If the Shoe fits

The following short story is based upon a conversation I had with a retired New Jersey cop. I hope I did his story justice.

Brad

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Major Hendricks surrendered his sidearm at the desk before being buzzed onto the ward. Patrolman Wilson was in the last room on the right, and his head slowly swiveled towards the door as Hendricks entered.

“Here to formally discharge me?” Wilson asked.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m broken.”

“It takes a lot of strength to pull a barrel out of your mouth and ask for help. People get hurt in our job. It’s sad but that’s how it is. But I’d rather have cops who can feel, yeah, even cry sometimes, than a bunch of fucking robots.”

“What do you know about it, Major? You ever have a partner die because of your mistake?”

“It wasn’t your mistake, Wilson. Just bad luck. Not everything happens for a reason. You saw a guy with a gun and a mask. You took him down. You had no way of knowing his partner was coming out behind him. Rather than give up he tried to shoot his way out. It’s just random chance the bad guy didn’t shoot you instead.”

“That’s supposed to help? I’m alive and my partner’s dead because my luck was better than his? We’re supposed to look out for each other. I let him down.”

“Look, I can’t bring your partner back, but I can tell you why I keep going when the worst day of my life happens, like yesterday was for you.”

Wilson laid back; his eyes narrowed. “OK, Major, let’s hear your pep talk. I hope it’s good.”

“I was a beat patrolman like you but wanted to be a motorcycle cop more than anything. Ride that big-ass Harley. And the boots. Those knee-high black leather boots? Man, I think anyone looks bad ass in a pair of those. I knew if I got into motorcycles, I’d have the shiniest boots in the department. Silly, huh? A grown man daydreaming about a pair of boots.”

Wilson cracked a slight smile. “Well, Major, they are kinda bad ass.”

Hendricks’ shoulders relaxed a tad.

“Glad we agree. Well, I had a buddy, Reynolds. We grew up in the same neighborhood. Went to the same Catholic school, even altar boys together. He wanted motorcycles as much as I did, and sometimes after work we’d have a drink together and brag about how tough we’d be once we got in.”

The Major looked down at his regulation black brogans for a minute. “You have to be a beat cop for five years with a strong record to even apply, and as we’d joined together, we both sent in our applications on the same day, the fifth anniversary of us signing up.”

“Go on,” Wilson said.

“We both got in on our first try, and we tied one on the day the letters came in.” He sighed. “One of the best days of my life. The next day we went down to the quartermaster to be measured for our boots. They’re special order, you see, made one at a time, and they’re supposed to last you your entire career.”

“How is a story about boots gonna help me?”

“I’m almost there. So, we get measured and then we wait. And we wait. Meanwhile, Reynolds was having problems at home. Gambling. His car got repossessed. His kids couldn’t do after-school stuff because he couldn’t pay the fees. One night he eats his gun, like you almost did, so the insurance would get his family out of debt. Least, that’s what I tell myself.”

“Gee, Major, what a wonderful story. I feel better already.”

“Shut up and listen. What I didn’t tell you, what I haven’t told anyone before now, was I was having the same thoughts. I told myself if I ended it no one would care. The insurance payoff would make it all better. I was assigned to Reynolds’ funeral detail and saw him in his dress uniform in that box. I saw his widow and his kids crying their eyes out, and I knew. By God I knew, that taking my life would be the dumbest, cruelest thing I could ever do, and I swore I’d never think of it again.”

“Yeah, you get a scare like that, and I guess it’d keep you straight for a while. So?”

“So, the next week I finally get my boots, and I’m feeling pretty good until I sit down to try them on.”

“What, they didn’t fit?”

“Oh, they fit alright. They fit perfectly, which was the problem.”

“How was that a problem?”

“Reynolds’ name had been scratched out, and mine was penciled in.”

The Major rose to leave. “Every time I put those boots on, I remembered whose name had been there first. Remember how I said that sometimes things happen for no reason at all? That’s true. But sometimes, some very special times, they do.”