Police Officer Stopped By, But I’ll Never Know Why

(photo from Jason Rojas)

You drove in, looking smooth and professional. Your shiny white police car slid into the parking spot. I felt mixed emotions (curiosity and worry) as I stared at your lights, and the long black stripe along the side of your car. I watched you, sitting there in your car, just sitting there.

Why were you here? My chest tightened, I didn’t want to be part of a police report again*. The afternoon sun shown down on the parking lot, the wilted grass, the apartment buildings, your car. Questions I wanted answers to, rankled my mind, compelling me to stay and watch.

When you got out of the car, I couldn’t help but wonder if the reason you could pull off your short crew cut was simply because you had minimal hair to begin with. You were big and imposing (perhaps you owed that in part to the Kevlar vest you wore), but you hid behind your black sunglasses.

I breathed a sigh of relief when you stopped at the apartment building one over from mine, but curiosity rattled my mind as you disappeared from view. I wanted to know more.

The next time I saw you, moments later, you were outside again. You had propped your sunglasses on your head when you entered the apartment building, but had forgotten to reposition them on your nose when you came back outside. It gave you a somewhat relaxed air now, but that did nothing to allay my curiosity.

You returned to your car, slid inside and drove off in one seamless movement. Frustration welled up inside of me. Now I would never know why you had come.

(*For anyone wondering, no, I was never in any trouble with the police. I was part of a  victim’s report for a robbery once.)


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