Ben

By Jake Suh

 

“Parker, why did you shoot?”

I sat there, fiercely tangling my fingers until words finally managed to escape my clenched teeth. “I didn’t know it was fake,” I muttered. My palms dampened with sweat as Lieutenant Herbert raised one of his bushy eyebrows.

He picked up his pen. Click…click…click.

I watched as the ballpoint popped out of its clear plastic frame and sprung back in with another click.

“So you’re telling me,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, “that you were the only officer there that couldn’t distinguish between a fake gun and a real one?”

M a r c h 5 // 9:52AM

Typing. Shuffling. Talking.

I sat in my chair, bored, twisting a piece of paper in between my fingers, glancing at the clock waiting for the next call. Lieutenant Herbert barked new orders.

“PARKER! Go with Kert!”

I exploded from my seat, grabbed all my gear, and followed the rest of the team. Stumbling down the cement stairs, I jumped into the SUV.

“What happened?” I gasped, catching my breath.

“Nothing special. Fistfight at Lincoln High School,” Seargant Kert responded.

I sighed and relaxed back into the leather seat, buckling my seatbelt.

The school was only a few blocks away from the station, so we arrived in a matter of minutes. We went inside an office, dense with the scent of pencils and Febreze. While the other officers went and spoke with the two security guards, I was greeted by a woman in a sleek gray dress carrying a walkie talkie, most likely the principal. She led me into a room, empty except for two boys.

In one corner sat a curly-haired boy with a sweatshirt that read “Lincoln Athletics,” who looked much older than the other boy. In the opposite corner sat a skinny boy with greasy black hair, wearing a blue t-shirt that was torn in half and hanging by just a few threads. His lip was cut and caked with dried blood.

“Names?” I asked bluntly.

“Caden,” responded the boy with the curly hair, wearing a mischievous smirk on his face.

The other boy didn’t respond. His eyes were bloodshot with ferocity and glazed in tears.

“His name is Ben,” muttered the principal, her teeth gritted.

“Why’d you hit him?” I asked Caden.

Caden chuckled and shrugged, keeping his arms crossed.

Ben instead responded coldly, “He was talking shit.”

“Give me your parents’ numbers” I demanded the boys.

The principal responded instead. “Caden’s mother is on her way and there has been no response from Ben’s guardians.”

I gave them both verbal warnings and the usual high school spiel about violence.

A few minutes later a tall woman with short hair casually walked in said “sorry” emotionlessly and left with Caden.

“I’ll take Ben home,” I told the principal.

Inside the SUV, I handed Ben the GPS. “Address?” I asked.

Ben punched in his address and stared out the tinted window.

“Your parents home?” I asked.

“Dad left me when I was young and mom’s busy in school,” he responded.

I looked out the window and watched the clouds thicken and water start sprinkling down.

“Can you stop here?” asked Ben.

The door opened and I watched him awkwardly jog home as the rain slowly dotted his shirt that now looked more like pieces of fabrics being held together by threads.

M a r c h 6 // 7:02AM

The next morning, the sun’s rays were streaming in my windows and I felt like a fully charged battery. I got in my car and drove towards the police station. At the red light, I saw a familiar face walking down the sidewalk.

“Ben!” I called.

His eyes scanned the road until he saw me and started slightly waving.

“You eat anything!?” I shouted.

As he shook his head, I motioned my hand telling him to come inside the car.

I drove us to the nearest 7-11 and asked him what he wanted.

With a little grin peeking in, Ben responded, “Um, can I just get a blue icing donut. It’s my favorite.”

I smiled and said, “Sure.”

Sitting down on the sidewalk ledge, I handed him his donut.

“Um, I asked for blue icing not red–ergh, um, nevermind it’s fine.”

My ears became a little pink as I quickly apologised.

Tuesday morning breakfast on the sidewalk ledge became something Ben and I did every week. I started to know more about Ben, from little things like his love for science, to being born to a teen mom.

M a r c h 13 // 7:28AM

One Tuesday morning, Ben never came and I ate breakfast alone, slowly peeling the plastic wrapping off my muffin wondering what could of happened. I told myself maybe he just forgot. But the next day while driving to the station, I saw Ben walking towards school with a purple eye and swollen nose. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door to go check on him but then my phone suddenly started ringing.

“PARKER!” I jerked my phone away from my ear as Lieutenant Herbert nearly blew out my eardrums. Realizing that I was late and Lieutenant Herbert was not a happy man, I glanced back at Ben one more time and sped back to the station.

M a r c h 20 // 7:49AM

The next Tuesday he showed up for breakfast and I decided not to tell him what I saw. But one day I saw Ben walking to school and I decided to follow him in my car. He kept walking until he was confronted by four boys. I recognized Caden among the group and stopped the car a few yards away from them. I rolled down the window enough for a little creak so I could hear what they were saying.

Ben ignored them and kept walking. But Caden grabbed his neck and pushed him back. Ben continued walking again and this time Caden didn’t do anything.

Laughing, Caden yelled out, “How’s you’re hot mommy doing?”

Ben stopped.

He turned around, every feeling except anger evaporating from his cold eyes as his neck veins swelled.

Caden whispered, “Are you angry now? Oh no what am I gonna do?”

Ben pounced on Caden and started swinging his fists but Ben was just too small. Caden picked Ben up and slammed him on the concrete.

Breathing heavily, Caden smirked and started clapping. “Wow, you still got that fierce look in your eyes.”

This time, I shoved the door open as Caden and the other boys immediately scattered like mice. I rushed over to Ben but he turned red as he wiped tears away, picked up his bag and left without saying a word.

M a r c h 20 // 7:20AM

The next Tuesday we were at the sidewalk ledge again and I asked him if he was alright.

“I’m fine,” Ben responded.

“Do you want me to file a report on him,” I offered.

“No I can’t do that, my mom is already struggling enough to pay our bills. I don’t want her thinking I have bullying problems now,” Ben said while chewing.

“Why does he bother you so much?” I asked.

“Probably because I get angered easily when he talks about my mom and he finds the reaction funny,” he said. “Also I look kind of easy to mess with don’t I?” he said chuckling.

I smiled.

After the incident I decided to wake up earlier to follow Ben and watch him get to school.

As a first year officer I didn’t really have a significant role other than making sure the busy ones got enough coffee. During my lunch break, two officers and I were walking to a nearby Deli a few blocks away until I recognized the back of Ben’s head and of course I saw Caden there too, holding something.

“Can we go this way?” I asked, worried for Ben.

As we walked toward them, Sergeant Kert yelled, “ Hey! What are you doing with that?”

Caden was holding a gun and had Ben in a headlock.

We all sprinted toward them until Sergeant Kert and Sergeant Lee both suddenly sighed in relief.

“We’re just having fun.” Caden said and laughed.

I was so confused as my hands started trembling.

“Be careful with that, man,” Sergeant Lee said.

Grinning, Caden nonchalantly saluted. But I was shaking as everything blurred, except for Caden.

“DROP THE WEAPON!” I screamed.

“What?” Caden laughed.

“Parker, you ok?” asked Sergeant Lee.

As Caden reached for his waist, I pulled the trigger.

Adrenaline rushing, a spark of anger fueled me as my hatred for Caden consumed me.

I shot again.

I was pinned to the ground as Sergeant Kert screamed in my face, “The orange tip! It’s an airsoft gun! IT’S FAKE!”

Caden was pronounced dead the following morning. It felt like two minutes ago when I was just heading out for lunch. Now, I sat face to face with Lieutenant Herbert interrogating me.

“How the hell did you become a police officer if you were color blind?” he muttered palming his face.

I stared at the floor as everything Lieutenant Herbert said went in my right ear and out my left ear. The only words I heard were “nine year sentence”.

M A Y 2 // 9:46PM

I sat in the cold cell trying to digest my situation.

It still hadn’t hit me.

I’m in jail.

I killed someone.

A U G U S T 31 // 2027

I found that I was being given parole a few weeks ago and I was leaving today. Packing some belongings, I walked down the cold prison hall feeling a little nervous for some reason.

Once I stepped out I saw a grinning police officer with greasy black hair who started walking towards me.

“How does Tuesday morning breakfast sound to you?”