Starts With Coffee

It was a week after my gran's burial. There hadn't been moaning, no tears, simply relief. We celebrated her passing as she'd have wished, remembering all the jovial things about her, keeping her promise to forever tell her stories like they had taken place, with at most humor.

But still, she was gone.

School had started fine, meeting my friends at the front of the school. After a week of staying at home and sending out my grandmother's things, I was ready to face the world, ready to continue her journey through mine.

Apparently many things could happen in a week, as I came to find out from Florence, my bubbly friend since kindergarten. She let me into dozens of stories I didn't remember most of them, but one did catch my attention.

We'd just stopped at my locker when suddenly, all was quiet. "Oh no," she said.

I turned around from pulling out a book to peer at her shocked expression. But before I could, I'd spotted him.

Dressed in a pair of black skinnies tucked into biker's boots, and a hoodie over his head, he'd strode confidently through the hallway, everyone either scurrying away or standing frozen in a quivering mess. Auburn hair peeked from under the hood as two white cords ran under the hoodie and into his denim pockets.

Before I could ask the obvious question, I knew who he was. I'd seen his file get slammed on my dad's desk a countless times, both deputy and chief, dad, always complaining about his delinquency.

But seeing him in reality for the first time? It beat the picture. He still had the stud on the right of his lower lip, and a ring on his left ear, and if I remembered correctly, there was a scar slashing his brow.

He passed by us all without a second glance, his backpack swinging over one shoulder as he set his gaze ahead. It was once he was gone that you could feel how things had changed. It seemed even the air could breathe again.

"Gosh, he's scary," Rick, one of our friends said from beside me. I watched his retreating figure as he walked down the hallway, wondering just why he was here.

"Didn't you hear? He beat his own father to a pulp," Sheila, a chocolate skinned girl from science said. Another one of the group. She put a hand over her mouth to stop others from hearing, but you could still drop a pin and everyone would hear it.

"That's cruel," Florence said and Rick nodded.

That was at the same time he walked out from my view. I slammed my locker shut, making them jump. I knew what happened. As a curious teen back then, I'd entered dad's home office and taken a peek into his file. I knew what was in it, everything that was in it.

"You don't know what happened," I mattered, walking off with their curious stares.

I'd thought to forget that encounter, to simply wash it away, but I couldn't. He wasn't around during lunch break, nor was he there in all classes. The teacher had called and called, muttering condemnations at his disappearance. He'd not been at school that first day I returned, or the next, and the next. He wasn't around the whole week.

***

I hadn't realised I was looking out for him until Florence grabbed my wrist.

I'd found out he'd been out of town the whole week, he'd just skipped out. His patrol officer was ready to blow, had even asked dad to find him.

Dad couldn't just use his power in the town offhandedly. He had to be wise about decisions, and must obey the law. Being the chief's daughter wasn't so bad sometimes. Well, for me I'd not acquired one reason to show me otherwise. Grandmother used to say 'When I'm ready to bolt, I'm gonna be bolted'.