#05 – California

Short story inspired by a news story from Pomona, California.

When Jerry pulled onto the 57 in Pomona, traffic was crawling.  He flipped his hand from the steering wheel throwing his palm in the air while thinking, “What the hell do I care, I just pissed, I’m in no hurry.” He just spent the afternoon at Denny’s eating his favorite lunch of a B.L.T. followed by an old-fashioned banana split. In the first two hours he drank four cups of coffee, but stopped before he dug into his dessert, so he wouldn’t have to stop on the way home. He wondered if he might even be able to squeeze in getting his car washed in Azusa.

His doctor put him on pills for his bladder, but something was happening with all his medications the past few weeks, giving him insomnia. The coffee didn’t help, but Jerry stuck to a routine even though he was exhausted. Hazel, his wife, died a year ago, hanging on until the day after his eightieth birthday. “That damned cancer,” he told people who asked, even though it was a series of strokes and eventually heart failure. Too many questions, like, “Did she go into rehabilitation?” irked him or when they went on about their own struggles, but cancer shut most people up.

In the first mile of stop-and-go traffic, Jerry searched radio stations for some old bebop. Much to his dislike, A.M. stations played less music now and more talk radio. With traffic at a standstill, he looked at his temporary neighbor as the woman stared into space. Squinting his eyes, he craned his neck to get a closer look.  He perched his glasses on his forehead before rubbing his eyes. Raising his eyebrows to make his glasses return, he carefully put the car in park before looking again, but the traffic had moved ahead.  By the time he was beside the woman again, he honked, which she ignored.

Honking again, he rolled down the passenger’s side window to yell, “Hey!”

She glanced at him and then looked away. He persisted until she rolled down her window, annoyed, “What?”

“You look just like my wife!” he shouted.

The woman shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Could you pull over so I could talk to you?” he asked. The cars moved forward, but stayed aligned.

“Um…no,” the woman said.

“It’s okay, I’m with the police,” Jerry opened the armrest compartment and pulled out his badge from the L.A. School District, where he worked many years ago. Quickly flashing it to her, Jerry thought he would like for them to talk. She looked like Hazel did when they were first married.

“Yeah, right,” she rolled up her window and called 911 on her cell phone.

By the time they reached the CHP Station, Jerry had to go to the bathroom again. The officer who led him into the station let him “use the public lavatory, since you seem to be a no-risk.” Jerry thanked him, thinking that both letting him use the bathroom and considering him not a risk were equally kind. While the booking clerk took his information, Jerry shook nervously. Behind him, someone whispered loudly, “Parkinson’s. My dad’s got it.”

Released on his own recognizance, Jerry took a cab home from the station. Jerry’s hunger hurt his already clenched stomach.  “Can you drop me off up here?” he asked, pointing at the strip mall a few blocks from his house, “I’m starving.” The driver collected three twenties from Jerry at the station, sure to not get stiffed by someone desperate to get home. The meter read forty-seven dollars, Jerry asked for five back, “You’ve been great,” he said, patting the driver on the shoulder from the back seat. Grateful the driver said nothing the entire trip, particularly when he finally broke down and cried after they pulled away.

In the dining area in Safeway, he ate a pre-made ham and cheese sub from the deli and, avoiding caffeine, sipped on a can of root beer. A young whistling man stocked the beer section while Jerry tried not to think about getting his car at the tow yard the next day.

On the walk home, he spotted a woman sitting on the small balcony of one of the neighborhood’s new condos. It was moments after the sun went down and the light coming from her bedroom silhouetted her. Jerry stopped and sighed as he imagined Hazel sitting up there with him, just having watched the sun go down over Duarte. He would have made a bench for them, facing west. The sky darkened noticeably before the woman went inside, sliding the glass door shut.

After her light shut off, Jerry turned his head and then his body in the direction of his house. Walking home, he put his hands in his pockets and, out of habit, swung his elbow out for Hazel to take his arm.

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REAL NEWS STORY used as inspiration for the story above

Ex-LA school chief pleads no contest in badge case
Thursday, Jan. 21, 2010
The Associated Press

LOS ANGELES – A former Los Angeles Unified School District superintendent has pleaded no contest to unlawfully using a badge to attempt to pull over a woman driver.

Ruben Zacarias entered his plea to the misdemeanor charge Thursday and was fined $250. He also was ordered to return the badge to school district officials and pay $100 in restitution.

Prosecutors say California Highway Patrol officers arrested the 81-year-old Zacarias in July after he allegedly displayed a badge and an ID card issued by the school district police. Authorities say Zacarias told the woman to pull over in Pomona because he was “a cop.”

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