To The Best People

It was an ordinary Saturday night. Fingers glued to the Q, W, E, and R keys of my keyboard, my right hand on the mouse. My character slightly ajar on my screen, a combination of vibrant colors set the scene for my game. Every detail pierced onto my retina, every neuron firing in my brain nourishing me, pushing me onward to success. Keys pressing fast, mouse scurrying, mouth sprinting out commands and call-outs. Competitive, my friends and I battling for the spot above us, and the spot above the now defeated. This intense competitive game filled my schedule every Saturday. This night proved to be no different.

Still entranced in my match, I was ill aware of the opening of my bedroom door. My eyes, now adapted to the fulgent light of my monitor, struggled to make out the figure. I removed the headphones from my ears; free of the intense chattering I could hear my mother whispering, “Goodnight, I love you.”

I swiftly responded “Goodnight,” hastily I returned the headphones to my ears, and hands to my keyboard—game on.

…

My eyes cowered from the sudden ambush of the light. The rays of the rising sun penetrated through my open bedroom door. My head pulsated, with regret and sleep deprivation. I didn’t open that door. A mystifying figure protruded into my field of view, my head snapped quickly. An officer stood beside my bed, arms crossed, looking down at me. Guilt flooded over me, although I had done nothing wrong, the authoritative stare sent chills down my spine.

“Son, I need you to get dressed and proceed downstairs for me.” His voice, raspy and full of pow. His broad shoulders and muscular build added to my uneasiness. The silver badge, shimmering from the invasive beams of sunlight.

Proceeding cautiously, and exhaustedly; I put on clothes quickly. Pulling shorts and a T-shirt from my old, worn down mahogany dresser. Standing in my near nakedness, adding embarrassment to my already nervous and conscience-stricken state. Not yet, in my tiredness, had I put together that something might be wrong. Just outside, in the hall, another officer stood with my brother waiting for me to exit.

My feet felt like cinderblocks, my bloodshot eyes ached, and my head pounded vigorously. Every step down the wooden stairs let out a tiny squeak, the officers followed closely behind my brother and I. My body felt as if it was swaying back, and forth; my arms heavy, hanging loosely by my side. Every step depleted me more, and more. Dragging through the kitchen, towards the door, two more cops stood conversing behind the island, isolated, yet grouped in the similar aesthetic of my mom’s elegant kitchenette. Recently washed, the granite countertops shimmered with an alluring radiance. Cabinets, with their illustriousness, sat with excellence upon the cinereal wall. Cutting boards, small bowls, and various pots repleted the kitchen sink. Aromas from last nights meal and baking of chocolate chips cookies lingered in the air.

Proceeding on the path to the door, seemed to stretch longer and longer. Feet gaining weight with every step forward. A shadow, embracing the walls and floors at the end of our path; we advanced into the darkness. Finally approaching the door, a sense of achievement permeated throughout me. Opening the door, and stepping out in the cold February day. The brisk gust of wind, thrusting goosebumps on my arms and legs. Police cars suffused the driveway. Caution tape lined the house, neighbors stood upon their doorsteps gazing upon our home. Embellished in the horrific scene, I managed to miss the real horror sitting crouched in front of me. My father, weeping into the palms of his hands, not yet realizing my brother and I stood aghast in front of him. My grandparents, stood there trying to comfort their son. An officer, with a notepad in hand, taking notes and talking with my father.

I stood frozen, like a deer in headlights. Overhead, a cloud thwarted the advancing rays of sunlight, covering the world in louring darkness. The chill of a February breeze poured over me again. From there everything moved so quickly. Hastily dragged to my grandparent's car, waiting to head wherever. The horrific picture of my father and the yellow caution tape played over and over. Everything moved so quickly. Above, the clouds stood still—frozen in time—elongating the darkness.