To Be...

Chapter 2

I woke as the officer lifted me by my shoulder. I, dazed, let him lead me into the police station. It was only the size of a double-wide trailer, and looked similar to one. There were printed papers scattered over corkboards on the right wall as we entered. He pointed me courteously towards the office. I could imagine what they'd want me to do inside.

They would ask me countless questions that implied Emily had been intoxicated, or made the accident her fault. They would ask me to relive the morning verbally, with simplistic sympathy if I became upset. These thoughts crossed my mind as I grappled for the knob.

"Welcome, Brianna. I'm very sorry we must meet under such circumstances."

The way he worded it made it seem like he was at a parent's door, after finding their child drinking at a party.

"Yes, Sheriff Blanton."

"I have a few questions that I am required to ask you. I'll understand if you can't answer."

I nodded, agitated and upset.

He locked his eyes on a paper with endless questions. I wasn't sure if I could hold out long enough. I felt like I was on a march in darkness, and I couldn't hear a thing. Everything-everyone- seemed to be against me.

"Miss Night?" the sheriff regained my attention.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did your mother seem different the last time you saw her?"

"No, sir."

This began the list that I answered curtly. I could see the sheriff trying to convince himself in was because of the shock, which we both understood to be wrong. I gazed around the cluttered box of a room, as he wrote my answers on the sheet. He filled me in on as many details as he believed I could withstand.

"I want to see her."

He was taken aback, but realized I wasn't the first person to ask.

"It isn't very advisable. She isn't recognizable. The wreck caused a great deal of-"

"I want to see her." I demanded.

He shook his head in disbelief, and led me to a patrol car, holding the passenger seat door wide open for me.

"Are you positive?" he asked, hoping I would suddenly change my mind.

"Positive." I assured him, and we went.

The car sped faster the further we went, as if charging into the battle. When we reached the parking lot, the sheriff froze, tightly gripping the grooved steering wheel. His grave face turned slowly to read mine. He looked hesitant, and awaited my move. I jerked the door handle, and clamored out. I leaned into the door frame.

"You can stay," I assured him.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, although I could see in his face he wasn't planning to come in to begin with.

"Yeah."

I took each step carefully, counting each. It soon became a march, similar to the march I'm sure the Jewish made into the gas chambers: beaten and too tired and afraid to scream any longer. It's always a march, because being uniform is the ultimate sacrifice- very dismal. I sat politely, but vacantly, in the uncomfortable wooden chair juxtaposed to the glass receptionist window. The receptionist walked in front of the glass, turned my way, and stepped out of view. I knew she was questioning the other employees if this, what I planned to do, would do more harm than good. She probably attempted to convince one of them to take her place. Clearly defeated, she sat in front of her glass window.