“What do you mean?”
“Rains all night and doesn’t stop till your shift ends.”
“Well, rain is better than the desert climate of Gaza.”
“I bet you’re glad you don’t live in that war-ridden hellhole anymore.”
“Yes, I didn’t want my daughters to grow up in a war zone. I want them to grow up in a place of freedom where they can live free and become educated, and not worry about being stoned to death by some prick who wants the world to go back to the Dark Ages.”
“What about your family and your wife’s family?”
“They later moved to Canada with my wife and me.”
“So, you were Canadian?”
“Yes, I was. Until I realized the winters are hell frozen over.”
“I lived in a sunny climate all my life. I’d probably freeze to death in Canada. So I believe you made a smart choice heading south.”
He opens his wallet, gazing at photos of his two little girls and wife. “My grandparents labeled me a coward for leaving. They said I was letting Israel win. So I told them, if it meant getting my children away from war, you’re damn right, I’m letting Israel win! Fuck Israel and Palestine.”
I shrug and light up a cig. “You did what any good father would’ve done.” Smoke billows from my mouth and nose.
Driving down the crowded party strip of Ybor city, a town where college kids come to drink and piss away, mommy and daddy’s money. Street and traffic lights glisten off the wet cobblestone. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, I glance over at him. “So, what made you want to be a cop in such a shitty world?”
“I wanted to be in a profession where I can make my kids proud, a role model for them.”
Kids should learn to look up to themselves, but to say that would make me a hypocrite. My father was the reason I became a cop.
“Your daughters already look up to you, Jason. Hell, you spared them a life of misery and suffering in a war zone.”
He sighs and glances at the crowded sidewalk. “You’re right.”
“Come on, why’d you really want to be a cop?”
“Well, this answer is not going to be as noble as my previous one, but I became a cop because if I had to work another year as a cable tech, I was going to rip my hair out.”
“You couldn’t find anything else?”
“Have you been paying attention to the economy lately? You take what you can get in these times. US economy has been in the shitter for a while now. It’s any wonder why there is a rise in crime rates across the country. So I thought cops were in high demand.”
“I know you’re a cop now, but think you could hook a girl up with some free cable?”
He guffaws. “One thing you learn when you’re working for the cable company, it’s not that easy to steal anymore. They make sure you know it’s not that easy.”
Tendrils of smoke trail from my nose. “Gotta love the fucking digital age.”
“Wait, you were serious?”
“Jason, I love my cable. I love my shows. What I don’t love is the price I have to pay for them. Yes, I was kidding.”
He chuckles. “Shit! With a poker face like that, you could make a killing at poker tournaments.”
“Yeah. Too bad, I find poker boring. So I gotta ask, how does a Palestinian end up with a name like Jason?”
“Well, my mother and father are really into Greek mythology. So they named me after Jason and the Argonauts.”
“That’s pretty badass. Did you retain your religion when you left?”
“I did. But my daughters are free to choose whatever belief they wish, as long as they study the faith of their choosing first.”
“How old are your daughters?”
“Twelve and nine.” He clicks on the lights in the car and shows me a picture of his girls. Both have short brown wavy hair and a slightly darker complexion than their father.
“Beautiful girls, you got there.”
“Thank you. I’d do anything for them. I’d sell my soul to Satan himself for them.” His voice severe.
A man willing to give his soul to the devil for his kids is the mark of a loving father.
“What about you? Did you and your ex ever have children?”
“We never wanted kids. We both worked too much, and plus, I made it clear to him I don’t have the patience for children.”
“Well, they are a lot of work. I don’t see a wedding ring on your finger, it’s obvious you didn’t remarry, but do you have a boyfriend?”
“Um, not exactly.”
He furrows his brow, tilting his head to the side. “How do you ‘not exactly’ have a boyfriend?”
“He’s just a bedmate.”
“I see, so he is a friend with benefits.”
“Yes. My FWB.”
“How did you meet him?”
I roll my eyes. “I met him while doing a security gig at the comic book convention two months ago.”
“Comic book convention? Geez, how old is he?”
I don’t know why people assume comic books are childish. Comics have matured a lot over the years.
“He’s 20 years old.”
And let the jokes begin.
“Wow!”
“Go ahead, laugh it up. Call me a cougar, tell me how I’m robbing the cradle blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before.”
“First of all, you are a cougar. Second of all, again, wow!”
I jerk my head at him briefly. “You done?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Yes.”
“What? No telling me it’s a sin to have sex outside of marriage?”
He wipes
