Getting Up: Finding My Way Back in a Flash, 2011-2014

Temperature Changes

Subzero Tantrum

Richard observed the flakes and the start of a swirl. His car was parked in an upstate New York rest area. Richard felt like he was a kind guy, good-natured, and generous to a point. Bimbette, his date, was hating on him because they were going to stay in a campground. He had skintight ski suit on his mind, and an intimate night by the fire, roughing it in...whew...a good way. Bimbette was pushing him to stay at a main resort, crystal champagne glasses, all-inclusive suite, the kind of place where his wallet would have sprouted legs and dragged him away. He was a regular guy, but unfortunately, he had Wall Street taste in women. His mother always said he would pass out from the fumes before he realized which fume didn't drive him crazy.
They were a couple of hours away from New York, and she insisted on being taken home immediately. From the look of the sky, if he didn't want to be staring at the inside of a tree trunk on the way back, they needed to stay put. Her lips were in that blow-fish pout, and her pink parka was bunched around her.
"Are we going now?" she said.
"No," he said in a quiet tone.
"What do you mean no?" she asked in a higher octave.
"There is a bad snowstorm coming. Listen, darling, there is a motel about 2 miles from here."
She and the pink parka wedged around in the seat. "Are you insane? We can make it. I live in Trump Towers, you cheap idiot." She had hit shrill mode.
"Well, it's either the motel or get trapped in the car. What do you want from me?" Richard glared back.
"I want this hunk of junk in gear and going. I don't do cheap motels or cheap weekends. Are you really your own boss, or are you the janitor?" She enunciated like a stepped-on trumpet.
The accusation hung in the air. A foot was already built up around the wheels. A snowplow lumbered up the road.
Bimbette whipped around and jumped out of the car. "See ya bozo, there's my ride."
Richard put his head on the wheel. He could smell the fumes.

***

Another Day in the Heat

Cassidy sat in her patrol car in a tiny lot that was on the corner of 2nd Avenue and 36th St., and a small kiosk was open for business, selling Lotto tickets, food, and cold drinks. She lay her head back on the bucket seat and watched as far as she could see down 36th. A hot haze settled over the Miami rooftops to the sound of salsa somewhere. It was 101, and her head was in the ozone with a headache. Her partner, Juan, with his perfect white-stripped teeth and the aura of Cuban machismo sandwiched inside his navy Dade County uniform, had her smoothie, a large drink, and a monster sandwich in peril of meeting the pavement. He motioned for the door. Cassidy motioned back. Juan slanted his eyes. She leaned over and opened the door an inch. Juan hipped the door backwards and bounced into his seat, almost upending the drinks. She sipped her drink. The radio came alive, a domestic, perp brandishing a large knife, 5th St. and 48th Avenue. Cassidy pumped the cruiser in drive. Juan belted up and put the food back in the bag.
She jetted across the avenues silent until they rolled up on the building. A potted plant flew out of a second floor window and smashed into the cement in front of the cruiser. Cassidy jumped out and started up the terracotta steps with her gun drawn. She could hear arguing and breaking glass through an open doorway. Juan tiptoed up the steps behind her. They peeked around the jamb. The problem paraded through the apartment naked and howled in Spanish that his wife was going to die today. His wife was backed into a corner with a long cut down her arm. The silver machete sliced the air, and he continued to rant until he saw them. He tripped over a toy car and lost his balance, going down on one knee. Cassidy and Juan rushed him. The knife did a flip in the air and bounced out of play. Two more sets of uniforms hit the door and locked the scene down. Juan and another officer escorted the cuffed crazy to the car. EMS was on the way. A grease-stained thermometer on the wall said 102. Cassidy slumped a little more at that and started to question the woman.