All in a Day's Work

Everything was going swimmingly: nobody had committed any serious crimes, and we only had ten minutes left. We’d caught some kids trying to pilfer some chocolate bars from the general store, and a couple other fineable crimes here and there, but nothing extravagant enough to ruin the pleasant mood that always settled between me and Matt. It wasn’t like I’d been expecting to see anything more dramatic, but it always seemed the more likely when I desired everyone to be law-abiding more so than usual. My heart was dancing an odd little jig as we cruised along the main road in a comfortable, end-of-shift silence.

I looked carefully at Matt beside me, hands resting on the wheel, looking like a painting with his pale face cast in dusky gold by the sinking sun. My heart leapt inelegantly. I had to confess to him today, otherwise I’d lose all the courage I’d spent hours building up – and what time could be better than at golden hour after an easy-going patrol around the neighborhood? At least if it went terribly, I could escape using the natural excuse of fatigue, even if a hundred butterflies seemed to be fluttering about inside of me, dancing along with my heart, and it felt like I had never been more awake in my entire life.

“Hey, Matt,” I would begin casually, easily, and then the words would come flooding out. How I understood it was difficult, what with both of us being police officers with hectic schedules and still having to remain professional at work, but we could figure something out if he wanted to. And he would want to. Hopefully.

Nine, eight, seven minutes. Then six, five, four… Time went tantalisingly slow, crawling along with a mocking grin in my direction; all the while I was trying to breathe normally and stop my hands and legs from taking up the jig as well so Matt wouldn’t think there was something off with me. I stole another glance at my colleague beside me – he was striking in his uniform, his dark hair close-cropped and slicked back, professional – and was just about to start reciting the script in my mind, when I noticed his posture shift from one of ease to one of an officer at attention. Almost as if he’d sensed what I was about to say – though that was surely delusional thinking.

“Matt?” I followed his stare, only to see – damn it. Of course, when everything had been almost-totally crime-free the whole of patrol, when the end of our shift was close enough to touch, when the words I’d been harboring so long had been pretty much ready to jive their way off my tongue, that one person had to exist to bring destruction.

“Get a breathalyzer, Jasmina,” Matt replied placidly, already pulling in and gesturing for the wobbly red Ford in front to do the same.

“I would rather not,” I muttered, but fished out the test from amongst the array of equipment I had in my kit bag, plastered a calm smile onto my face, then joined my partner who had already walked over beside the other car.

“Your car seemed to be swerving a fair bit, sir,” Matt was saying, his voice exasperatingly even, “do I smell alcohol?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure, Officer,” said the wiry little man alone inside the car. “I just came from the bar up town.”

“What’s your full name, please, sir? And how much did you drink?”

“Albert Beckwith, Officer! And not much I don’t think, Officer. Which is, not above the legal limit, I should hope!” the wiry man Albert added, with an edge of laughter to his voice. Matt smiled politely and I wanted to scream, but had to settle for glaring blunted daggers at the man.

Matt explained that we were to have him take a breathalyzer test, and Albert seemed more than ready to oblige, seeming to think of it all as no more than a humorous skit. He took the test and when the results showed that he was, indeed, above the legal limit, he just chortled, and was pleased to come with Matt and I in our police car to the station for further testing and possible short-term imprisonment. His mirth was positively sickening.

“Good sir, I’ll tell you, jail is no fun,” I said, beyond disgruntled, once Matt had called ahead to the station and we were in the car, on our way. I knew quite well that there were many drunk and foolish people out there, and this man just had the misfortune of driving in front us just as we were finishing up patrol today, but I possessed a rash need to direct my frustration at someone. “I don’t recommend it.”

“You’ve been in jail, Officer?”

“Once, in Monopoly.”

Matt reached over to place a hand on my thigh in silent warning before I could say anything else. Usually, a mere warning would not have been enough to snuff the flame burning within me, but the sheer unexpected intimacy of it caught me by surprise. My entire right leg felt like it was blushing, and whatever retort I had meant to continue with died in my throat. “What Officer Walters means to say is, it is not a desired punishment. No punishment is. We should hope your blood test comes back clear.”

I eyed Albert Beckwith in the rearview mirror. I had half considered handcuffing him purely out of spite, but petty wordplay was one thing; handcuffing an unthreatening citizen for personal reasons would not go down well with the law, and Matt would likely have to make a formal complaint if the stranger in the backseat of our car didn’t first. Anyway, the man looked so pleased to be there, gazing out of the window at the seafront as it rolled by like a stolen child insnared by sweets, that I wondered if he would even attempt escaping if I stopped the car and dragged Matt behind the nearest tree, bush, whatever, and let feelings break free. Maybe we wouldn’t even make it to the shrubbery: I was beginning to wonder how much longer I could take before the unsaid drove me mad.

The drive, in total, was brief – we were only heading to the local police station – but it felt like eons until at some point Matt became conscious to his hand still present on my thigh, and retracted it. Shortly after, he pulled into the carpark and we were marching the man through the simple doors of the neighborhood station.

“Right, Officer Walters,” Matt said, practical as ever, “if you take Mr Beckwith here–”

“Hold a second, Officers.”

In a moment of true divine intervention, before Matt could order me to take wiry Albert to who-knows-where, a lithe, dark-skinned woman who I recognized as the police lieutenant of the station appeared around the corner. She spoke the blessing of “I could take this Mr Beckwith to get a blood test, and sort the necessary prosecutions,” and I was struck with the compelling urge to throw my arms around her and weep. However, I recognized the unprofessional qualities of this, so I thanked her profusely instead, silently vowing to be friendlier next time she assigned me some tedious task.

As Matt and I headed to his car, I realised how much the distraction of work – sorting out the drunk driver – had allowed me to direct my feelings at something else. Now, my plan of confession was the sole thought in my mind, and I was exceedingly conscious of Matt beside me, the quickening drumming of my pulse as we slid into the front seats of his car. It was dizzying.

The drive was impossibly quick, and felt even faster; I wondered for an instant if Matt, of all people, had been speeding – or if, perhaps, time had finally chosen its moment to take a faster gait. Then, as my mind still spun, we were following the curb of the familiar one-exit roundabout just outside my house, and Matt was pulling up onto our usual drop off spot on a thicker section of pavement, facing the sea.

“There you go, Jas.”

It's now or never, Walters. Nonetheless, after all I’d planned, the words I’d imagined seemed to fumble and stumble in their way up my throat. I found myself sitting there, as the sun observed from its perch on the horizon, speechless. Matt’s gaze held a question. Does he know? Or is he just waiting for me to leave?

“Jasmina?”

I took a deep breath. Damn it. Damn words. Damn being casual, being easy. I leaned over and kissed Matt fully – softly – on the mouth.

My body melted in a collective sigh. I fisted my hands in the material of his uniform, and felt his travel around me, around my back, enveloping me in the circle of his arms. My knees knocked against the console, and I had to twist in my seat, but my mind was in a state of utter euphoria. Matt’s lips were moving gently, delicately, against mine, parting them, gradually building in pressure, and when we inevitably broke apart, we lingered, breathing deeply together.

I sat back in my seat. “Matthew.”

His lips parted again, making way for an unstoppable smile. “Jas.”

And, for then, as we joined hands and looked out at the ocean sunset, that was all that needed to be said.