Officer 119

For a lack of a better word, nemesis seemed perfect at the time to describe the law enforcement officer. The definition, one we had to look up during study hall one day, was an understatement for the infamous Officer 119. He had no real distinct features; the sign of the dark blue outfit he sported was enough for us to recognize him, that and the license plate numbered 119. We had gotten in trouble time and time again, and it seemed to no avail that he would show up, almost on cue.

“Ah shit, not him again.” The common response was, much similar to that of the pestering kid who tried to fit into an already established group of friends.

“Good evening gentlemen.” This was his introduction to the soon to be long night. We questioned the fact of being gentlemen. We, being Buck, James, Hughes and myself would come home early in the morning, chaperoned by the nice officer himself and explain to our parents what we were up to. Buck had it the worst, with that demon of a father always getting him hard. If Buck had any pride, he would have told Officer 119 of what happened behind closed doors and give him an actual purpose for being a man of the law. Instead of busting kids for underage drinking, or driving fast down Montauk Highway, perhaps he could actually be doing some good.

“I wonder if he realizes how much people don’t like him.” James once asked when we picked up a twelve pack of Pabs Blue Ribbon beer, courtesy of his older brother. The plan was to have another night filled with debauchery but it seemed that our plans had rarely gone as they were supposed to.

“Do you think he knows he has a stick up his ass too?” Buck responded. We all laughed, we laughed because it felt right. This adult ruined the good times, the good memories that we should have been having. Instead, we had to deal with our disappointed and upset parents, but I don’t think I can complain, at least I didn’t have it as bad as Buck did.

Hughes was the first to call when he found out. His mother was sitting watching the local news when she found out that there had been a hit and run involving a police officer. Of course, the persistence mother of our friend ordered him to watch it as something of a lesson about reckless driving. When she turned around to call for her husband, the screen showed the formal picture of the officer who had been killed and Hughes only caught the last few seconds of it being on. At first he thought his eyes tricked him; he thought it was a blur that it couldn’t have been. He called me as flabbergasted as I was when I called Buck. This tragic game of telephone didn’t seem to end well, with the result of us not knowing who it had been on the screen. The only truth we could use was the second blur that Hughes thought he saw. What it could have been.

We never saw Officer 119 again.