Oof

I could go on and on with some chase scene details, describe a gunshot or two… anything to push this tale as something you'd be interested in. But I don't want that. I need you to hate me.

I'll just tell you this: I'm not a fast runner, and the police are good at their job.

I don't know what the fat, angry man said when he dialed the police station…which happened to be a mere three blocks away. Certainly, he didn't state the truth about my hydration needs. Was this whole thing really about a water bottle? Maybe I'm remembering wrong. But let's go with that.

Two blocks of watching my feet chase each other, and my breath didn't pump fast enough for my lungs. A cop car caught up to me, but it didn't look like one. Not like the crime shows. It lacked the usual siren the size of a beehive, replaced with a rectangular buzzer with an attitude problem. Instead of a shiny paint job, I found myself facing a vehicle with a scraped bumper. Its seats must've come from a clearance isle. Rather than the cop with a donut in his hand, I faced a male with watermelons for shoulders.

When watermelon man told me to put my hands behind my head and all that amendment stuff, oxygen ran cold to my brain. My eyes rolled backward. The sidewalk throbbed against my head. Everything went dark.

They did say I had the right to remain silent. If only I'd remembered that I have the right to remain conscious.

I should explain this. Let's just call it another one of my "conditions." I have a lame tendency to pass out when under stress. It comes and goes, and it triggers at the worst-possible moments.

No one knows why it happens. Doctors developed theories, each one less likely than the next. Oh, it must have something to do with the autism. Or the ADHD. Or something like that. That never really added up.

My conclusion? I'm a wimp. Everyone else agreed.

No wonder my parents never focused on growing my physical education. I mean, Kyle tried to get me to go out for the basketball team, and since I'm tall the coach perked up at the suggestion. They planned dinner and they talked and debated and I didn't do anything but Kyle was excited and…

Anyway, I've explained it.

Time is interesting when you're seeing nothing but black dots. I could've sworn I was sleepwalking or something. Then, there were dreams, a replay of the day with clowns instead of humans, jumping between frames like a bad cameraman was filming in my head. Tiny Person must've hired him.

I wonder how many people dream in shaky cam. They seem to love it in movies.

Blinking past the black lines of my eyelashes, I found myself plopped on a chair inside what I assumed to be the police station. I expected to be in a jail cell. Instead, a handcuff chained my wrist to a pole supporting the roof. My body had a course of fire running through it. A crook in my neck grabbed my spine as I adjusted the chair.

Realization hit me.

Crap! On what planet…the water bottle…come on…a justification. Just one tiny little justification. I sighed. Nothing I could do or say made any sense to me now, with the fresh dose of consequence now at my feet. Or on my wrist, at least.

Nursery rhymes…deep breaths…mirror-watching… Tick. Tock. The wall clock. I hugged my knees to my chest. I was dead. So, so, so, so dead.

"Glad you're finally awake. We were starting to get worried."

My head whipped around to find a cop. Oh no, no, no, no, no. He had an average stature, watermelon shoulders hunched. But his lips were pursed. I recognized sympathy. No. Not sympathy! And from a cop? I planned my funeral. Black roses would surround my casket. Maybe I could have it here, right in the police station.

He pulled out another chair and studied me. I tried to look impartial. He was in one of those weird positions people use in cop shows. The back of the chair faced me, and he had his legs on either side. Sitting in a chair backward…Kyle did that a lot.

I felt my tiny person steer off-road. But I was in no position to judge. After all, my hand was cuffed to a pole.

You never saw me. This was your idea.

I told Tiny Person to shut up. He stuck his tongue out.

"Son, are you going to explain what happened back there?" he asked.

So, the fat angry man hadn't given a full report? Or did he? Perhaps they didn't believe this had all escalated from a freaking overpriced water bottle.

Tiny Person snorted. I love a classic game of "good cop, bad cop." Only thing I can beat my parents at during family game night.

He stared at his hands. "We got a call from a 'Stan Richardson' reporting a shoplifter."

I cringed. Stan Richardson. Now I had the fat guy's name to haunt me in my sleep. At least I wouldn't be living much longer. Soon, my ghost would haunt him back. The idea of that fat man losing sleep at night because of me warmed my heart.

The cop paused. "We brought you to the station since this appeared to be a…special circumstance. Didn't need to make a big deal over nothing."

I blinked.

"You should have stopped running so we could sort this out there." The cop played with his pudgy hands. "It's better to just let us do our jobs. You know?"

Unresponsiveness boiling my mouth, my eyes dropped to the floor. The cop adjusted the chair and stood to leave.

Air sucked through my lips. "Wait."

I didn't want to be alone in this place.

Why? Tiny Person asked. I craved my alone time. That's sort of how I got into this situation in the first place.

The cop widened his eyes. "Son, please, just tell me what happened. It would be better for everybody if you cooperate now."

I shook my head. "You wouldn't get it."

Wasn't that the understatement of the year. I didn't even understand it. What had been going through that wacked up brain of mine? Maybe I could throw my tiny person theory; it might work.

Most people get angry when I talk, like bulls ready to throw me into a mud pit. I expected no different from Mr. Cop Man. Instead, he pulled out an unopened bottle of water. "You were holding this when we found you. Where did you get it?"

"I bought it for two dollars and fifty cents."

"That's not what I heard."

"Well, that's what I did. Then I left a ninety-five-cent tip."

He smiled. Was this funny to him? I was about to die at the hands of two very angry people, but to each his own. I suppose I should've been glad to amuse somebody before my departure from life.

"Why were you at the gas station?" he asked.

He reminded me of that best friend you'd want to have from a television show. Or a movie. I guess he was more of a movie best friend. TV best friends make a lot more mistakes.

I went to cross my arms, but the chain caught my hand. "I was thirsty."

"Why?"

"The sun made me thirsty."

"You were outside?"

I swallowed. "I was at my place."

"You were at home?"

"No. I was at the water fountain."

The cop's eyebrows were jagged mountain peak. "Central Park?"

I shook my head. "The broken one. Across the street."

I must've thrown a bomb down the cop's throat to make his eyes light up like that. He knelt in front of me. I couldn't recognize the upside-down look over his face. "Kid, I wouldn't go hanging around by that fountain."

My eyes shot from my lap to pierce through him. "Why not?"

"You don't want to get caught up with the kind of people you'll find there."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know that drug cartel that got shut down a few years back?" He looked at me and I nodded. Disclaimer: I had no idea what he was talking about. "Didn't mean crap. Find another bum with it on the streets every day. Just last week we busted a life-timer selling off the last of his crack. You don't want that crap in your lungs."

I shrugged, pulling my face to the ground. Kyle had warned me to run if anyone ever offered me anything. Besides, I had more important things to worry about than air pollution. My lungs could take it. I grew up in Delcoph, New York. Maybe us city kids don't like to get our hands dirty, but we've faced enough intoxicated air particles to survive an alien invasion.

Cop Man walked away. I listened to the clock, counting the ticks to my oblivion.

When my movie cop friend came back, he said, "We got ahold of your parents."

This couldn't be a formality. I'd seen the FBI shows. They didn't work like this.

No, nevermind. I didn't care how I was getting out of here. I didn't want to know what special favors my parents had pulled to make this go away.

"They're coming to pick you up," he said.

My eyes found relief by staring at the wall. I liked those walls. They were neutral. A good color for the suit I would wear at my funeral.

The cop stood to leave again, but I mounted with him. The handcuff jiggled like one of those annoying instruments you'd hear at a kindergarten Christmas concert.

I swallowed. "Sir?"

"Hmm?"

"I was…just wondering. Have you ever arrested anyone for murder?"

He shifted his weight. "No, why?"

I sat back down and hugged my knees. "Because my parents are going to kill me."