It’s five thirty, I just woke up from a nightmare, it was about her again, her death.
It’s August first, one year ago today she died. Every night I can’t help but feel I grow more distant from what used to make me smile. Not even her memory is enough to keep me from being a shut- in. I try to get up so I can make some coffee, my dog, sparkle, licks her chops and looks up and expects food from me. Can’t say I blame her. I finally get up out of my bed and walk through the hallway and down the stairs. Sparkle follows me throughout the house, she knows I’ll give in eventually. Get get out the dog food and put some into her bowl. I start to fall asleep so I get the ingredients for coffee. I turn on the sink so I can put some water into the kettle and then I put it on the stove. The water starts to brew, my house looks like shit, I haven’t cleaned it in about two days,and I haven’t showered since yesterday. I put the creamer in my coffee, I stir it and then I go to sit down and quickly drink it. Sparkle jumps in my lap and I start to pet her, “Who’s a good girl?” I say quietly. At least I have her to make me company, she helps and is more than just a dog. Sarah gave it to me as a gift for Valentine’s Day. I finish my coffee and then go and take a shower, I need to clean myself, I can’t let order fall to the wayside because I miss her.
I grab some clean clothes and put them on the counter. I turn on the faucet and let
the water run for a minute to warm up. I step in and let the relaxing comfort of the water run over me. As I let the water wash over me I contemplate my current situation, I hate living here. This small farm town looks nice on the surface, but there’s just something evil about it. I just can’t place my finger on it. I’ve been in this place for over a year and a half but being on the force every week makes me feel scared and like I just moved here, I should recognize where I live but I unfortunately still don’t, not since she died. I pour a slop of shampoo the size of a quarter onto the my palm and rub it between my two hands, and then I start to wash my hair. I rub and rub and rub until my head is covered in shampoo, and then rinse it off, clumps of product falling on the shower floor.
As soon as I get all of the soap off of my body I turn off the water and grab my
towel so I can make myself dry. As soon as I’m done drying off walk down the hallway and throw my towel in the dirty lawndry.
My gun is in it’s holster, sitting, patiently in my drawer. I’m so paranoid I keep a
lock on in. Just the one where I keep my valuables. My Kimber Custom Two Tone semi- automatic handgun, my wallet, my keys, my expensive sunglasses, my cash….. my badge. Yeah I’m a cop. I Grab the key to my valuables drawer, I button up my shirt from the bottom button to the top button. I straighten up my tie after tying it. My belt, perfectly balanced, as all things should be. My gun, shined to the point of being flashy sits perfectly in my holster. I put my wallet in my back pocket, and I hold my keys in my hand, my coil is wrapped around my wrist to keep it from falling onto the dirty tarain below. My case files and my peanut butter and jelly sandwich are in my briefcase, I’m almost ready. My car is perfectly clean, cleared out a McDonald’s Fish Fillet box yesterday, it was at least six hours old at that point. Her grave is about fifteen minutes away from our house. I visit her every morning, or at least I TRY to. The Lieutenant gets hard on all of our asses whenever anybody’s late, there‘s a reason why we call Bradamoore “the loon”, it’s because we don’t take him seriously.
I put my foot on the gas pedal and start to drive, my car drives past all
the other ones in the parking lot, it’s raining tremendously, but the sun is not visible, just barley bright enough to provide the sky with a bright bluish grayish color palette. I am just now entering the cemetery I pass by the security guard sitting at his post, we make eye contact for about two seconds and then he lets me enter, I’ve been comin’ here for the past year and a half, he knows why I’m here, he’s keenly aware, he doesn’t even need to speak and neither do I. After our usual two second exchange of awkward eye contact I drive by the guard and towards the grave, I’m trying to hurry so I’m not late again, I just want to see her before work. I hate doing this, I only do this because I loved, I do love her. My devotion doesn’t conform to any boundaries. I only do this to remind myself that she’s still in my heart and somewhere out in the world she’ll always be there, but in reality all it does is remind that she’s dead and she’s never coming back, I still come to the graveyard everyday anyway though.
I look at her gravestone, her name engraved on it “Sarah Brady, Beloved
Wife and Daughter.” I stare at it for about five seconds before I start crying and begin to walk towards my car. I get in and drive down the dirt road and towards the exit of the cemetery. I pass by the guard and gates and begin to head to the highway entrance. At this point I’m approximately five minutes and twenty- eight seconds away from the precinct, I used an entire box of tissues to wipe away my tears and dry up my mucus. My navigation system screen still has a picture of me, Sarah, and Sarah’s parents. But her father, her FUCKING FATHER. He still blames me for the whole thing. When it all happened he said and still says “You could have fucking saved her,” and “You didn’t protect her” and I always say “I wasn’t in control of the situation or of what happened” and “It wasn’t my fault, but I loved her to” but he doesn’t want to hear it, not that he believes me anyway. He just wants his daughter back, and I just want my wife back. He doesn’t have anything or anyone to blame so he blames me just because I was there and I didn’t stop it, even though I couldn’t have stopped it. But he forgets…. I loved her to and she was my family as well, and now….. She’s dead.
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