1 2 T H E T U S C A R O R A R E V I E W 2 0 2 3 “Just clean it up and get out of here,” the officer finally said. I still held my breath. I did not want to breathe. I did not want to release the tension—not yet at least. I felt like a ghost standing there. If I opened my mouth and reminded the officer of my existence, maybe my soul would return to its vessel. “I’m sorry, sir,” I managed to say. He barely glanced in my direction and just motioned his hand as if to say “whatever.” Tyler grabbed the broom and handed me the dustpan. The police officer went back in his car and watched. The broken bottles loaded themselves onto the white plastic pan given the nudge of the broom’s bristles. My hand trembled as I lifted the dustpan and poured it into the black trash bag we brought. “I’m sorry I brought you into this,” Tyler said. “It’s okay,” I whispered. It was not like we did this just for the fun of it. We had given each bottle a name—a meaning—before we threw it against the brick wall of the vacant building. We named them mental illness, an emotionally unavailable father, a breakup with no closure, a life stuck in neutral, and a silent God. We thought the act to be symbolic. Bottled pain released in a physical form. When we were close to being done, the officer motioned for Tyler to come. Not me. I watched the movements of the cop’s mouth and the nods of Tyler’s head. Then the officer rolled his cruiser over to me and waved, making eye contact for the first time. I waved back. Tyler explained that the officer said he was not going to press charges. “I don’t trust cops,” I said. “I don’t either,” Tyler agreed. “But I will take his word for it.” He had not asked us for our names, IDs, or any form of contact. He just had our faces and perhaps surveillance footage from a nearby camera. Could he change his mind? When we finished cleaning up, we walked back to Tyler’s house. After a half an hour of composing ourselves, we decided to go to a coffee shop. We placed our orders, paid, and chose to sit outside. It was sunset, and the sun and mountains created abstract art against the skyline. We admired it in silence while drinking out of paper cups. Author Information: I am an English major who has a deep love for creative writing. In my spare time, I like to write songs, read books, and play the piano. It is my dream to one day write movie scripts and books.
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