“Sure! Have you had a macchiato yet?”
“Nah. I wanted to try something different today. Be a bit more adventurous, I guess.” Actually, I was hoping a bigger change in my already loose routine would shake the pressure and dread seeping into my bones as I talked.
The door swung open and closed as I gathered my muffin and drink from Stacy. As always, I found a nice booth to sit in and pass the time until Crescent was able to come visit with me. The macchiato was still too hot to drink, so I pulled the lid off to cool it down some and scrolled mindlessly on my phone.
I’d thought my life was boring back when I was a receptionist. I had to argue that my life was even more boring and lonely now, seeing as I was thirty years old and had no other friends, no job to occupy myself, and a constant, sinking unease that followed my every waking moment.
“Hey.”
I looked up from my phone, narrowing my eyes at none other than Officer Blake. “Why, hello, Officer. What can I do for you?”
One hand gripped his vest at the top while the other held onto his coffee. “Oh, nothing. I just saw you and wanted to say hello again. And, please, call me Emerson.”
“Well, okay, Emerson. We seem to keep meeting, don’t we?”
“That we do.” He moved forward, motioning to the booth in front of me. “This seat taken?”
I shrugged. “Once Crescent comes out, yes. For the moment, no. But aren’t you working?”
He slid into the booth, setting his coffee down on the table. “I’ve got a moment for coffee and chatting if you do. If something needs my immediate attention, I’ll hear it from here.” He patted the radio attached to his vest.
“Hm.” It was weird talking to him like this when I could still feel the way he’d clasped the handcuffs around my wrist and helped me stand up when I was just feet away from the man I’d murdered. Justifiable homicide, they’d said.
Sure, it was justifiable, but was it really justice? That night stayed with me everywhere I went, and Elio had harbored years of horrific memories. Was that justice, or was it freezing the current problem, only to create another?
I set my phone down and looked up at Emerson. “Why did you become a cop?”
The way he stared at me, I began to wonder if he’d even answer. He seemed taken aback by the question, which I couldn’t blame him for. “Do you want the honest answer, or the socially accepted one?”
“Honest. Don’t bullshit me. You’ve seen me at my worst. I can’t imagine you could come up with anything lower than that.”
He tilted his head in agreement. “True. Honestly, I first decided it because my dad was one. I was maybe seven years old, completely enamored by his uniform, and the car, and all the fun parts I got to see as a kid.”
I played with the rim of my coffee, the steam billowing out and warming the tips of my fingers. It felt like fall and leaves of all different colors falling. I loved the fall. “What’s your socially accepted answer?”
“That I’d always had a strong sense of justice. I’ve always wanted to help people, which is true by itself, but it wasn’t the deciding factor. My dad was just a really cool dude, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps because of it.”
Was.His dadwasa pretty cool dude. The distinction made me a little sad, realizing just how lost I’d be without both of my parents. “I think both answers are good ones, and I bet your dad really was cool. Do you still like what you do?”
“I love it, actually. Depending on the town, the majority of what I do is conflict resolution between people. Sometimes, people just need someone to help them understand a different side of things. They need someone to step in when things are too overwhelming, or a disagreement is steadily going to shit, and they can’t bring it down themselves.” He took a sip from his drink, taking a moment to appreciate it. “I think humans in general are cool. We all experience the world differently, and no thought is the exact same between two people. Right and wrong aren’t the same for people, either.”
I leaned my elbows onto the table, slumping forward. “What do you mean?”
He swirled his cup around, letting the bottom of it scrape against the table. “I mean, we have laws, right? They’re from a collective group of people who decided the baseline moral values. Not everyone shares those same values, no matter how obviously ethical or unethical they are. Every person holds their own moral compass, and sometimes that moral compass doesn’t align with what’s written in the law books. My job includes upholding the law, but it also includes navigating those moral differences. There’s a lot of gray area when it comes to these things, whether people admit it or not. I’m not afraid to admit it, and I like helping people get through those disagreements. My rule of thumb is to work out a solution before bringing the very black and white pages of the law into things.”
Leaning back against the chair, I stared at him for a moment. The deep, almost rich black of his hair mixed with small patches of gray. His beard followed the same pattern, the majority of itdark, whereas the parts around his cheekbones had a heavier mix of gray in them. I liked it. I liked it a lot, actually.
When he talked about morals and humans and right and wrong, his eyes sparkled with an intense interest. I’d recognize it anywhere, having seen it in Crescent’s eyes when he baked, Elio’s when he painted, and my parents when they did yoga in the front yard or living room. It was pure, undoubted passion for what he was talking about. He believed what he was saying, and he said it with knowledge and conviction, though all of it was introspective. He’d pulled it from his soul.
“That makes sense. I mean, there’s all these things we’re meant to align with, and most compassionate and ethical humans do, but not everyone. Not every person sees eye to eye.”
He nodded. “Exactly. That’s why morally gray exists, too. It isn’t just this or that, and the law takes a lot of that into account in a lot of areas. Others, not so much.”
“Like me killing someone in self-defense and in the defense of someone else.”
That got him. He stared at me for a moment, his facial features freezing before finally relaxing. His eyebrows fell, his mouth turned down, and I could’ve sworn the sea opened in his eyes. He looked genuinely sad when he nodded. “Yeah, exactly like that. You defended and protected during a life-threatening situation. That’s hardly something to be punished for.”
Shrugging, I looked down at the table, avoiding the way his eyes made me feel. “I’m not so sure about that. That moral compass or whatever you called it really kicks me in the ass sometimes.” Like right now, while I tried to think past the intense, red streaks of blood that kept resurfacing over and over in my mind.
