Sources: Rumi, Birdsong; Great Short Poems, ed. Paul Negri; A Study of Poetry, Don M. Wolfe; The Languages of the World, Kenneth Katzner.
Chronology: "Stand Your Ground"
Rumi:
The rose takes from another presence
its crimson grace, as a thief
on the gallows takes the breeze.
So the nightingale begs all night,
to no avail, the morning air,
"Warn of what you bring!"
"Thanks. Have a good one!" Calleigh called to the bartender as she left.
Being with Jake always made her feel vivacious, beautiful, and fascinating. She walked down the street with a smile and an extra swing in her step. She admired her reflection in the window of a store she passed.
She couldn't imagine anything could ruin her good mood this morning.
She got into her car, rolled down the window to let the breeze clear out the heat, and checked her mirror. A large black car was driving up. She waited for it to pass.
But it didn't pass. It slowed to a stop beside her car. She glanced over to see what the problem was.
And came face to face with the barrel of a gun.
"Kill the engine, lady! Now!"
She looked forward calmly, and reached to her keys. Then her hand smoothly glided to her open purse.
"I'm not going to ask you again. Turn it off!"
Gun in hand, Calleigh spun back toward the window. "Police officer! Put the gun down, now!"
The black car's wheels screeched into motion. The man's gun hit her hand, knocking hers away.
Calleigh got out of her car as they sped off. She walked to where her gun had come to a rest, several meters in front of her car. As she walked back, she heard the squealing of tires against pavement. She turned to see the black car accelerating toward her.
Instead of running, she faced them squarely, aimed her gun, and fired at the driver. She rolled out of the way a second before the car drove over where she had been standing. It swerved out of the road and crashed through the window of a nearby store.
Calleigh immediately rose to her feat and approached the crashed car, her gun at the ready. She shouted to be heard over the blaring of the horn. "Get out of the car!" Ignoring the flames and sparks that sputtered around her, she opened the car door, finding the driver either dead or unconscious, blood dripping down his face. She pulled him off the horn, then looked around for the passenger.
That's when she spotted a hand protruding from beneath the car. Calleigh ran to the woman, pulled her away from the vehicle, and checked for a pulse.
The woman was dead. That realization struck Calleigh with a horror that not even the gun and the car driving straight for her had inspired. She pulled out her cell phone, dialed, spoke in a strained voice. "This is, uh, Duquesne. I've got an off-duty...shooting I need to report. Beachside and Eleventh. Requesting immediate assistance. There are two fatalities at the scene, and, uh, one suspect is outstanding on foot."
William Blake, "The Sick Rose":
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
When Eric heard that Calleigh had been involved in an off-duty shooting, he felt like someone had put an iron band around his chest. Despite Horatio's assurance that Calleigh was unharmed, he couldn't breathe easily again until he arrived at the crime scene and saw her with his own eyes.
He went straight to her, sat beside her, and tried to think of the best way to ask if she was okay.
"I don't know what happened," she said before he had a chance to speak. "I was just at a brunch, down the street." She was trying to sound upbeat, but Eric knew it was an act: Calleigh was the bravest person he knew, but no one could go through something like this without being a little bit devastated. He could see how flushed her face was, the distant look in her shadowed eyes.
"You gonna be okay?" he asked quietly.
After a long moment, she nodded, still not looking at him. "There was a woman in that building." She bit her lip and shrugged. "An innocent woman." She'd killed suspects before, but this was the first time a bystander had died because of her.
Eric wished he could wrap his arms around her and tell her that it wasn't her fault, but the best way to help her would be to process the scene, prove her version of the incident, get ahead of the IAB investigation. And to do that he needed all the facts. He hated what he had to ask, because it could just make her feel more guilty. "Listen Calleigh," he said as gently as he could, "I need to ask you something, and I don't want you to take it the wrong way. I know you're off duty; have you been drinking?" He watched her closely as he spoke, hoping he wasn't hurting her.
She looked away again. "You know, the paramedic asked me that question." She paused for a long moment. "I had two mimosas, but it doesn't have anything to do with what happened." It was harder to lie to Eric than to the paramedic. She only had one mimosa; the other was Jake's. But she didn't want IAB to find out she was still seeing Jake. She blinked quickly, trying not to cry. "It's my day off."
Eric could no longer resist touching her. He tentatively rested his hand on her shoulder, half afraid the gesture of sympathy would only upset her more. "You don't have to explain anything to me, okay? I understand. I believe you. It's just not me that you gotta worry about." He pulled her closer. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Her hand grasped his, as though afraid he would let go of her.
That was when he noticed something gleaming on the ring finger of her left hand.
She never wore her engagement ring to work, of course, not just because she was keeping her relationship with Jake a secret, but also because it could snag on the latex gloves she frequently had to wear. That she was wearing the ring now didn't even cross her mind.
The moment Eric saw it, he figured out that Calleigh was still seeing Jake--probably had never stopped, which did explain the way she'd been acting the past few months--and that they were engaged. And he realized to his surprise that it didn't bother him right now. He was too glad that Calleigh wasn't hurt. All he cared about was comforting her.
Harriet Monroe, "Love Song":
I love my life, but not too well
To give it to thee like a flower,
So it may pleasure thee to dwell
Deep in its perfume but an hour.
I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well
To sing it note by note away,
So to thy soul the song may tell
The beauty of the desolate day.
I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well
To cast it like a cloak on thine,
Against the storms that sound and swell
Between thy lonely heart and mine.
I love my life, but not too well.
"If Stetler finds out that I'm here, he will have my head," Calleigh said sternly as she walked up to Jake at the crime scene.
"Well I don't need you to do any field work; I just wanted to talk," Jake replied. Calleigh didn't look happy with him, and he couldn't figure out why. "If I'm gonna be working the case, it would be better to hear it from you than reading it from the report."
"Well, technically, I don't know that you can do that."
"What do you mean?" he asked. He flashed the half smile that he always brought out when trying to get out of trouble, especially when he wasn't sure what he was in trouble for. Sometimes Calleigh thought it was cute, but right now that little quirk of his just seemed childish.
"Well, you got to the restaurant this morning before I did, right?"
"Yeah."
"So, I know about all the drinks you ordered before I got there. Stetler showed me your receipt."
Jake itched his nose as he floundered for a way out of this one. "Yeah. I ran into some buddies, bought a round."
Calleigh couldn't decide if she wanted to scream or cry. Instead she spoke quietly and carefully. "Jake, you know that my dad is a...fairly accomplished drinker, and I have heard every excuse and half-truth, so...you wanna just tell me the real story?"
"What difference does it make?"
"The difference is that your four drinks brought my actions today in question."
He looked impatient. "Calleigh," he said condescendingly, "when I was undercover I had to do a few things that I'm not proud of. But I'm not like your old man. This morning I was just a guy...on off-duty cop trying to enjoy himself."
"I'm just not sure that you're the on-duty cop who needs to be working this case," Calleigh said.
One of the reasons Calleigh was skittish about relationships was her fear of marrying a man like her father. Now, learning that Jake may have a drinking problem of his own...for the first time she was having serious second thoughts about the marriage. She decided to consider it later. Today she already had too many emotional blows to deal with. Not to mention that until the investigation was over, she didn't know if she'd even have a job, and then who knew where she'd end up? She had IAB breathing down her neck, the suspect claiming she'd fired at them unnecessarily, people who'd known her for years questioning her competence...on top of all that there was no way she could deal with Jake.
When Eric summoned her to the scene, she was hoping it wouldn't be more bad news.
She spotted him across the road, taking something from a tree. She watched him for a moment before crossing the street. The sureness that seemed embodied in his posture and his movements reassured her. If anyone could make this horrible day better, it was him.
"Hey. Why did you want me to come down?"
"Pete Morton," Eric answered, "told Horatio that there was a truck parked at this corner, blocking their escape route."
"Yeah. I told Stetler that it wasn't there, but then again, he thinks I was drunk." She managed a laugh.
Eric smiled. "Well you were right." He pointed to a small hole in the tree. "Take a look at this bullet strike here. I pulled this out of it." He held up a small evidence bag with a bullet in it. "Look familiar?"
Her relief showed in her smile. "Yeah. It's a .45."
"And I bet it's yours. It missed the suspect's car and struck the tree."
"You know, that proves there's no way that there was a truck there."
"Proves Pete Morton's story's BS," Eric said, anger at what Calleigh had been put through kept him from sharing her happiness. "They weren't looking for an escape route; they had one." He fixed his eyes on her. "They were coming back to kill you. Stetler's wrong. You did what you had to do."
"Thanks Eric," she said.
"Don't thank me. Thank, uh...thank Jake." It was a difficult thing for Eric to say, but he now knew how important Jake and Calleigh were to each other, and as much as it hurt him he was going to accept and support that. "He just called me down here and asked me to handle it."
"Jake asked you to do this?" Calleigh asked incredulously. She was astounded that Jake would ever let someone else take the credit for something he found. And that Eric, who had never liked Jake, would give him the credit anyway.
"Guess he's a stand-up guy after all," he said.
She stared at him. Eric had figured out she was still with Jake, of that she was sure--which meant that what he just said was his way of giving them his blessing.
On the same day that she'd learned Jake wasn't as good a man as she'd thought, she saw Eric was an even better one. It made her less sure than ever about her decision to accept Jake's proposal.
Kim So-wol, The Azalea:
When you take your leave,
Tired of seeing me,
Gently and silently I'll bid you go.
From Mount Yag of Yongbyon
An armful of azaleas I shall pick,
And strew them in your path.
Go now I pray, with short steps!
Let each footstep gently tread
The flowers which I have spread for you.
When you take your leave,
Tired of seeing me,
Though I should die, I shall not weep.
