God Knows I’m Good
The bubbles, small as they seemed, kept popping into my head; each little one filled with a tiny grim remark or memory which reminded me how much I hated myself, my life and my job. Recently I had been to see my psychiatrist about my one recurring nightmare, which had lead to my sleeping disorder. Boom! The alarm clock rang louder than a gunshot at a police officer’s funeral. The bloody police force, that’s the career I had embarked upon.
The marriage that I had mistakenly gone through with was like an odd piece of mistletoe, hanging off the fireplace in the festive season. Don’t you know the feeling; I realise I have a problem which is ataxophobia but I shouldn’t be comparing my marriage to mistletoe” A few years ago I had found out about my partner’s real lover. It wasn’t me! A few days after my wedding day this news was brought to me. The determination in my internal soul was not going to let the marriage fall apart over one meanness thing that we both thought was so low we just carried on with our everyday lives. Years later it’s tearing me apart.
I feel as though I have led a good life including my marriage. I usually work the graveyard shift at the Met; however, I needed the extra city check so I was worked more days than I needed to. The everyday stress I was dwelling with was starting to boil over. The frame of the faded brown front door swung open and clipped the brick wall. I’m sure you can’t begin to imagine the rundown neighbourhood I am an inhabitant of. The hinges of the squad car squeaked as the oil free door casually approached the forefinger on my right hand.
As I proceeded to bend over and insert my body into the interior of the car I was pleasantly greeted by the fresh winter coolness that had seamlessly drowned the box as though my vehicle was part of winter’s entourage. The huge sign of the Metropolitan police headquarters seemed to explode in my face. The car groaned as it came to a halt, obviously, not coming back from its once lost charisma. As I jogged up those twelve long steps I was greeted by a deafening noise; there was no physical sound, just pure crystal clear silence as everyone once all my friends turned, looked at me and then continued filling out the familiar paperwork pile.
The most exciting thing of the day made me jump, a radio broadcast for an elderly lady who had stolen a tin of stewing steak, the ridiculousness of the broadcast had made my day about one percent better than it had been previously. As the last step towards the exit came into my line of sight, the weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The big double doors felt much lighter than they had earlier so I opened them with ease. The 7 eleven shop eyed me up as I turned the corner into the next street. An elderly man was holding our suspect by the hand, a frail old lady who was still clutching at the tin of stewing steak.
As I preceded closer to the scene I could see the burn marks all over her body. My hand rested on her shoulder as if to offer a comforting aid. “Excuse me, could you tell me your name? ” I whispered, not wanting to attract any more attention than the situation had already created. “Susan Gooding”, the old lady replied. “You’re going to have to come with me”, I said. I took Susan by the hand and guided her towards the squad car which had been parked just across the street. As we were driving back to the department Susan started crying. “Susan, are you okay, tell me what’s the matter? Susan started talking in a slow and stuttered voice.
“Do you know why I have these burn marks all over my body? ” she asked. “No” I answered softly “My whole family were burned alive in a house fire twelve years ago. My grandson, husband and daughter” she sobbed. A blind rage like a fire swept upon me. I felt so sorry for this complete stranger I had never met before. I suddenly sunk so shallow, below what had happened with my wife and I after our marriage. I wanted to call for an Armageddon. This time I hoped God would deliver and rescue me from this living hell.