“Time to go,” he said as he finished his coffee and rose from the breakfast table. His uniform was fresh and clean, the badge of his office was gleaming, his sidearm securely strapped in its holster. “I’ll be coming straight home after work, unless you want me to pick something up,” he said to his wife as she handed him his lunch box.
“If you come home,” she said. She wore a blue checked maternity shirt that shrouded her near term pregnancy. An infant boy was in a high chair, finger painting the tray with his oatmeal.
“Not to worry, love,” the young police officer said, “I’ve got the west side today, the business sector, and that’s fairly calm most of the time.”
She looked at him, straightened his tie a little, and gave him a perfunctory kiss. “Sure, sure,” she said,
“but sooner or later you’ll get the south side and it’s open season on cops there.”
“You know we take every precaution. We all have cameras and wear body armor in the danger zones and no one travels alone,” the officer said as he returned his wife’s kiss. “I trust my partner to cover my back,” he said, “and he hasn’t let me down yet.” In truth, dangerous as the job was, he’d been lucky. He hadn’t drawn his weapon in the line of duty in the three years he’d been patrolling the streets of the city.
She took the tray from the seat belted infant and rinsed it off in the sink. “How about if I don’t trust him at all?” she asked.
He kissed her again and gave her a sheepish smile. “Someone has to stand between the ‘powah of the dark side’ and the innocent folks just trying to get by,” he said. “I got plenty of experience handling knuckleheads in the military police, I can take care of myself. Someone has to do it; I’m qualified and capable, hon. And I keep my eyes open, I won’t put myself in unnecessary danger.”
“Yeah, when you see it coming,” she said. “But they’re shooting cops with high powered rifles from blocks away. You ‘d never know what hit you.”
“There hasn’t been anything like that in our city, so far,” he said.
“So far . . .” she reiterated with a great sigh. She looked him in the eyes and he could see the wheels turning behind those big blues. “Why does it have to be you?” she asked, “You have a family, we need you.”
“I know that,” he said, “but don’t you see that by making the world a little safer for John Q. Citizen I’m making it safer for you and the kids?” He turned and walked to the backdoor and turned the knob. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll be here for you—promise,” he said and gave her his most winning smile.
She knew he kept his promises but she also knew this one was beyond his power to guarantee. He’s a moral guy and he’s doing what he thinks is right and she loved him for it. She pushed her fear aside and smiled at him as she replaced the tray on the boy’s chair. “That’s one I will hold you to, officer.”
He pulled the door shut behind him, walked down the five wooden steps to the drive where his car was parked. He knew she was right, every cop, good or bad, has a target painted on his forehead these days. So why am I doing this? he asked himself. Living in fear is stressful and takes its toll on a man—and his family. Plenty of fear to go around these days. There are other ways to serve the community. Maybe become a fireman? But they’re getting shot these days too.
So why am I doing this? he thought as he pulled the door to his car open and got inside. The only thing he could think of as he pulled out onto the street and headed toward the station was: “It’s the right thing to do.”