has that hopeful, overlit look of a sports stadium. There is
no underground parking, so we have to pull right up front as
the madding crowd closes in: I see wet lips and spittle as
everyone screams questions, the pops of flashbulbs and
camera lights. The crowd pushes and pulls en masse,
jerking a few inches to the right, then the left as everyone
tries to reach me.
‘I can’t do this,’ I say to Boney. A man’s meaty palm
smacks against the car window as a photographer tries to
keep his balance. I grab her cold hand. ‘It’s too much.’
She pats me and says,
wait
. The station doors open,
and every officer in the building files down the stairs and
forms a line on either side of me, holding the press back,
creating an honor guard for me, and Rhonda and I run in
holding hands like reverse newlyweds, rushing straight up
to my parents who are waiting just inside the doorway, and
everyone gets the photos of us clutching each other with my
mom whispering
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