#previouslyunreleased

 “Turn it off.”  She demanded, looking from the passenger’s seat to her partner, Kenneth Ryan.  She almost always had control over the stereo, but in a ‘let’s take turns’ gesture, she was at his mercy until now.  “Turn that shit off, right now.”  She demanded.  Spencer was not playing around and it was written all over her face.  It wasn’t too often that she’d put her foot down about much of anything with her partner, but this would be the one thing she would not pull back on.  “For fucks sake, Ryan, I’m not fucking around.  Turn that shit off right this fucking minute.”  The first few bars of music had barely played, scarcely indicating what song it was leading in to, but Spence knew.  Spencer knew the tune all too well and it needed to go, promptly.  Just as the first two words were coming through the speakers, Kenneth changed the station and suddenly Metallica was filling the speakers of the vehicle as he prompted her with a sharp ‘better?’  Spence nodded her head, relieved he asked no questions, allowing her the privacy that she so required on the subject. Later that day, the tune had still been in her mind all day, haunting her.  Alcohol.  She needed it immediately.  Two cuts would already be made that day, which meant drinking was on the docket, but that song ensured that she would not only be taking her one, two, three approach, but she would also be slamming them back long after the blood dried.  In an hour’s time, Spencer Reese sat on her sofa, sports bra and athletic pants, staring at the lines as they streamed down her side, staining her skin.  The words running through her mind, she felt herself on the very edge of doing something incredibly stupid, which was par for the course for Spence at this point in time.  Escaping, constantly.  Burying herself in things that did her no favors, yet unable to face the life she was leading without the excursions. Returning to her apartment at 4 in the morning, she stared at herself in the mirror, though blurry lines and fuzzy images was all that met her eyes.  Distortion.  Fitting, seeing as she was completely distorted from that which she had once been.  A pen and paper called her name.  The thoughts running wild in her mind had to come out.  Confessions of a dirty cop.  

I walked out of the Richardson Police Department, getting into my car to head to my parent’s home in McKinney.  I had been staying with them for a few weeks now and things were getting worse.  The financial contribution I was making wasn’t enough.  That was the day I decided to change that.  I was heavy with guilt, though I knew I was doing what I thought to be the only thing I could do.  I turned on the car, leaning my head against the steering wheel.  I was off for the next two consecutive days and although I knew it would be me, all day staring at the ceiling making friends with shadows on my wall, there was at least the peace of knowing I would not have to face my crimes head on the following morning.  Instead, I could sit, alone, all night hearing voices telling me that I should get some sleep because tomorrow might be good for something.  Yet I already knew it wouldn’t be.  The song played through the speakers as I drove towards I-75, paying no attention to it in that moment.   The ringing of my phone broke into the middle of the song playing through the auxiliary cord in the stereo.  I glanced down at the phone, seeing the name on the caller ID.  My mother.  I quickly answered the phone.  “Hey mom.  I’m on my way.  Do you need me to pick up anything for you from Tom Thumb on my way?”  The question was simple enough, yet she returned my question with a much different request.  ‘Just making sure you’re okay.’  The words coming from my mother were not ones that I was accustomed to.  I wasn’t late.  It was clear to me in that moment that she was reaching out for someone.  “I’ll be there in just a few more minutes, mom.”  My best guess was something either happened with my father that day or she was just struggling with the state of it all, as it was all something to do with my father at this point in time.  As I walked into the house, my mother stood in the kitchen, preparing the meal with tears in her eyes as she tossed the salad.  I put down my things and went to her, immediately putting my arms around her from behind and nuzzling my face against the side of hers.  ‘I’m glad you’re home, Spence.’  I nodded my head and whispered back that I was glad to be there too.  My father laid in the bedroom as my mother and I ate.  She went on and on about how my father was talking crazy, yet she knew that he was just unwell.  It was hard seeing this side of my father, vulnerable and damaged, yet there we were facing it every day, my mother more so than myself.  The days looked dark, with no end in sight, but the roll of cash in my car said otherwise.  That night, I slipped the cash into my mother’s hand and told her there would be more.  She asked no questions and I gave no information.   After the kitchen was clean and my mother had retired to the bedroom, I sat in the bedroom, plagued with the actions of the day.  One thing was clear to me in that moment, I was feeling like I’m heading for a breakdown and I don’t know why.  My mother was a wreck off and on.  My father was struggling, touch and go every day.  As I sat on the sofa in the dark living space, I assured myself I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell.  A deep breath later, I was caught thinking about who I was the day before and who I was that day.  I had made a drastic life changing decision, one that I could not undo and was stuck in a place knowing that right now you can’t tell.  If I told  a soul, not only would my job be out the window, but I would be facing the highest form of disappointment that someone could have in me.  I couldn’t argue with them and tell them it wasn’t who I was.  Begging them to stay a while and maybe then you’ll see.  No.  Instead, I had to start to face the facts that it was me.  A different side of me than that which I displayed before, but me, nonetheless.  I could try to explain it away, to say I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired, but in that same breath, I knew that if I said that to my father to excuse my actions, I would be following it up with I know right now you don’t care.  He wouldn’t care.  The blemish on that badge was now written in my own handwriting.  Soon enough you’re gonna have to realize it, accept it.  He would think of me, and how I used to be me.  Not this person.  This wasn’t me.  But it was now.  At my own hand.  The following day, my car was placed in the shop to have a brake job.  I took the Dart train to Northpark to get out of the house, hearing my father’s disappointing voice all too loud within my head.  I needed to get away.  As I sat on the train, I realized I’m talking to myself in public, dodging glances on the train.  I know, I know they’ve all been talking about me.  I can hear them whisper and it makes me think there must be something wrong with me.  So many knew me.  I was that girl.  I had it all.  Morals, reputation, respect, looks.  There was nothing missing from the overall picture, but what if they could sense the wrong that resided within me now.  What if they could somehow tell that I had put my reputation in jeopardy?  The looks were there, yet I had lost all respect for myself, and I thought they did too.  I walked through the mall that day, for hours.  Out of all the hours thinking somehow I’ve lost my mind.  Those people did not know me on that train.  They did not know me in the mall.  I saw a familiar face or two in the salespeople at the Coach store, but outside of that, no one.  There was no possible way someone could know that which I had done.  Oh, but someone did.  I did.  And the guilt was driving me out of my own head. That evening, I laid in my bed, staring at the ceiling.  Eventually, I nodded off to sleep, warding off the demons in my own mind.  Tomorrow would be the same.  Another day off.  Another day of the haunting thoughts, of my father’s voice in my head, of staring the one person in the face that I’d never want to disappoint.  Less than an hour after falling asleep, my mother came into my room, shaking me by the shoulder.  ‘Spence, did you say something?  Who is coming?  Is everything okay?’  I opened my eyes to find her look of concern painted on her face, as if she needed anything else to worry about.  “I’ve been talking in my sleep?”  She nodded her head, brushing my hair from my face.  “Something about… pretty soon they’ll come to get me?’  The words struck fear through me as I wondered what else I might have said.  I needed a lie, to go along with the crime I had performed the previous day, because if you’re going to break those Front Porch Rules, you might as well break them all.  “Oh, yeah… I had this dream.  Zombies and shit.  I guess they’re taking me away and I had to fight back.”  I shrugged it off and accepted a kiss to the forehead.  ‘You should really start turning the television off before you go to sleep.  It has made you have crazy dreams since you were a little girl.’  With that, she was gone from the room.  I was left to stare once more at the ceiling, looking for imperfections such as were marked within myself now.  But as it goes, the ceiling was perfect, blemish free, and yet another reminder that I held the only staining in the Reese home.

As she got up from the sofa, after reliving the play by plays of her first take, she stumbled into the bathroom, following her routine of cleaning the streams of dried blood from her side.  She grabbed a bandage from the drawer, covering the two open wounds at her side before falling into her bed.  She stared at the ceiling, noticing every blemish along the off white spackling.  They were a comfort to her, as she was far from perfect.  She surrounded herself with imperfections, becoming less and less like the Spencer Reese that was Homecoming Court for four years running.  She didn’t look like the peppy head cheerleader or the captain of the golf team.  She wasn’t the girl who lived up to every expectation that was put upon herself by others.  She didn’t raise the bar for herself.  She accepted mediocrity, as that was now the way of her life.  She wanted the imperfections.  The flaws.  The failures.  She wanted to feel them in any way that she possibly could.  The fact of the matter was, she didn’t deserve to be Spencer Reese, Class President.  She didn’t deserve to be looked up to.  She didn’t deserve to be the person she was groomed to be.  Though her imperfections were each one concealed, they were there and plainly visible to herself.  A perpetual punishment for the crimes that she committed.  Yet in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but hope to get back to the way she used to be.