The Guardian - 3

Printer-friendly version


the Guardian_0.jpg



When you look at me, am I incomplete
am I missing something everybody else can clearly see
when you look at me...




Part Three – Grey


Previously

Alex looked in the mirror once again, realizing the irony of the moment as he recalled the meaning of the young woman’s name.

“Baseema…smile….” His expression mirrored the meaning. And her family name?

“Abdel Salaam…servant of peace.”

Alex wasn’t into prognostication; especially when it came to his best friend. But he looked over at Darla and squinted a bit. That smile of the young woman struck a nerve in Darla. He could only hope that the woman’s last name would finally provide some peace for her as well.


This is what I've learned so far
Everything is grey
Few things are forever
and it hurts when good things fade

A few nights later…

Darla lay awake; staring at the ceiling seemed to be de rigueur for her nights since sleep seemed to be only an occasional visitor to her bedside. She turned and looked at the display from the clock radio; 4:02. She turned her attention once again to the ceiling. How many times had she counted the square tiles in hopes that they might function in the same manner that sheep do for others. She closed her eyes, trying to reset, but her default continued to be ‘lie awake in my own sweat and tears.’

“Now I lay me down to sleep….” She knew other prayers from other times and other places, but this one seemed to fit. She had prayed desperately as a child that God would take her if he chose not to change the sad little boy into a princess or a nurse or a cowgirl. And while the particulars of the hopes changed as she grew older, the desperation never abated. She had a lifetime of risky and even borderline self-destructive choices; no worry about being in harm’s way since anything was better than a life as Aldo.

But God never chose to take her soul, so to speak. Even when her life seemed to be ripped apart by the destruction of others, she remained whole…too whole for her needs. Only after beginning to deal with the loss of the love of her life was she able to accept that it was in her hands alone to become Darla; no matter what help she might receive along the way.

But becoming Darla…or rather, finally presenting as Darla, had done nothing to relieve her of the demons that had beset her from childhood. Her mother practically hated her even when she was ‘Mommy’s little boy.’ Guilt and shame over her feelings and beliefs about herself didn’t just magically fade away. It was only when she started facing herself….looking inward instead of seeking outside solutions…that she started integrating the good with the not so good. Becoming a whole person with one outlook instead of being torn in two.

“4:37…oh fuck….” She winced at her own words. A woman shouldn’t talk like that, much less a ‘lady.’ Her head and heart filled with stereotypes that shoved her around like bullies on a playground. She sighed and blinked back the obligatory guilty tears. If sleep failed to drop by, she was at least assured that crying was predictable and therefore leaving her forewarning to cope. Fewer tears fell from guilt and shame, and what little guilt remained came from what was left undone and neglected rather than what she had finally chosen to act upon. No one chooses to be transgender, but all are left with choices in how and when to move or not.

“5:12….oh maaaannnn…” A comment that was an old friend as well; complaints over marginally annoying tasks or expectations that had become the go-to expressions for the more serious or disappointing. Less than an hour to rising and she already knew it was pointless to try to gain any sleep. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes, hoping for at least some respite from the emotional buffeting from the past several days.

you can't be my everything
And I am not half you
but you can make it all worthwhile
and that's why I love you...

“I love you,” a woman’s voice echoed from within; a voice she would never again hear this side of paradise. But the face that accompanied the voice still smiled. Perhaps Amani Fayzi was as peaceful as she imagined, but Darla was not, no matter what she imagined for the woman whose death left a hole in her heart wide enough to drive a Humvee through. As she lay there, the vision began to change. Where the face of her beloved once was, another face began to materialize, so to speak. A face as beautiful, but fraught with sadness and fear and horror. The face was familiar, but Darla struggled in the midst of the vision; pulled between the past and the present.

“6:22….oh fuck….” She put her hand on her forehead and then wiped away more tears than she could remember shedding in a long time. Tears for her loss. Tears for her confusion. Tears for another? Her sad musing was interrupted by the electronic strains of the Piano Guys coming from her cell phone. She reached over and hit the pad.

“Farnetti, yes? Alex, what the fuck…it’s not even 6:30..what…No…son of a bitch…” She didn’t even bother to say goodbye; time enough for pleasantries in a short while since a quick shower would be followed by the hasty trip to the precinct for her shift. She fell back against the bunched up pillows; a few minutes to take it in. She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of what she had just heard, but the face she had seen only moments before seemed to plead even more. She found her own tears had begun to mirror the tears that fell freely from the woman in her vision. Beseema Abdel Salaam pled with her….beseeching more than just answers, but seeking something that seemed only Darla could provide; peace.

Mahmood Abdel Salaam had been shot to death while opening his shop. It’s said that the death of only one person diminishes us all. Darla hardly knew Mahmood other than the kind, warm, and welcoming smile that he gave to her; a gesture withheld even by her own mother that was a blessing from a virtual stranger. But his death was made even more meaningful and tragic in that Darla’s small grief was dwarfed by the sadness of the woman in her dreams. And as odd as it felt, that loss seemed to pull her a bit out of her own sadness. Something about Amani’s death would always seem noble if tragic. But if that death truly was to remain noble, it had to be that Darla needed to seek her peace among the living. And that peace was destined to be bestowed by the love of another.


Al-Salaam Grocery Store, a short while later

A petite woman stood back against a steady breeze; her coat barely keeping out the morning chill. Her aqua-hued hijab was tucked under the coat collar. Alec and Darla stood facing her and the bustle of activity over her right shoulder.

“Please, Officer Farnetti, Officer Petrovic....who could have done such an evil thing. What did my father ever do to deserve this?” Beseema pointed in the direction of the storefront; the sidewalk was clear other than crime-scene tape stretching across from two lampposts to both sides of the metal trellis-like security curtain. The body had been removed, leaving a dark brown stain against the sun-bleached asphalt. She turned away and put her hand to her face; more out of a sense of propriety than the underlying, overwhelming grief.

“I don’t know, Ms. Salaam, please pardon me if I didn’t get that right?” Alec asked gently. He didn’t get it quite right, but that was the furthest thing from Beseema’s mind. He continued.

“The detectives from Homicide will be handling the investigation. They’ve already gotten the information from the other attack. They’re not quite convinced this wasn’t random, but then they’ve only had the case for an hour. I’m sorry we can’t give you more than that.”

“Oh, I understand.” She half-smiled at Darla and Alex, causing Darla to blush. She nodded and waved at one of the crime scene techs before walking over to the taped-in square, hoping the redness in her face hadn’t shown. It did.

“Your partner? Is she always this… “

“Rude?” Alec shook his head before following up.

“I’m sorry. Officer Farnetti is just …well she’s going through some things right now and she’s a bit distracted.”

“Ah…I see.” Beseema didn’t quite see that, but she was seeking to understand. She had noticed something inside herself that she wished she hadn’t. And with the grief being gently nudged aside, she was hit by a wave of guilt. How could she not focus on her father’s murder? She sighed. Alex reached into his jacket pocket.

“Here’s my card; I wrote Darla’s number on the back. We try not to get too involved when the detectives take over, but something tells me we…me and Darla…are both going to want to see this thing through; at least we can keep our eyes and ears open, okay?’

“Yes. I will be staying at my mother’s sister’s home for the next few days while arrangements are made.” She smiled warmly, but tears began to fall. The thought of having someone interested in her and her father was too much to handle since that care squeezed through the thin gaps in cultural and even personal defenses; leaving her vulnerable. Alex knew enough not to even offer a hand without her offering first. He nodded and half-smiled.

“I just hope we can see some progress soon for everyone’s sake. Please give our condolences to your family?“ He looked over at Darla who was talking with one of the detectives. A few minutes went by before her return. Beseema was nowhere to be seen and Alec had a very frustrated look on her face.

“Now what the fuck was that all about, partner?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Darla looked back at the crime scene; ostensibly lost in thought.

“You know damn well what I mean. That’s the second time that you’ve walked away in the middle of a conversation with her.” Darla’s eyes flashed a microsecond of anger only to be replaced with frustration and embarrassment.

“She’s….oh fuck…” Darla bit her lip; recalling the visitation of sorts that she had only a few hours before.

“She’s just like your girl,” Alex said. His words might have seemed dismissive but Darla could only shrug in painful recognition.

“You’re my girl,” Aldo had said to Amani. And she had returned the declaration with one of her own.

“And you’re mine.” Not just hers alone, but Aldo was Amani’s ‘girl’ even if that part of her never emerged in anything but hidden places and secret times. Amani was the only one save for Alec who knew back then just who Aldo Farnetti really was.

Darla’s eyes widened and tears came quickly.

“I remember the look on your face when you talked about Amani. You’ve got the same look in your eyes now. Ms. Salaam…she’s more than just a victim, right?

“Yes….”

Darla stammered. She looked at the crime scene tape again; that protective part of her was outraged and saddened and almost furious that someone had killed the father of the girl in her dreams. Even at the thought and with Alex looking almost stone-silent at her confession, she was filled with shame and doubt. How could anyone care so soon for someone so new? How could she betray Amani’s memory over someone she barely knew? She shook her head.

“Yes? Is that all you can say? I’ve known you since Hector was a pup, kiddo. What’s going on inside there?” He tapped her shield with his right index finger. Darla winced and mewed an ‘ow;’ that complaint that comes not from pain but from surprise.

“I saw her, Alex…in a dream…last night…”

“You’ve had plenty of dreams of her since she died, Darla.” He would have added ‘what’s the big deal,’ but for the sad frown on Darla’s face.

“No…not just Amani….” Even at the mention of the woman’s name, she felt guilty, as if by including another in the same breath she was somehow dishonoring Amani.

“Oh…I get it….You had a dream about…Beseema?” He hadn’t meant to use her first name out of respect for the woman, but something urged him nevertheless. Darla nodded.

“She was …her eyes were sad…like today…it was like a sign, Alex….Something was telling me and I didn’t do a damn thing.” Darla shook her head angrily over the thought. Convention made no claim regarding how he interacted with his partner and best friend; he reached over and grabbed her hand and squeezed like the big-brother he should have been if the stork hadn’t mixed up houses and dates.

“Stop it, Darla. Quit kicking yourself. Nobody could have seen this coming. It was a dream….that’s all.

“But you should have seen her eyes, Alex.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t real. But there’s real and then there’s real, you know? No one could have helped Mahmood, but something tells me that someone with a higher grade of pay than even the Commish wants you….and ME….to look out for her, right?” Darla nodded reflexively.

“You gonna be okay? “

“It hurts, Alex.” Darla put her head down; tears fell on her blouse, turning dark blue to near black in droplet-shaped stains. At one time she might have shaken or paced a bit, but those ways seemed to be fading like so much colored paper in a window display.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Alex made a promise he wouldn’t have dared make to Beseema Abdel Salaam, but he was supremely confident, as some might say, that at least for his partner, no matter which form and substance it might take, that it was indeed going to be okay.

I have tasted happiness
The innocence of joy
do we pay a price for every moment we enjoy
I could make you promises
But even I can't say if everything I feel for you
will never go away

Next: Rescue Me


Grey
Words and music by the performer
Miss Sarah Bettens
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-N2EWCESmc

Titanium/Pavane
Music composed by
Sia Furler, David Guetta, Giorgio Tuinfort,
Nick Van De Wall, and Gabriel Fauré
As performed by The Piano Guys
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ceytIiOaRc

up
120 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

Comments

Darla's pain and sadness....

May soon be alleviated. Could it be that her lost love Amani is sending Baseema to fill the void left by her untimely departure from this earth? And will Darla be receptive to this possibility? Andrea dear, hurry back please dear one. Loving Hugs Talia

Sad chapter but I have hope for an eventual sweet outcome

laika's picture

Perfect how you captured the whirlwind thoughts of insomnia and regret. That hint of premonition as if the hand of providence was acting in Darla's life, then this homicide first thing in the morning, even harder because it was a nice man she knew, and hurt someone she's starting to realize she likes. In spite of grimness, like Alec I have a feeling it's going to be okay, but then I have an advantage over the characters; I know the author and she never puts her characters through grief for no reason.

LOVE YOU! Ronni

Darla has to speak with

Darla has to speak with Beseema sooner rather than later.

Karen