A Tremor In The Soul
The black and white TV had been sitting on the desk in the corner for so long that nobody thought it was out of place anymore. Haseejian had brought it into the office over a year and a half ago, and it had been on, volume down, almost every day since. At the more important times, the sound had been turned up slightly, and people would stand around it for a few minutes at a time, engrossed, until they realized that they were at work and drag themselves away.
Mike had been concerned when the set first appeared, worried that his staff would spend too much time with one eye on the TV instead of concentrating on their cases. But knowing the magnitude of what was happening and aware that almost every office and bureau in the Hall of Justice now housed similar sets, he allowed the TV to stay, with the stipulation that should it ever start to seriously interfere with productivity, it was gone.
He studiously avoided it himself at the beginning, not giving in to the almost prurient fascination that seemed to grip everyone else. But eventually, as the months went by and more and more disturbing revelations came to light, he found himself staring at the screen alongside the others, hardly believing what he was seeing and hearing.
Steve was one of many who had become addicted, though he never allowed it to interfere with his job. But sometimes late at night, just before they would leave for home, he and Mike would sit in the latter's office and talk about what was happening back east. They came to their perspectives from different generations, and though their personal understandings of what was transpiring was coloured by their own experiences, they were nonetheless not completely surprised to realize they shared a similar melancholic attitude.
For almost a year and a half the epoch-changing drama had ground on, and now it was reaching its seemingly inevitable conclusion.
It was 6 pm on this particular Thursday night and, as Mike stepped out of his office, his glasses on and a file in his hand, he wasn't surprised to see that those still at work crowded around the small TV. Steve was sitting on a chair front and centre, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees; the others were standing or sitting in other chairs or the corners of nearby desks, all riveted by the image on the screen. The room was silent except for the familiar voice emanating from the speakers on the set; the volume was louder than usual, but Mike said nothing – he knew full well what was going on.
Quietly, trying not to pull focus, he moved closer to the group, looking over heads at the screen. A few minutes later, having heard what he was only half-prepared to hear, he turned slowly and walked back to his office. Silently closing the door, he walked to his chair, tossed the file on his desk and, as he sat, took off his glasses and rubbed a weary hand over his face.
Several minutes later, Mike watched through the glass as the group in front of the TV began to break up. No one spoke as they drifted away; Steve turned off the set and looked towards the inner office, his unreadable gaze meeting that of his partner's. He crossed the room and as he entered, closing the door and taking the seat opposite the desk, pulled off his tie and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
They sat in silence for almost a minute, both looking down, not making eye contact.
Eventually Steve sighed. "Well, it's finally over."
Mike snorted mirthlessly and looked up, shaking his head. "It's not over," he said quietly. "It's never going to be over." He sighed heavily. "The country's different now. It'll never be the same again." There was a deep sadness in his voice that Steve had never heard before.
Mike stared at his young partner. "I keep thinking about my brother and all the fellas we lost in World War Two and Korea, and all the young guys we lost in Vietnam…" He paused, and his stare turned inward. "This isn't the same country they fought and died for – hell, this isn't even Johnson's Great Society. I don't know what it is anymore…"
Steve stayed silent, knowing the older man needed to talk.
"When I was growing up, everyone looked up to the president. They were men of vision, character - Roosevelt, Truman – men you knew had the country's best interests at heart, men you could admire and emulate. 'The buck stops here'." He chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head. He looked up and met Steve's eyes. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm ashamed of this country right now. We're better than this."
Steve nodded slowly. "Well, maybe this is the turning point, when we finally get things back on track…"
"Really? Tomorrow morning we're gonna have a president that wasn't even elected. How the hell did that happen?" Mike shook his head in disgust. "You know, I've never…disliked a president before, but what that man has done to this country…"
The silence lengthened between them. Then suddenly Steve got to his feet. "Come on," he said, gesturing for the other man to get up as he took a step towards the door. "I think we need a drink and a good meal – I'm buying."
Mike chuckled but stayed put. Steve stepped closer to the desk and leaned forward. "Mike, there's nothing you or I can do about this, you do know that, right?" he began with a smile. "I think the whole country feels like we do right now. But he's not the country – we are. It's people like you and me and those guys out there," he gestured through the glass wall, "we're what makes this country great and we're the ones that'll keep in on track." He straightened up and clapped his hands. "So come on, let's do what we do best – which right now is going out to dinner – and show everybody that we can get past this." He had moved to the coat rack and picked up Mike's hat, holding it out.
With another affectionate chuckle and shake of his head, Mike got to his feet. "Since when did you become the 'glass half full' guy in this partnership?" he asked.
Grinning, Steve handed him the fedora then took the suitcoat off the rack and held it out for him to get into. "Hey, I learned from the best; someone's always gotta see the silver lining, right?"
His hat askew, Mike adjusted the collar of his jacket as he followed his young partner out of the office and across the squadroom. "Oh yeah, what's the silver lining in all this?"
His grin getting wider, Steve fell into step beside the older man as they headed down the corridor towards the elevators, sliding a hand across Mike's back to rest on his shoulder. "Are you kidding? As of tomorrow morning, we won't have Dick Nixon to kick around anymore!"