“I heard you the first three times.”
“My brother can retrieve it.”
“No.”
“You can ask your partner to retrieve it.”
“No.”
“You can contact the duty desk listed on the identification.”
He pushed me harder against the cruiser.
“Stop telling me how to do my job.”
Behind us, my younger brother finally broke through the circle of mourners.
“She already told you who she is!”
The officer turned.
“Back up.”
My brother kept coming.
“She’s standing there in full uniform. Her identification is fifteen feet away. What exactly do you think she’s lying about?”
“Sir, back away from my scene.”
“Your scene?”
My brother pointed toward the chapel.
“That is our mother’s funeral!”
The officer shoved him.
Hard.
My brother stumbled backward against one of the low stone planters.
Several mourners shouted.
The pastor stepped forward.
A woman screamed my brother’s name.
Phones came up everywhere.
The officer pointed at the crowd.
“Everybody stay back.”
His partner still had not moved.
That concerned me more than the officer who was touching me.
The partner was younger, perhaps early thirties. He stood near the rear passenger door with one hand resting uncertainly near his belt.
He had looked at my uniform at least six times.
He had looked at the stars.
At the ribbons.
At my face.
Then at his partner.
Each time, his discomfort became more obvious.
I met his eyes.
“Officer.”
He swallowed.
“Yes, ma’am?”
The senior officer snapped:
“Don’t talk to her.”
The partner looked down.
That told me something.
Not enough.
But something.
The senior officer opened the rear cruiser door.
“Get in.”
“I cannot safely sit with my hands positioned like this while wearing this uniform jacket.”
“You’ll manage.”
“Loosen the cuffs one notch.”
“No.”
“They are unnecessarily tight.”
“You should’ve thought of that before resisting.”
“I have not resisted.”
He smiled.
“Body camera will decide that.”
I looked at the small camera clipped to the center of his uniform.
A tiny indicator light blinked.
Good.
Assuming it remained active.
The officer pushed my shoulder downward.
I ducked into the cruiser.
The door slammed behind me.
The tinted glass turned the funeral into something distant.
Outside, my brother argued with the officer.
The pastor stood between them now.
My mother’s closest friend remained near the chapel steps, one hand covering her mouth.
A folded flag rested beside the coffin.
White roses moved gently in the wind.