Ruby hadn’t noticed her Mum’s strange moods yet, the darkest place must really be under the candle’s flame. I didn’t stop thinking about Connie’s troubles, but decided not to interfere. She wouldn’t hold it in forever, she would talk to me when she was ready.
I wondered that maybe I have been a bad example to her all these years, always trying to deal with my problems alone, without having to bother anyone else. Will she come to me at all?
Connie
I remembered my first day at the station only too well. It opened my eyes to what the world was really like. At first I used to be angry that the police didn’t tell people the truth, or the whole truth, but in the end I decided that it’s better not to know certain things. That was the only way one could feel safe and sleep well at night.
I started at the station almost exactly six years ago. Before that, the idea of working there seemed like a noble, meaningful, fulfilling job, but my ideas turned out to be very naive.
It’s as if some people have just been cloned from earlier samples; they act, think and speak exactly the same. That day I had to tell a tattooed guy with crazy eyes when he’s supposed to attend court. He was shouting about having no intentions to go because he hasn’t done anything wrong, so why don’t I go there myself since I care so much. Never mind the fact that he’d raped a six-month old baby. His words were of course mixed with all kinds of vulgarities. He didn’t even bother with a “bitch” and went straight for the real deal.
“Cunt?” I repeated after him. Even though I knew I had to stay professional, I couldn’t help but give him a piece of my mind. It was like talking to a brick wall though, he didn’t register a single word from my indignant monologue.
That’s when Emma stepped in. “If you get so upset about every single case, you won’t last a month. Get a grip.”
I took a few deep breaths and tried to not think about that baby too much. “How often do you get cases like these here?”
“Daily,” she said and I saw anger flash through her calm expression.
I could feel the bubble I’d been living in until that day bursting. I had the theory of criminality down and knew that these things happen… But to this extent?
“Why did you even want to join the police?” Emma asked a little later, as we were making coffee in the kitchenette.
Suddenly, saying that “to serve and protect” was my favourite motto seemed pathetic and ridiculous. Since then I’d often thought that the innocent and helpless cannot be protected by anybody, least of all me. But I stayed at the station. I toughened up and felt my resentment against people grow stronger and stronger. It was no surprise that I was overprotective with Ruby.
“Alright,” my memories were interrupted by Emma, who was sharing a shift with me again today. “I think I’ve been patient enough.” She didn’t seem annoyed, but definitely not in a joking mood either.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been walking around like an empty shell all week. You work harder than ever, don’t talk, don’t even get upset about people spitting on the glass. So what are you trying to avoid thinking about?”
“Miss Perceptive today, aren’t you? I just don’t feel very well, that’s all.”
“And that’s why you’ve been crying?”
“I haven’t been crying.”
“Tell that to the Marines. You’ve got puffy eyes and a red nose every morning.”
I opened my mouth to speak but she interrupted me. “Don’t tell me it’s some mysterious allergy or hay fever which only flares up on the third Wednesday of the month, in the fall, and only at the age of twenty six.”
I opened my mouth again, but nothing came out. On the plus side, this conversation made me stop thinking about the depressing extent of hidden criminality, but the alternative was my no less depressing reality, and anxiety grabbed hold of my heart and held tight. Treacherous tears fought their way into my eyes… again.
“Connie,” Emma encouraged me, this time gently, compassionately. She moved her chair closer to me and took me by the hand. “What’s going on?”
I swallowed and blinked. “I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell someone else before I tell Dad. I didn’t know a single woman among my friends who would share significant news with her parents before telling a good friend. But an exception proves the rule; that’s just how it was for me.
Emma turned serious. “You know I’m here for you any time, right?”
I nodded and looked away. I quickly got back to work, just to take my mind off it. I had several similar conversations in the next couple of days. The sergeant took me aside, a few other colleagues found an opportune moment to speak to me, as well as a few policemen–for everyone to see, but at least in whispers. None of the conversations were easy as I was still trying to hide the truth, but gradually I managed to get into this kind of numbness, and it got easier not to notice the looks people were giving me and ignore my own emotions.
I often found that whole hours had gone by without me realising. I did my job on autopilot, politely refused friends’ invitations for coffee or dinner, and at home took every opportunity to hide in my bedroom. Luckily, Ruby and Dad managed without me.
I even survived my next hospital visit, although I didn’t remember much of it. I refused any kind of treatment, as I didn’t want to spend my last moments on a
