Don't own anything except the litte girl. Enjoy.
I stand on the roof top, looking down at the specs of humans below. They seem so tiny, yet what they have inside of them is big. We all have problems, this I know, but some are bigger than others too. Problem is, which ones are the ones you count as the bigger problems and the others just as problems?
When you work with victims, especially in this unit, you can't let what happen get to you. You can't let their past life get to you, you can't let their occupation make you biased…you have to remain impartial. To do any of those things…well…if you have used your "Get Out of Jail" free card as the Capt'n puts it, your transfer papers are being signed and you are out of here as soon as there is a opening available for a elementary level unit. To be judgmental is where you begin to screw up with your work life and maybe in your personal life gets fucked up too. Either way, one thing remains the same. It goes on your record, your career record, and the rest remains officially unsaid.
"Was unable to handle pressure of Special Victims. Recommended for work not in this serious of nature."
Yeah. And I have a fat ass. Fuck you.
You head honchos and psychologists up on high…you have no compassion. You have screwed up politics and moolah. I don't give a damn what you think, what the Capt'n thinks, what my partner thinks, or what everyone else thinks. You'll never get it. You'll never understand.
It began last week. I was going back to the car with my partner from a canvass when I saw this young girl sitting at the bus stop, her elbows resting on her thighs while her hands held up her head, across the street from where we were parked. She was a pitiful sight. Her tear-stained face…red eyes…sniffling. I stood there and looked at her for the longest time, ignoring my partner. I didn't get it. This was not a rare sight in New York City. Girls cried over break ups with boyfriends, bad grades…I had seen this plenty of times. Yet… there was something with her…something was wrong.
My partner was talking while I watched her. And he tells me I can run my mouth. He needs to reanalyze that comment. While my partner is in mid-sentence, I walked over across the street.
The girl saw me walking over. She stood up quickly. She was short in height, barely at the middle of my chest. But she was quick. Fearing a can of mace, I put my hands in the air like the poor, dumb son of a bitch who says "Nice Doggie" to a German Sheppard police dog. When you only see the dogs and no police behind them, you are one dead motherfucker and that's okay if you're a piece of motherfucking scum. A low life. A dirt bag that doesn't deserve to live after you killed the guy at the corner store while robbing his cash register.
"It's okay," I said, "I'm a detective. A cop. Don't run."
Jesus Christ! I felt like Jack Hannah or Steve Irwin, approaching an animal in the wild cautiously. Fin was still standing at the car, possibly wondering what the hell I was doing.
"Badge," she snapped, "Let me see your badge."
A sharp young lady. Most asked "What did I do?" and that can lead to problems if the detective is an imposter.
I moved aside my suit jacket slowly and unhooked my badge from my belt and gave it to her when I was a foot and a half away. I reached inside my coat pocket and showed her my ID too. She took them both and then looked at the side arm I carry.
"Is that real or plastic?" she asked.
"That's about as close you will probably get to seeing a nine millimeter on a detective," I said.
She handed back my ID and badge. She relaxed somewhat, but was still standing.
"Whadda yah want?" she asked to me.
"What's the matter?" I asked, "You were crying."
"I was and it ain't none of your business. I'm fine."
"Not from that response, you're not."
"What's it matter to you?"
"Because you are in pain."
She looked at me. She gave me that look that pretty much summarized what she was thinking on the spot.
"How do you know?"
I handed her my card and she took it, still giving me that look.
"Give me a call, anytime. I will get back to you as soon as I can if you can't reach me," I said.
She then turned suddenly and ran away. I watched her until she turned the corner and she disappeared from my view. I walked back to the car and I could feel my partner's eyes burning me with a "What the hell just happened" look.
"What?" I asked, getting tired of his look.
"What just happened?" he asked.
Sometimes I wished he wouldn't say anything on situations like these, but curiousity is a funny thing. It can knaw at you until there is nothing left to knaw at and then you burst out asking a million questions on the same subject. That's Fin for you and maybe me too.
"I don't know. You have eyes. You tell me."
"I'm talkin' about somethin' we should maybe pursue on a case and you just walk off to that girl sittin' on the bus stop like I'm not even here or somethin'. What the hell was that?"
"Fin, that girl needed someone to talk to. She looked like something bad happened. We keep forgetting that there are two types of victims. Ones that report their crime, the others who suffer with it in silence."
"John, if you kept doing that to every girl on the street, not only would Cragen find out and be worried, but I would be too. So what if she is crying over her break up with her man? She'll get over it."
"What about Cragen? Just because the Capt'n can figure what is going in Benson and Stabler's lives doesn't mean he'll figure out mine," I said.
Fin hastily converted his snort into a cough.
"It wasn't like that and you know it. I don't think she was crying over a boyfriend either. I've had enough girlfriends, especially ones that had suffer a recent break up when I dated them."
"Since when did you earn you PH. D. in dating?"
"Fin," I said while I opened the door to the car, "Get in the car and shut up."
Earlier today, I was mindlessly pulling apart a paper clip while I looked at mind-draining paperwork when I heard a familiar voice. I kept looking at my paperwork.
"Excuse me, sir. I was told Detective John Munch works on this level. Could I see him please?"
It was the girl from the bus stop. She happened to pull over a uniform and not a co-worker. Her voice was low too. The uniform pointed to me and she walked over. I put down my papers.
"Hi," I said, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Ummm…do you have grape soda?"
"I think so. Come with me."
I got up from my chair. Thank God my partner was not around. I went first to the vending machine rooms, feeling the girl behind me. I looked over the selections and found a Welch Grape Soda. Seem good enough. I didn't take her as the picky type. I put in some coins, pressed the button, and waited. After I saw no response, I hit the machine a few times and it dispensed the soda. I grabbed it and handed it to her.
"Here," I said.
"Thanks," she said and took it from me.
"So, why did you come here?"
She opened the pop can and looked at me. There are tears welling up in her eyes. I put my hand on her back.
"Is everything okay?"
She shook her head no.
"Wanna talk about it?"
She nodded and wiped her eyes.
"Okay. Come on."
So I took her back into the squad room and paused. I did't want someone listening in on our conversation. The Captain's office was empty, so I went there and locked the doors.
"What's the matter hon?" I asked as I offered her a chair and sat in the one next to hers.
"When you gave me your card last week, I kept looking at it. I kept wondering how the hell you knew. No one knows. No one at school, not my friends, No one," she said.
"Sweetie, what does no one know?"
She took a sip of her soda and sat there for a long time looking at the floor. For a moment I thought she was going to clam up, but she didn't.
"My Dad. He's an alcoholic and he…he...hit me that day you saw me. I took off running."
I wanted to say "Do you want to press charges?" but instead I said, "Did you go back?"
"Not until after a few days. My friend has a place I can lie low at when things get rough."
"I take it this isn't the first time this happened."
She nodded and said, "I hate it. I wish sometimes I was still little, still naïve, and where the difference between right or wrong...I don't know. It's just when you are little...everything is just right or wrong. Never...a middle. Now everything...everything has to fall in the middle. And, you feel bitter about it. You wished you had never been exposed to the middle, but that's childish. And that's when your world of right and wrong is completely destroyed and you have to create a new one."
"Why?" The one question I was taught never to ask, but this was an exception to the rule.
"See, when I was in fourth grade, they began to teach you about alcohol and smoking. At first, you ignore it. And you keep ignoring it in your middle school years, until you have to take that health class in high school. And then that's when it hits you. You nearly break down in that class and it takes you the next hour afterwards to recover. Even two years after I took that class as a freshman, you still don't forget it. You know he is slowly killing himself, slowly suffocating himself cause he smokes too. And there's nothing you can do about it because that's his battle. If he wants to quit, he has to fight it alone. But you know, that somehow, you can help him. It's just…he doesn't want to quit. You see him dying slowly everyday and there's nothing in this world you can do about it cause if you even mention to him, you will get hit. It changes him into something he's not. You want the dad you knew when you were little back. The one who was always the hero. But now that you finally grasp what he does, you know that's impossible because he did that too when you were little, just not in front of you. You have a front row seat in watching him suffer."
She shook uncontrollably and I sat there. Somehow, in someway, we are alike. I never had any idea that my dad was suffering until he blew his brains out. At least his death was quick and maybe painless. She, on the other hand, she knows her father is dying slowly, and there is nothing she can do about it because he won't allow her to help him. I wondered to myself, if I had known my father was suffering, would he had allowed me to help him?
"The doctor…he doesn't see him anymore cause he kept telling him that if he don't stop, he would not look out after him anymore," she said.
"What does your mom say?" I asked, hoping that there was a mom in the picture.
"She works all the time and doesn't have the time."
"Is there anything I could do, to help?"
"I only have one more year in that house. Once I turn eighteen, I'll be moving out of that hell hole."
"But a lot of things can happen between then and now. I can't do anything unless you file a complaint against him."
"And then have my mother beat the shit out of me? No thanks!"
"So your mother abuses you too."
"Yes. She has hypertension and menopause. Slightest thing that goes wrong pisses her off. And she ignores what my Dad is doing to himself."
"Sometimes, it's easier for humans to ignore things like that, but eventually we have to face them. If we keep ignoring them, then there's comes a point that the truth will explode and everyone will know."
"Emile Zola. I know him. He said something along those lines."
No doubt she was a reader if she knew Zola at her age.
"But that's usually when your life doesn't just fall apart when you openly admit the truth in public. Everything you know and love will collapse beneath you or be taken away." She looked at me for the longest time.
Then she stood and hugged me.
For a moment, I sat there like an idiot. Not knowing what do. Rarely, does anyone confess their life story and then hug the person that listened. I don't know how long it took me to hug her back, but I did eventually.
"I don't know what to say," I said, feeling somewhat guilty as she broke apart the embrace and looked at me, "I want to say everything will be okay, but I don't know. Somehow, that phrase just doesn't fit your situation. What do you want to do when you're older?"
"Well, I really want to be a detective. Computer Crimes...I have to confess though. The reason why is…is…I think I can put my hacking skills to good use there."
Hacking. Lovely. I wanted to ask her if she hacked anywhere of significant importance, but I pushed that out of my mind.
"Hacking," I said, trying to keep composure, "I'm sure that field in the police department will be wide open for you. We do need some people with computer skills since now most crimes are starting to be committed using many different types of technology."
"Thanks," she said, smiling. The tears were long gone now and I saw a hopeful face. I notice she does not wear make-up. There's actually someone in this world who doesn't wear make-up in a big city. That would probably blow my wives' minds out of the water.
"Then if that's what you to do, you should pursue it. Make it a dream you can achieve because that dream can be your way out. If things get rough at your house from now until the time you turn eighteen, then keep doing what you have been doing. That's the best advice I can give you. I wish I could do more."
"I know you're thinking I should file a complaint or somethin', but it won't be long until I turn eighteen. What doesn't break you only makes you stronger, I guess. I'll be okay. Thanks."
She gave me a small smile and then her face radiated like the sun. I saw all her features on her face that made her who she was. And then, like if it were a dream, she floated away and went out of the office after unlocking the door. I sat there for a while and then I realized I did't know her name. I ran after her and saw she was getting on the elevator. But before I could shout at her "Wait!", the doors closed.
I stood there wondering if I should go after her and ask her what her name was. I decided not too. Computer crimes was located here and if she did join, that's where she would be and I would probably see her face again someday. Maybe we would even work together.
Her round face, with big, brown eyes, a nose that was a cross between mine and Cragen's, and that small smile she gave me before I left. I swear on my father's grave that I will never forget that. Just thinking of it makes me smile. It's contagious.
But now, as I stand here on the roof top a few hours later and think about the whole thing, I hear rumbles of thunder. A rain storm is coming. I think about my father and how I felt. I remembered a memory from a long time ago of how I sat at a bus stop because I had a fight with my mother, in that same position like that little girl, and I realized that's why I approached her. Because it had trigger that faint memory and I didn't know it until now.
The rumbles of thunder become more louder and the wind picks up, blowing into me. I let it. It feels good. I realize that in a few days time, it will be the anniversary of his death. I rarely go to the synagogue, but I always have made it a habit to go there on that day. I don't care if at the time I don't believe in God or if I am angry at him. I've always felt that is the day I can strongly feel my father's presence. It's also a day that I take off early from work.
But now, on the roof top, the wind becomes stronger and I feel my silver hair being blown back. God, I am old. I can barely keep my track record time. What muscles I had are starting to become flabby despite me constantly working out. And I begin to wonder where did all that time go. I use to have black hair.
And then it begins to rain. In sheets, it comes down. Lightning strikes the ocean nearby and it's followed by a loud crack of thunder. I stand there with my eyes closed and tilt my head up to the sky. I let it fall on me. The drops trace down the wrinkles of my skin and I realize I am smiling. I know my clothes are soaked. Who cares if this suit is dry clean only. I have a spare outfit in my locker.
I open my eyes and I see light gray clouds moving fast to the ocean. And then I see some sun and it begins to shine on me while it is still raining in sheets. I close my eyes and I shake my head vigorously. Water goes everywhere, but you can't tell. My hair becomes disarrayed and I take off my suit jacket and let it fall to the ground. Wet wool is too heavy. I love it. The rain, it feels so good and the sun on me which keeps me warm.
I stand there. I let it wash over me and I begin to laugh out loud. What happens now and in the future is what only matters and our past help us make sure we do not repeat the same mistakes again. We have the power to alter our destiny and the choices we make determine the outcome of it. I finally understand.
I won't need a shower tonight. A renaissance, a beautiful thing. I love the rain.