Pensive Peyote #10

Screeeeechhh!!!

As the bus flew past him in a most ungraceful stop, he jogged alongside it waiting for the contraption to stop long enough for him to jump on.

Whoosh!

The doors whipped open during its last few feet of travel and he waited until it came to a complete stop before climbing on. The driver shot him an apologetic look, and he shrugged it off as he deposited his money in the fare box. This had happened every morning for the past five years, and you would think that after driving the vehicle for so long, you would understand the concept of slowing down before the bus stop rather than screeching past. But alas, the driver was a creature of habit and did the same thing every morning.

He braced himself for the traditional reaction he always got when he took the bus to work. People would look up at him for a split second and snap their heads around and look out the window while trying to act like they were doing nothing wrong. The typical “I know I’m not doing anything wrong, but you may think I am because that’s your job” mentality.

While suppressing a smirk that often came to his face whenever he was thoroughly amused, he made his way to the back of the bus. At 6’0” tall and 170 pounds, he was an imposing figure. His bright blue eyes offered a seemingly stark, yet natural, contrast to his tan face and dark brown hair. Officer Bailey couldn’t figure out which he enjoyed more: his job or the reaction he got when he jumped onto a city bus wearing the well-known dark blue uniform. At first it annoyed him that complete strangers within a 50 yard radius felt like they had to be perfect angels in order to avoid being arrested, but it had become an amusing part of his day.

He sat down behind what appeared to be a man and his granddaughter. The little girl peeked up over the back of the seat to look at him. Bailey waved to her and mouthed “hi”. She giggled and turned around to presumably tell her grandfather that she talked to the police officer. He turned around and smiled back in an appreciative manner, and then turned his attention back to the girl. What struck Bailey immediately were the girl’s clear blue eyes and her nearly jet-black hair. It was as if he had found a twin born about 25 years too late.

“Where we goin’ grandpa?”

“We’re headed to Daggett Lake in upstate, but first we have to swing by your mother’s place to get your rod.”

“What’s a rod grandpa?”

“It’s what you use to catch the fish in the lake, remember Amber?”

“Oh yeah! We’re goin’ to catch some fish, aren’t we?!?”

“That’s right, and if you have any of that true Anderson blood running in ya, you’ll be catching ‘em left and right!”

“Just like you, right grandpa?”

“Right!”

Bailey winced as he overheard the conversation taking place in front of him. Thankfully they couldn’t see his reaction. He remembered his first time at Daggett Lake. He wasn’t much older than the girl in front of him when his own father took him fishing for the first time. It’s not an experience he enjoyed reliving, but the conversation in front of him forced the scene back into his head.

His father had picked him up from his mother’s little Brooklyn apartment. He was too young to remember when they had separated, but he remembered the divorce. All of the sudden he was whisked away from the place they all shared on 10^th Avenue and found himself sharing a 2-bedroom place the size of a closet in the middle of Brooklyn. He had just made some new friends in his kindergarten class before he was forced to start all over again.

“You know I don’t want to bother your mother, so could you go in and get all of your gear for the lake?”

“Sure dad! I’ll tell her you’re out here too!”

He was still in that stage afterwards where he believed if he could just get them talking again, then everything would go back to the way it was. He took it upon himself at the wise old age of six to patch up a marriage that his adult parents had been unable to keep together.

“No! Son…if she wants to talk to me, she knows where to find me.”

“Well…okay…I guess.”

He went inside and gathered up his tackle box, fishing rod, and the lunch his mother had packed for him. As he gathered everything up he noticed his mother’s bedroom door was closed. As he grew older he realized that she would do that whenever she thought there was a risk of his father coming in with him. It was her way of avoiding anything and everything that had to do with her ex. His father’s way of avoiding her was to sit on the steps leading up to the apartment building, so he knew that the only way to get them to interact was to force their hands as much as he could. It was a doomed effort from the start, but that didn’t stop him.

While he was packing his lunch, he suddenly had an ingenious idea: he would pack another lunch and tell his father that mom had made it for him! That would surely get them talking, right? Pleased with his idea, he went to work making another sandwich…just like dad liked it: way too much mayo, and only one lettuce leaf. His dad had never cared much for the healthier side of food, and that fact was well-known. After he finished, he put the rest of his clothes into his backpack, yelled goodbye through his mother’s door, and took off down the stairs.

He practically yelled out “mom made a sandwich for you!” as soon as he made it to the sidewalk. A look of surprise clearly registered on his father’s face, and for a moment, he looked up towards the apartment window as if contemplating going inside. It was gone in an instant, and he looked down at his son and said “you know your mother is out of town right now.”

…

Bailey froze. He had completely forgotten. He looked at the ground while mentally berating himself for being so stupid, and when he looked back up at his dad he saw something he had never seen before. Anger. An anger aimed directly at him.

Smack!

He was stunned. No sooner after the backhand, his father kneeled down, grabbed his shoulders, and said “don’t ever pull something like that again!”

And just like that his father grabbed all of his stuff and led them towards the bus stop like nothing had happened. They went on their trip, caught tons of fish, and came back to the city without ever mentioning it. Bailey ended up telling his mother what had happened, and he had never witnessed a verbal barrage occur over a phone like the one he saw when his mother called his father. After that, things were never the same between him and his father. He eventually stopped calling, and their first fishing trip also became their last.

High school graduation passed, and there was no word. College graduation passed and no word. He entered the academy and graduated near the top of his class. No word. Now, five years later, he was next in line for promotion to the prestigious rank of detective in his precinct. No word.

Bailey was angry for many years over the estrangement. After all, it was his father who had hit him, not the other way around. He used every word in the dictionary to negatively describe his father, but “coward” always came back around. He wondered what his father would do if he saw him today. How would he react? He wasn’t sure, but he learned in college that if he continued festering in his anger, it would consume him and turn him into the same bitter old man that felt it was appropriate to backhand good-intentioned six year olds on the sidewalk. His rage evolved into a desire to help others like him: the kids who come from “broken homes” who are already assumed to fail. It’s why he became a cop.

Screech!!!

This was his stop…well, actually it was about 20 feet ago, but the driver never failed in passing every stop on the route. As Bailey got up to leave Amber turned around and smiled at him again. He handed her one of those McGruff stickers (kids always loved those) and said “have fun fishing.” With that he bolted out of the bus doors and headed to his patrol car.