Police Close In

I stared at the crowd and told the biggest lie of my life. The words rolled off my tongue and split the atmosphere like the iceberg ravaged the Titanic. The fable was so intense, so flagrant I had to pause, in my mind, as the final syllable rolled past my lips. The words were so palatable even I thought they were true. It shocked me, the reporters had bombarded me with rapid questions so overwhelming that I didn’t have time to formulate half truths and diversions. I stood before the press as a newly minted public relations officer for the local police department. I replaced a seasoned spokesperson who had been ridiculed for both his physical appearance and his aptitude for the absurd. He also had a gambling problem and a petulance for cocaine and woman. He did not hold his office or oath in high regard.

I was the opposite, two years on the job, one promotion and an array of mediocre daily observation reports. I had one civilian complaint against me. Filed by an irate grandmother with yellow teeth because I refused to call the fire department and complete a missing persons report for her orange calico cat named Muffins. My theory was Muffins was not missing but left the trailer on her own four feet and accord. I did not want this position; however, beggars can’t be choosers, and this opportunity for greatness was thrust, forced upon me. I was now the face of the department, the voice of the chief and entire cast and crew of the department. Everything wrong and right, left and center that occurred on the streets, in the back alleys and abodes of this fine city was my responsibility. It was up to me to comment, answer questions and set the record straight.

The trust of each citizen in the capabilities of the cities patrol and investigators was based on the level of comfort I could exhale. While standing at my podium and fielding inquiries like a Yankees shortstop making a double play. The truth hinged on my thoughts and phrases. If I felt the sky was green and the water was yellow, then so be it. After all I held the deck of cards of truth and justice. Squared away on my clipboard and notes etched with a slivered microphone. There was no holding me back. A jail break, a serial killer on the loose in Easttown. I held the Bauer and the Joker. Headlines blaze with my opening comments. Editorials blast like a furnace, burning the tales, I weave each morning at eleven. Iniquities so could feel the sweat crown my brow. A bead of evil, a stain dripping down my cheek. I prayed a hasty hymn to the Lord that they would believe me. The lie settled in and I accepted it as whole. I gazed at the crowd of journalists all holding forth a recording device or videoing recording with a phone. Chiseling my words in to all eternity. They bought it, they became fish swimming away with hook line and sinker.

Then one final question, from a gentleman reporter in the back. He shuffled his notes and waited one second. Then he moved his lips and asked

“Can you repeat what you just said. We didn’t quite catch that all the way back here.

Oh, those dreaded words what did I just say. My eyes fluttered, my pupils grew large. I shifted my gaze to my clipboard on the podium. My head lowers, the sweat pours from my furrowed forehead. I should have written it down. I should have prepared properly. Your poor planning is not my emergency but my lack of planning is my emergency. Come on keep it together he’s not accusing me of lying; only they cant hear in the back. Turn up your hearing aid grandpa. No, I cant say that, that would be rude. I can see the Headline now …Police Spokesperson Rants at Elderly. Nope not going to say it, too much negative publicity. Think, this is what you trained for. No, it isn’t. My hands grip the sides of the podium.

Its nearly noon. My Stomach rumbles. If only I had not uttered that statement. My minds-eye reviews what I presented. Think darn it. Moment in my life. I am about to be found out. What did I say what led up to this terrible day. I am about to be found out. Stripped of any remaining dignity I possess. Ridiculed for the monster I have become. What I said, could it be true. Can I wag the dog’s tail and convince the masses that I am right, That I didn’t just fabricate a horrific and untrue story and fact. You can do this, big words, use big words; dazzle them with a vast vocabulary. Nope cant spell, can’t form those words.

I feel a rush of panic fill my body. I am shaking. Can they see the fear on my face. Nope keep looking down. Mustering my strength and every ounce of pride and fortitude I maintain in my bones. I slowly lift my head. The room is pulsing, Spiraling. I lick my lips. I can do this. It is a simple question. Can you repeat what you just said, we couldn’t hear you in the back. I gave out onto the ocean of reporters. The room quiets. I see dust settle in the corner of the room. The only sound is my heart beat, my heart quaking and breaking. I look at the gentlemanly reporter who posed the question. In a flash I regain my composure. I squint as the camera lights brighten. Now is my moment to shine to erase the inaccuracy of my confession. My spine straightens as my right-hand grabs hold of the micro phone. I lean in, a tower of Pisa, steady but ready to fold at any slight quake. I open my mouth and regurgitate the false clarity of my original statement. Yes, I chose the weaker path of sinfulness. My voice bubbles and sews forth demons and deceit.

“To answer your question sir, donuts are better than bagels.”

I digress and ask for your forgiveness.