My Best Friend

There was something dark behind those steel blue eyes…  

Definitely a memory, not an intention. 

He stood there for a few seconds, studying the big, bold letters sprawled across the building: Carson County Sheriff’s Station. He recognized the name, but it looked much different now. He was staring at something that resembled a small fortress. 

When he walked through the doors, about ten sets of eyes shot in his direction, and not a single face that he knew. A few deputies quieted their conversations, and moved their hands slowly to their hips. The eyes watched him slowly approach the visitors’ desk.

“May I help you?” the woman behind the desk asked. A thick glass structure separated the two of them.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m looking for Sheriff Brady,” he said. 

The woman didn’t respond. She just studied him for a few seconds, sizing up his steely eyes, his distressed leather jacket, and his unfamiliar face. He wondered if he should repeat himself, but just at that moment, the woman rose and responded, “I’ll be right back.” She went to the door behind her, swiped a card, and disappeared to the back. It felt like forever before that door opened again. When it did, the woman returned, followed by another man he didn’t recognize. It must have been the sheriff, but not Sheriff Brady. 

“This the one?” the man asked. The woman nodded. “So, it’s Sheriff Brady you’re looking for?” the man began, his voice booming through the thick glass.  “Yes, sir,” he replied. The sheriff didn’t respond and began studying him, just like the woman had done. Once again he felt like he should repeat himself. 

“Sheriff Brady retired years ago, son,” the sheriff announced. 

He wasn’t shocked at the sheriff’s statement, but he was shocked at being called “son.” His hair was just started get those few slim streaks of grey, and the life lived behind those steely blue eyes definitely wasn’t the life of a “son.” 

“Well, I figured that, sir,” he responded. “I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find h—”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the sheriff interjected before he could finish. 

“So much for the small-town hospitality,” he thought to himself. Then again, he figured he wasn’t part of that small town anymore. 

“Listen,” the sheriff began again, “let me take your name, and maybe I can get a message—"

“That’s alright,” he said , backing towards the door. “Sorry to bother you.” He burst out the door, not running, but he certainly started down the road at a brisk pace. He looked back, half expecting someone to be coming after him, but there was no one. His pace slowed. 

Old memories surfaced, as they do, most of them unpleasant. He remembered the places he used to sleep as a boy. The quiet alleys where he’d seek refuge were now packed with people day and night, going to and from the new shops, restaurants, and bars all along the main strip. He remembered the sinister faces that lurked the streets, pulling him in with conniving words and enticing promises, only to be let down, cheated, and abused time and time again. He remembered fighting. He remembered stealing. He remembered being angry all the time. Most importantly, he remembered running. Now he was fast, but Sheriff Brady was always faster. Brady would always run after him, even when the other deputies gave up from exhaustion or simply didn’t care. He remembered feeling Brady’s hand grasp his shoulder and force him to the ground. Every time, Brady would remark, “Well, if it isn’t my best friend.” 

In a way, they were best friends. 

He’d run, and Brady would catch him. He’d spend the night in the sheriff’s station, and Brady would let him get a shower before setting him lose. It went like this over and over for years – until that night. 

Suddenly, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. That grasp felt so familiar. He half expected to swing around and come face to face with Brady. It wasn’t. His face looked like Brady’s… sort of, but it was much, much younger. He also wore a deputy’s uniform. 

“Glad you didn’t get too far,” the deputy said. “I wanted to ask why you’re looking for Sheriff Brady.” 

There was something in the deputy’s voice that had a certain genuineness to it. With his steely eyes turning misty, he admitted, “I didn’t realize it then, but… Sheriff Brady saved my life many years ago. I was in a real bad way back then…and I said horrible things. Hell you probably deal with people like that every day, but…I just wanted to show—” 

“Hey, I get it,” the young deputy interjected. “Why don’t you come with me?” He and the deputy walked to his squad car and took off down the road. “It feels weird sitting in the front of one of these things,” he remarked. The deputy smiled. He enjoyed the ride through Carson County without bars on his windows. 

The squad car eventually pulled up to a home on the outskirts of town. It sat in one of those neighborhoods he never even knew existed. The deputy said, “Now, you wait out here for a second.” Then, the deputy walked up to the porch and just let himself right in the front door. Once again, it felt like forever before that door opened again. 

When it did, the deputy returned. A few moments later, a woman came through the door. She was grey in the head and walked with a cane, but it was her. It was Sheriff Brady. She looked into those steel blue eyes and smiled. Without missing a beat, she said, “Well, if it isn’t my best friend.” 

She patted the deputy on the head and said, “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll take it from here.” She waved him onto the porch. The deputy passed him on his way up and said, “I’ll be back to check up on ya.” He thanked the deputy for the ride, and joined Sheriff Brady on the porch. 

They sat together quietly on that porch for a while. It felt like when she used to sit with him all those nights in the sheriff’s station. 

“Grandson?” he asked. 

“Sure is,” she said proudly. 

They went back to sitting together quietly. They both remembered that night – the night that Sheriff Brady didn’t set him lose on the streets again, the night she led him right to those people in suits. When they boy turned back at her with those steely blue eyes, filled with confusion, she said to him, “I can’t let you go anymore, honey. I’m not helping you by keeping you here. I gotta give you to the state.” He didn’t know what “the state” meant, but he knew he was being dragged away from the only home he’s ever known, from the only people he’s ever known. He cursed her that night. He cursed his best friend for abandoning him. He spewed the most hateful venom at her that night, a venom that stung her heart for years. 

“You come here looking for help?” she asked, breaking the silence. 

“No,” he responded.

He then reached into his distressed leather jacket and pulled out a photo. He looked at the photo lovingly and then handed it to Brady. In the photo, she saw him with a young girl in a graduation cap and gown. 

“Daughter?” she asked. 

“Sure is,” he said proudly.