nose.
“That’s my house,” he said.
I got as close to the driver’s side door as a person could get without actually merging my atoms with the metal and pulled my hands way back behind my head like an extra set of ears.
“I can walk home from here,” I said. “I could use the exercise.”
“Not yet, professor. I want you to do me a favor.”
“Look,” I said. “Just put the gun down so we can talk for a minute, okay?”
He set the gun on his lap with the barrel still pointed in my general direction and his finger still on the trigger. I think he was afraid I might try to take it away from him. Little did he know how much like distant Pluto that thought was from my mind.
“I like you,” he said seriously. “But don’t try and do anything stupid.”
“If you take a look at where I am, I think you’ll see that it’s a little too late for that particular bit of advice, but thanks anyway.”
He smiled, but the gun stayed where it was. “You’re all right,” he said. “I wish you had been my teacher. I had some bitch named Ms. Duncan.”
“Listen to me,” I said. “You need to get the hell out of here. We both do. There’s nothing here for you. I know it’s easy for me to say, and I know how I would feel if I were in your place, but I’m telling you, I can read your mind like a fucking book and it’s crazy. This too shall pass, but if you go in there tonight, I’m telling you, you will regret it. Let her go. She isn’t worth it and neither is he. You know I’m right.”
“I know you’re right, but that’s my house; that’s my wife.”
“Let the lawyers handle it. Fuck them both. Let’s get out of here.”
“I bet you were a pretty good teacher,” he said.
“Maybe I was—once. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. I just know we need to get the hell out of here before I have a heart attack.”
“I’ve been driving around all day, looking at everything,” he said in a voice that was half anguish, half wonderment. “Everything’s gone, teach. It’s all gone. I can’t do it no more. Go to work, act normal, do my job knowin’ that they’re in there together in my house. Where’s the respect in that?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said: “You’re a cop. Think about that. Respect that, Officer Paulson.”
“I tried, but it’s not enough. Stay here. I’ll be right back. Got to get a few of my things. Don’t go driving off now.”
“Why don’t you leave the gun with me?” I said.
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“I know it’s a good idea,” I told him.
“All right.” He handed me the automatic. I set it down on the floor between my feet. Officer Paulson got out of the car, straightened himself, and stared at the house for a long moment. Then leaned down, looked at me through the passenger’s side window, and smiled.
“I appreciate you driving around with me. It’s been a real crazy day, hasn’t it?”
“I think so. Go ahead and hurry up. Don’t be in there too long, you understand me? I don’t want to have to come in there and drag you out.”
“You sound like my pops.”
“Stay cool.” I gave him the peace sign, wondering if it still meant the same thing.
He smiled and began walking toward the house. When he got to the porch with its roof hanging down like a eye, he turned and waved at me. I waved back. I watched him knock politely on the door, and I watched the door open slowly. I could see the muted glow of a lit candle through the broken window. The tail end of a white curtain licked out at the breeze.
For about two minutes it was all quiet, and then the shouting started. Before I knew it, I was out of the car. I was halfway to the house when I remembered the gun on the floorboard and ran back to get it—why, I don’t know, since I’ve never shot one in my life.
I was running toward the house when the front door opened and a man came dashing out, a young guy not much older than the cop. He was wearing
“That’s my house,” he said.
I got as close to the driver’s side door as a person could get without actually merging my atoms with the metal and pulled my hands way back behind my head like an extra set of ears.
“I can walk home from here,” I said. “I could use the exercise.”
“Not yet, professor. I want you to do me a favor.”
“Look,” I said. “Just put the gun down so we can talk for a minute, okay?”
He set the gun on his lap with the barrel still pointed in my general direction and his finger still on the trigger. I think he was afraid I might try to take it away from him. Little did he know how much like distant Pluto that thought was from my mind.
“I like you,” he said seriously. “But don’t try and do anything stupid.”
“If you take a look at where I am, I think you’ll see that it’s a little too late for that particular bit of advice, but thanks anyway.”
He smiled, but the gun stayed where it was. “You’re all right,” he said. “I wish you had been my teacher. I had some bitch named Ms. Duncan.”
“Listen to me,” I said. “You need to get the hell out of here. We both do. There’s nothing here for you. I know it’s easy for me to say, and I know how I would feel if I were in your place, but I’m telling you, I can read your mind like a fucking book and it’s crazy. This too shall pass, but if you go in there tonight, I’m telling you, you will regret it. Let her go. She isn’t worth it and neither is he. You know I’m right.”
“I know you’re right, but that’s my house; that’s my wife.”
“Let the lawyers handle it. Fuck them both. Let’s get out of here.”
“I bet you were a pretty good teacher,” he said.
“Maybe I was—once. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. I just know we need to get the hell out of here before I have a heart attack.”
“I’ve been driving around all day, looking at everything,” he said in a voice that was half anguish, half wonderment. “Everything’s gone, teach. It’s all gone. I can’t do it no more. Go to work, act normal, do my job knowin’ that they’re in there together in my house. Where’s the respect in that?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said: “You’re a cop. Think about that. Respect that, Officer Paulson.”
“I tried, but it’s not enough. Stay here. I’ll be right back. Got to get a few of my things. Don’t go driving off now.”
“Why don’t you leave the gun with me?” I said.
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“I know it’s a good idea,” I told him.
“All right.” He handed me the automatic. I set it down on the floor between my feet. Officer Paulson got out of the car, straightened himself, and stared at the house for a long moment. Then leaned down, looked at me through the passenger’s side window, and smiled.
“I appreciate you driving around with me. It’s been a real crazy day, hasn’t it?”
“I think so. Go ahead and hurry up. Don’t be in there too long, you understand me? I don’t want to have to come in there and drag you out.”
“You sound like my pops.”
“Stay cool.” I gave him the peace sign, wondering if it still meant the same thing.
He smiled and began walking toward the house. When he got to the porch with its roof hanging down like a eye, he turned and waved at me. I waved back. I watched him knock politely on the door, and I watched the door open slowly. I could see the muted glow of a lit candle through the broken window. The tail end of a white curtain licked out at the breeze.
For about two minutes it was all quiet, and then the shouting started. Before I knew it, I was out of the car. I was halfway to the house when I remembered the gun on the floorboard and ran back to get it—why, I don’t know, since I’ve never shot one in my life.
I was running toward the house when the front door opened and a man came dashing out, a young guy not much older than the cop. He was wearing
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