Volume One

His car was dirty and he knew it, he’s noticed it for weeks but likes to pretend not to because it’s easy. Doesn’t have to make the effort to go through a car wash and give a teenager some money he doesn’t have to do a job he doesn’t have time for. The radio’s set to Solid Gold Oldies because he likes to listen for those few songs he remembers hearing when he was growing up--when his only concern consisted of whether or not he was going to make it to school on time or if his mom had paid the electricity bill. Family’s important, he likes to pretend that still means something.

He thinks of his two sons and the life he’s built for himself, and wears a soft smile that he doesn’t know how to understand. He glances in the rearview mirror once the expression disappears, and for a moment he sees himself as the college student with a jean jacket and a joint in his pocket that he used to be. College was his prime, not ashamed to admit it to anyone who asks, but can’t decide whether it’s something to be proud of. Sometimes shame and pride go hand in hand. He stopped asking that question as soon as he got married.

Smooth over the mustache, buckle seatbelt, take a deep breath and crack the window so no one knows about the cigarette that’s been waiting since yesterday afternoon. Since the eighth one had been lit. Can’t stop, it’s hard to--another reason not to come home.

The lighter bought for him by a buddy at work makes him smile, makes him wonder when he started to prefer looking at crime scenes instead of his own wife. Maybe they’re the same thing. A reflection of everything he’s ever done wrong, living proof of a decision where he was always going to choose incorrectly, time and time again. The badge meant less when he walked through the doors of his home, of his bedroom, but outside and in the patrol car, he was something new, something necessary. He mattered to somebody.

Stopped at a red light, anxious fingers twisted the solid silver band on his left hand, an unconscious habit he’d been noticing more and more. guilt swept over him, and he pulled out his cell phone--a flip phone he’d bought with Milo when he turned thirteen because he wanted to be the one always there for him, always a phone call away in case he needed him--and texted his son. Have a good day, Andrew will turn up. Don’t worry. Don’t worry, don’t think about it, it’s no big deal, not a problem, it’ll be okay, we’ll get through this. A cycled vocabulary but he couldn’t help it because it was all he had. He tried, and most of the time it was enough. But this time he didn’t think it would be that easy. The longer he stared at the screen, the more it looked wrong. Delete delete delete don’t save. New text message. Don’t forget to let the dog out.

His hands trembled, and he slammed the door shut behind him because he had more to offer, he could be a good husband and a great father but this was all he had. All he had the courage for. His car was dirty--he remembered again when he looked back and noticed the dust layering his windshield--and he liked it because he couldn’t see his reflection, couldn’t tell who he was or who he wasn’t. His phone vibrated as he put it in his back pocket, Milo flashing across the screen, and he paused for a moment before turning it off.