of The Call's existence will put into motion a self fulfilling prophesy. Like the proverbial elephant in the room, we all know it's there and we talk over, under, and around it --- anything but face it head on. It dominates lonely moments and late nights, creeps in for its share of holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. It's broken up marriages and stolen sanities. No matter how it looks, we're celebrating with one part of our hearts while the other half is wondering if he's just late or.... The knowledge that at any given moment we could receive The Call, could be the ones standing dumbfounded while the senior agent or sheriff or police commissioner tells you that this time his luck did indeed run out and this time he's coming home in a casket, is always there.
I, like many other wives, husbands, and lovers of folks in law enforcement, spend my life in hope alternating with dread. You learn to compartmentalize and most of the time you succeed in forgetting that The Call is anything but something which happens to other people, other families. You learn to appreciate every small moment, to store and hoard them like precious jewels against a time when you might have nothing but those memories left. You love and live more fiercely, wring every juicy drop of bon vivant from each experience. Yet with every news report, every shot fired, every near miss that possibility dominates: this could be the last time I see him alive. You can try not to let it invade, but The Call is part of that lifestyle and part of the occupational hazards he faces. No matter what you do, you cannot escape it and you surely will not change your loved one's mind about a profession that he loves dearly and does well.
His first mistress is always the law and he'll die serving her if called upon to do so.
Clay County is missing a fine young man from its ranks, someone who knew and understood his duty to the community, who heard that call and answered.
The funeral was today; it was private, attended only by law enforcement, friends, and family. Dee was too sick to attend and so MIB 3 and 4 represented us. I could have gone and probably should have but...I couldn't. I didn't want the reminder that two years ago The Call came to rest on my doorstep and nearly ended at the church yard.
Tomorrow the funeral procession will make its way from the church to the detective's final resting place. Already, according to the various news reports, people are lining up on the route to pay tribute and say goodbye. I won't be there either because to do so is to directly acknowledge the beast I've tried so hard to keep locked still and starving in the deepest recesses of my mind.
In the living room, Dee sleeps with an arm around each sticky fingered child. There's a cat curled in the small of his back and our big black dog Anubis snores on the floor beside them. Earlier today my godchildren were asking questions --- why is Papa so sad, will he disappear like those kids' Papa did, will a bad guy come kill us too? At two and a half years old, they're much too young to have to worry about The Call; luckily at that age they also have short attention spans. I taught them how to make divinity and let them have as much of it as they wanted. It provided an easier solution than trying to explain the answers.
I wish candy could cure my mind as well as it does a toddler's.
FYI:
Clay County Deputies Shot, One Dead, One Seriously Hurt
Clay County Mourns Loss of Deputy, IDs Gunman
(Please note that at the end of this article there is account information where donations for the detective's family can be sent. If you can spare anything, think about doing so. He left behind a two year old and a three month old.
Slain Clay Detective Cherished Family Man, Neighbor, Public Servant
Community Begins to Say Goodbye to Deputy, Hero, Husband
He walked up on a bad deal goin' down
He knew what he'd done
When he saw that shotgun swing around
He drew then froze in hesitation
When he saw that fourteen year old face
Then the fire from that shotgun barrel
Blew all his burdens away
Blew his burdens away" o/`
-- "Southern Justice" performed by Travis Tritt
You might as well know that I'd initially had another, less personal missive chosen for the topic prompt but well...ironically, I've had some good reasons to be preoccupied.
Thursday evening, Mr. Shapeshifter mentioned in passing that on his way home he'd seen a residential section of Middleburg isolated by police blockade and yellow crime scene tape. We hadn't heard anything or seen anything on the news and so the topic got shelved.
The next day we had some errands to run in the city, namely picking up my new prescription lenses, so we piled into Lone Star and headed to St. Johns Town center in Jacksonville. Dorie noticed the flags at half mast first and then pointed them out to me. I frowned. "In a community this small, it usually means that a soldier or law enforcement officer has died, but I hadn't heard...."
At that point, Dee's iPhone chirped. That particular tone indicated that an urgent e-mail had come through. If Mr. Shapeshifter had been driving, he would have simply handed the phone to me and I'd have read him the message. Since Dee was the one driving, he had to pull over and tend to the message himself. It seemed to me that the world went silent at that point save for the beating of our hearts and the swift whispering of other vehicles as the truck rocked gently in the backdraft of their passage. A muscle in the side of Dee's cheek jumped as he scanned the e-mail again. Before I could ask him what had happened, he leaned over the steering wheel and buried his head in his hands. Perhaps a few minutes, which might as well have been an eternity, passed before he sat back up and announced in a dead voice, "You were right, Kitty. I just received notice that one of our Clay County detectives was fatally shot and his partner seriously wounded in a drug raid."
Dee did not know either man personally nor had he worked with them but, as many of you might recall, he was himself shot in a similar incident two years ago. Not only could he sympathize but there's a kind of brotherhood at work here; if you hurt one, you hurt them all. Everyone feels it. In a small, rural community like this one that's even more the case. I did know both men, not by name but as members of my community. Detective White was the man at the deli counter who always politely asked how I was feeling and if I could get around the grocery store and the town all right. I'd guessed he must be one of our deputies because I could see the gun on his hip but I'd never seen him in uniform. His partner was the bull dog faced officer we would often see at the local Race Trac as we filled up the truck and got our morning coffee before errands or appointments. He always smiled and waved...and more than once, I saw him buying a homeless man breakfast or paying for the gas of a harried looking family whose luck had run out.
I still cannot believe their luck ran out. I'd expected to see them both around the community for many, many years to come. I can't imagine my town without that man asking me how I'm doing and making sure Dorie and I can get the groceries in the car and the wheelchair loaded. It will be a long time, if ever, before I see my friend at Race Trac or sitting in the median making sure no one speeds through the school zone.
When you become involved with someone who chose law enforcement as an occupation, the first thing you learn to deal with is that horrific possibility known as The Call. All families and friends think about it, though we try not to do so. It's almost as though acknowledging even the possibility of The Call's existence will put into motion a self fulfilling prophesy. Like the proverbial elephant in the room, we all know it's there and we talk over, under, and around it --- anything but face it head on. It dominates lonely moments and late nights, creeps in for its share of holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. It's broken up marriages and stolen sanities. No matter how it looks, we're celebrating with one part of our hearts while the other half is wondering if he's just late or.... The knowledge that at any given moment we could receive The Call, could be the ones standing dumbfounded while the senior agent or sheriff or police commissioner tells you that this time his luck did indeed run out and this time he's coming home in a casket, is always there.
I, like many other wives, husbands, and lovers of folks in law enforcement, spend my life in hope alternating with dread. You learn to compartmentalize and most of the time you succeed in forgetting that The Call is anything but something which happens to other people, other families. You learn to appreciate every small moment, to store and hoard them like precious jewels against a time when you might have nothing but those memories left. You love and live more fiercely, wring every juicy drop of bon vivant from each experience. Yet with every news report, every shot fired, every near miss that possibility dominates: this could be the last time I see him alive. You can try not to let it invade, but The Call is part of that lifestyle and part of the occupational hazards he faces. No matter what you do, you cannot escape it and you surely will not change your loved one's mind about a profession that he loves dearly and does well.
His first mistress is always the law and he'll die serving her if called upon to do so.
Clay County is missing a fine young man from its ranks, someone who knew and understood his duty to the community, who heard that call and answered.
The funeral was today; it was private, attended only by law enforcement, friends, and family. Dee was too sick to attend and so MIB 3 and 4 represented us. I could have gone and probably should have but...I couldn't. I didn't want the reminder that two years ago The Call came to rest on my doorstep and nearly ended at the church yard.
Tomorrow the funeral procession will make its way from the church to the detective's final resting place. Already, according to the various news reports, people are lining up on the route to pay tribute and say goodbye. I won't be there either because to do so is to directly acknowledge the beast I've tried so hard to keep locked still and starving in the deepest recesses of my mind.
In the living room, Dee sleeps with an arm around each sticky fingered child. There's a cat curled in the small of his back and our big black dog Anubis snores on the floor beside them. Earlier today my godchildren were asking questions --- why is Papa so sad, will he disappear like those kids' Papa did, will a bad guy come kill us too? At two and a half years old, they're much too young to have to worry about The Call; luckily at that age they also have short attention spans. I taught them how to make divinity and let them have as much of it as they wanted. It provided an easier solution than trying to explain the answers.
I wish candy could cure my mind as well as it does a toddler's.
FYI:
Clay County Deputies Shot, One Dead, One Seriously Hurt
Clay County Mourns Loss of Deputy, IDs Gunman
(Please note that at the end of this article there is account information where donations for the detective's family can be sent. If you can spare anything, think about doing so. He left behind a two year old and a three month old.
Slain Clay Detective Cherished Family Man, Neighbor, Public Servant
Community Begins to Say Goodbye to Deputy, Hero, Husband