Cover Your Tracks [HS][2014 VERSION]

46. Little Lion Man

"Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart. Weep, little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start . . ."

I start by assuring the receptionist that there is no emergency, that I am only trying to speak to my father, the Chief of Police. She puts me on hold while she tries to track him down. I shift my weight on my feet and glance around the schoolyard. Students idle, standing in their familiar groups and chatting before saying their goodbyes and heading home for the day.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for waiting. I will transfer you to him now."

The line changes before I can thank her. A dial tone sounds, and then I'm back to where I started. The phone rings a few times before the line goes silent. My sharp intake of breath muffles the speakers.

"Arthur Reese, Chief of Police."

Adrenaline takes control over my body and my jaw feels tight, my hands shake. I fight the feeling as best I can and try to put on a brave face. My lip is sucked between my teeth before slowly being released along with an exhale. "Hey, dad."

"Lyza," he recognizes. Through the line I can hear the shuffling of papers along with the squeak of a chair as he moves around. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," I breathe, quickly realizing my mistake. "Well, actually..." From my peripheral, I can make out the line of yellow buses parked neatly in a row. Students pour in while I stand, watching. "I, uh, I missed my bus, and I was hoping you could come pick me up?"

My statement comes out like a question. My uncertainty is clear, the lie in my words showing through. I dig into my lip and shake my head to myself, kicking at dirt with the tip of my shoe in frustration at my own stupidity.

"Lyza," he sighs. "You know I'm on duty. You've never missed the bus before, so what's so different about today?"

"I know, I'm sorry. I stuck around after class to talk to my teacher and I lost track of time." The line is silent for a moment. My lies echo in my head, each round louder than the next and soon, they all jumble together. I shut my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I can
hang around the station until your shift ends. You won't even know I'm there."

"It seems I have no other choice, do I?" His tone is gruff and annoyed. I feel irrelevant in size standing alone, the harsh wind brushing along my sides, nearly carrying me with it. The regret and guilt is there as my plan falls into place.

"I'm sorry."

He sighs at my apology and I can imagine him sat at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as I had seconds before. He spends the majority of his days at work and I spend mine at home. To break the routine seems weird, somehow. Why I felt the need to apologize for requesting to spend time with him, I don't know.

"Alright, I'll head that way."

The line falls silent. I sigh and collapse onto the school's front lawn, brown curls fanning out around my head in haphazard, unruly waves. The sun penetrates my irises and I squint against the harsh exposure.

And like this, I start to think about love.

People fall in and out of it. Some allow it to swallow them whole, drowning in the arms of another person with the idea that only they can save them from the water crashing over their heads. Others focus on love and only love, blinding themselves to the things going on around them. Love is treacherous. It can break and mend you all at once, put you back together again only to rip you apart.

There are many different types of love. Some find a kind so great that they simply cannot contain it all, so they decide to take it and create something wonderful. Together, two people form a special bond that is later displayed in the form of a small child.