Member-only story
When It’s Night and I’m Staring at the Ceiling
This is one of the things I think about
It wasn’t a normal request of a police office
This was just a kid and, well, I mean, what harm could it do?
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Jenny stretched out her hands and cupped my face. Her smooth palms like velvet on my cheeks. She patted my forehead — as if I was a ‘good boy’, ran her fingers through my crew-cut policeman’s hair and squeezed my nose.
“Oi! Be careful, I’ve grown attached to that,” I said all nasal.
She laughed; I returned a smile with Jenny’s mum.
Jenny sat back in her chair. I listened to her story. Her brother had walked her to the park. She sat on the bench, listening to music, while he went to play on the swings. He didn’t see the boys stop and hassle her.
She impressed me with her recall
For twelve, Jenny paid attention. She remembered everything the boys said. She repeated it in their accents, their tone and the menace that went with it. She recoiled in her chair, her words capturing her fear.
I swallowed, held myself together. How could people be so nasty to such a beautiful child?
