Development
Inspired by “The Swimmer” by John Cheever.
Lucas didn’t hear the police cruiser until it rolled to a stop. There were too many houses. And they all looked the same. Constantly readjusting his thoughts to align with minor variations, those additions and adornments homeowners made to create separation and broadcast a false sense of identity; this had captured his imagination. Four nearly identical houses had portable basketball hoops on the same sides of their wide, newly-paved driveways. But the fifth house did not. There was the blue McMansion, no different than the others, gussied up by faux-Greek columns and a cheap, wooden portico. Next door, beneath some decorative hedges, in-ground lighting illuminated a troop of garden gnomes playing hide-and-seek. Another home displayed an oversized American Flag. Fundamentally, though, each house looked the same. It was almost too much. It was inviting. The breeze was the same temperature as the blood beneath his skin. Lucas lit a cigarette. He heard a police cruiser. He held a hand against the bright light suddenly shining in his face. He thought, bright white light shining right between my eyes.
Then came the sound of a door as it opened and closed. A police officer stepped before him; the young man stood between Lucas and the light. He raised his shoulders like a gunslinger. Using his dominant hand he reached across his torso and flipped off a switch, silencing the radio on his hip.
How we doing tonight?
Occasionally, the officer would shift to his left or his right. Light from the cruiser’s beacon hit Lucas like a fist. He winced. But he knew better than to move. He had seen this play out before. Now, like then, he was unimpressed.
Can only speak for myself, Lucas said.
Mindful not to move his hands, he looked away from the light, towards the grass. The cigarette hung from his mouth.
Got any ID?
Mind? Lucas said, slowly dragging from his cigarette. He politely exhaled away from the officer. Aright if I ask what this is about?
Were there tension—there was always tension—this lifted as soon as Lucas finished speaking. Between the two men there was nothing but benign procedure.
Just wondering where you’re headed.
Coming, Lucas said. He slowly turned his head. Gestured with his head. Down from St. Vincent’s.
Oh yeah? the officer said.
Yeah, Lucas said.
How’d that go?
Been seventeen days, Lucas said.
This was not untrue. He had been to one meeting every day for over two weeks. Not because he believed he’d find salvation, but because he liked religion. He reasoned that religion, done right, was one of the best things people had. He felt that way about secularism, too. More than this, he liked listening to broken people speak about incredibly personal problems in a very general way. He looked on, mostly drunk, utterly ambiguous, somewhat proud to be in their company.
Yeah?
Lucas nodded, and took a drag from his cigarette. Mind if I stand up?
Was hoping I wasn’t gonna have to ask.
He offered Lucas a hand.
The two men stood facing each other. A car turned down the street, slowed, then drove on. The driver hit the breaks once, then twice, and the brake lights were bright and red.
Well, the officer said. I suppose you know you can’t just sit here.
Lucas looked at the houses up and down the street. He didn’t know.
You got somewhere to stay?
Oh, yeah, Lucas said. It’s nothing like that.
Glad to hear it, the officer said.
A few houses down someone started their lawn mower. My word. Of all the things Lucas had done, or worried he might ever do, mowing the lawn this late at night was not on either list. The world and her surprises; this would never end.
Well, Lucas said. Guess I’ll start heading home?
Sounds right, the officer said. He looked down the street. The other direction, away from St. Vincent’s. Be happy to give you a lift.
Oh, no, Lucas said. Like I said, it’s nothing like that.
The officer smiled, and nodded. He positioned himself directly between Lucas and the light. The men took full measure of one another. There wasn’t much separating them.
He said, I know you probably hear this all the time, but it does get easier.
You’re right about one thing, Lucas said.
The police officer laughed and shook his head.
Lucas finished his cigarette, carefully pinched the cherry free, and placed the butt into his pocket.
He thanked the officer and walked down the road. For what, he wasn’t sure.