“Whisky, neat,” he ordered. His voice was quiet, just enough for the bartender to hear.
She nodded and served him without much fanfare. Perhaps she was able to pick up on his mood. It was a solemn anniversary after all, not a night worth celebrating. He hadn’t come here for conversation. He kept his bandana pulled low to keep his hair out of his eyes, and he kept his jacket on. There was no need to start a fight tonight. This was not a night meant for fighting. This was the night all the fight had left.
He drank his whiskey and ordered another. There were three to honor tonight, and he threw back a glass for each. The first was for his mother, the second for his sister, and the third for the one love in his life that was now gone forever. The third he ordered on the rocks, which was about as appropriate as he could muster. None of the three went down smooth. The whiskey burned his throat, and a trail of pain warmed his insides with every swallow. He hated the taste of whiskey, but he needed to feel the pain. That was the point after all.
He paid his tab after the third and left with the same lack of fanfare as he’d entered with. The summer heat still hung in the air even at this late hour, but he kept his jacket on. Comfort was the last thing on his mind. His head was a little fuzzy from the drinks; it wasn’t something he did often. It was only a short walk to his apartment, and the sidewalk wasn’t swaying, so he made his way from the bar and started home.
He hadn’t gone far when a group of college girls came bounding down the sidewalk toward him. It was clear they had been drinking also as they were giggling loudly and swaying back and forth as they walked. He moved to the side to give them a wide berth. When he did so, his foot slid off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. He lost his balance and almost fell, but he was able to right himself without too much effort. Unfortunately, it did not go unnoticed. The girls burst into laughter and nearly fell themselves as they cackled at his misfortune. That wasn’t what worried him though. No, it was the quick siren and flashing lights that made him nearly sick up.
“Stop right there, pal,” a loud voice ordered.
He turned to see a blinding bright light thrust into his face. Instinctually, he threw his hands up in front of his eyes to shield them from the light. The officer took it as a threat. The next thing he knew he was thrown forcibly onto the hood of the police car, and his hands were cuffed roughly behind his back.
The sound of laughing college girls was replaced by the officer talking to his dispatcher. Those girls must have sobered up quickly and vanished.
“What’s your name, sir?” the officer said as he frisked him while he was still leaning against the car.
“Hyph’n,” he answered.
“No, not your gang name, punk ass,” the officer spat with fury. “What’s your real name?”
“I’m not in a gang, sir,” Hyph’n said.
“That’s not what I asked you. What’s your real name?”
“I’d rather not say it out loud,” Hyph’n grimaced.
The police officer found his wallet and took his time going through it, not that there was much in it. Hyph’n didn’t carry much on him when he went out.
“Are you kidding me?” the officer laughed, but it was not a happy laugh. “Is that really your name? No wonder you don’t want to say it out loud. Jeez! Have you been drinking tonight?”
“Yes, sir, I have,” Hyph’n answered.
“Shocker,” the officer seemed disappointed that he had told the truth. “Public intoxication it is, then. Congratulations. You just won a trip to the drunk tank and an all-access pass to court tomorrow. Let’s go.”
Hyph’n was roughly forced into the back of the policeman’s squad car and driven three blocks away to the police station where he was quickly processed and thrown into a small holding cell. They had taken his jacket and his necklaces and his bandana. He was left in just his jeans and his white tank top. His tattoos drew all manner of unwanted attention whether it be smirks from the jailers or whistles and cat calls from the other inmates. Fortunately, there weren’t many. It was a small town after all, but it was enough.
Hyph’n sat there in the cell berating himself for being so stupid. Of course he’d gotten himself arrested. It was surely what he deserved. His feeble attempt to honor the memory of his own family tragedy had failed miserably. Now he was the tragedy. He was proving to be every bit the black mark that his family history suggested he would be. It was no less than he deserved. Life was funny that way. It was unfair that he was the one still alive. The world would be better off without him.
“Oi, mate,” a voice sounded from the other side of the community cell, a thick Australian accent that Hyph’n had trouble following. “What brings you here? You come here often?”
“You always practice your pickup lines in lockup with a bunch of dudes, mate?” another voice answered gruffly from behind Hyph’n.
“Listen, mate,” the accented man ignored the surly barb. “There be some right questionable examples of in-breedin’ in these parts. What say you we team up, keep these wee willies from goin’ down under, lest we end up with a couple bloomin’ onions?”
“What?” Hyph’n’s confusion was plain on his face. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You watch me back, and I’ll watch yours, mate,” the strange man threw his hands to the side. “It ain’t that complicated. They call me Dash, by the way.”
“Who’s they?” Hyph’n asked.
“That’s me name. What’s yours?”
“Hyph’n,” one of the officers spoke softly and thankfully interrupted the strange conversation. “Come with me.”
This officer was older and carried himself in a more dignified manner than the younger officer that had brought him in. He led him to a small table which had two chairs, one on either side. The older officer motioned for Hyph’n to sit down, and he took the seat across from him. Hyph’n did as he was told.
“We ran your prints and your license and found nothing in your history that would suggest any criminal connection, no warrants, no previous convictions, no trouble whatsoever,” the officer said as he regarded Hyph’n.
“Well, I just try to keep to myself most days,” Hyph’n responded. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything, but he did anyway.
“It was also not lost on me what day it is, son,” the officer said, his voice taking on a hint of sympathy. “That was twenty years ago. That’s a heavy burden to still be carrying around.”
“There’s no one left to carry it but me,” Hyph’n said.
“You know, I knew your mother,” the office said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Hyph’n sighed. “So did a lot of guys. I’ve heard.”
“That’s your father talking,” the officer said more sternly. “And I think you know as well as I do what kind of man he was. The lies he spread about your mother when she went missing, well, they never sit well with me. I don’t believe a one of them and you shouldn’t either. Your mother was a good woman, and she loved you and your sister. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Hyph’n shrugged. “It hardly matters. They’re all gone now.”
“I know, son,” the officer shook his head sadly. “I know.” He paused for a moment, looking at Hyph’n intently as he gauged his current state. “Look, we get these young officers straight out of the academy in these small towns, always wanting to prove themselves. They take their training too seriously and see the hardened criminal in every person. It takes these guys a while to learn that people are complicated, and things aren’t nearly as simple as good versus bad. Sometimes people are just people, and mistakes happen.”
“Do you think I made a mistake by honoring the anniversary of the night my family died?” Hyph’n asked. He tried his best to keep his voice steady.
“No, son, I’m not saying that at all. The mistake that was made was in the paperwork he submitted, or didn’t submit rather. I’ve got no reason to hold you. You’re free to go. You want me to call you a cab?”
“No, if it’s all the same to you,” Hyph’n said. “I’d like to walk.”
“Sure,” the officer smiled. “Just do me a favor and try and stay on the sidewalk this time.”
His personal effects were returned to him, his jacket, bandana, and his pocketknife, and Hyph’n set about walking home yet again. This time, he steered clear of everyone and made his way toward the edge of town. By now, it was just after midnight and the traffic in the small town was dying down. There were only a couple of small dive bars that were still open at this hour, but Hyph’n didn’t make his way to either of them. Instead, he walked until he found himself on the bridge that crossed the Wabash River leading away from town. He stood in the middle of that bridge, staring down into the darkness below. This bridge was a high arching construct of concrete and steel, and the water below was a hundred-foot drop. If he jumped, he would undoubtedly be knocked unconscious and he would likely drown before he came to again. Hyph’n wondered how far he’d be swept down river before his body washed ashore.
No one would miss him. There was no one left that even knew him. Everything about him was a failure. He couldn’t even honor his loved ones without screwing it up and ending up in jail. By jumping, he’d be doing the town a favor.