Imagine This ...

A Lot Of Obscurity

Wow, an actual police department. I never usually visit the places where a criminal's capture starts, only where it ends. It's new for me, to say the least.

The steps where cops and detectives mill about in their suits and bulky blue uniforms—rushing, stomping, brushing past the life around them—is my destination. I walk slowly, easily, and notably, seeing the trees on either side of the railing and the great view of the ocean and the words chiseled into stone above the set of double doors: SANTA BARBARA POLICE DEPARTMENT.

I could totally imagine how a crime show would fold out using this head line.

"SBPD, put your hands in the air!"

"Alright, team, let's catch this son of a bitch."

"Where's the donuts?"

I laugh to myself, holding my hand to my lips, which in turn, spread past the barrier into an upended arc. Some policeman, tall and fit with a head of dark black hair and a giddy smile, which is odd compared to these other downers, glances up from his newspaper. He has two cups of coffee squeezed into one arm and he's leaning against the wall to my right. I stop my awkward behavior and give a stiff nod. He perks up, practically bouncing, checks his watch, then steps over in one stride to open the door for me.

"Thanks," I say, stepping in but letting my gaze stay behind as he marches after me curtly.

"No problem," he says, having a sweet voice for someone who could totally pass as a bouncer or mafia dude if he lost the sharpness of his attire and stupid grin.

I don't feel the need to say anything more as I walk past a cute Santa Barbara mural to my right and the front desk to my left. I don't sign in. This guy notices.

"Um, I'm Buzz," he says, stepping in front of me and holding out his hand, the one with the newspaper still clung inside.

"Buzz?" I question as I take the newspaper out of his hand and shake it accordingly.

Buzz blushes and returns his item himself, keeping his head low out of embarrassment. "I don't mean to be a buzzkill-"

"Clearly, no pun intended," I add mid-sentence.

"But I'm going to have to ask you to sign in." I raise my eyebrows at him. "Unless, of course, you're here being escorted by a detective?"

"You think I'm here because of an arrest?" I challenge teasingly, not at all insulted by the question in actuality. Buzz blushes again, the poor guy, so I pat him on the shoulder and smile. "I'm just kidding, buddy. Don't worry. I'm actually here to see someone. As a visitor."

I move past him and down the hall to my left, stairs leading to the darker area of the department to my right. I assume he will come running after me, the goody-two-shoes I've pegged him as, so I try and make my steps worth it.

In the back of my mind, I consider all the versions of me who could have come in to enact those wrongful deeds Buzz might suspect of me. I could have a gun hidden under my belt, pull it out to shoot the man who arrested my father. A little backstory never hurt anyone. I could have a bomb strapped to my chest, press the button to obliterate part of the system I'm against. I could have tools stitched into my coat, or a key, to break out my murderous friend from the jail cell serving as a middleman between freedom and prison.

Thankfully, I don't have a gun or a bomb or a nail file baked into a cake. I just have awkward thoughts that I'd be deemed crazy if ever shared.

"Excuse me! Miss! Stop for a moment!" I hear Buzz bound towards me.