On the day Burrow walked in, Ashlee was standing, twiddling thumbs, tense for the next crazy, for the next someone who's twisted, watch spring-coiled mind she'd have to unknit with probing, psychological fingers. His cologne seemed to cut the office air in two, something that seemed to rush her, as if to announce him because he didn't know how to do it himself. She heard the click and clang of cuffs and his service weapon on his belt, his boots a steady, determined march.
She couldn't meet him eye-to-eye, so she got up and walked round her desk to shake his hand instead to get a better measure of his vibe - the undercurrents that made him him. She felt him as she got nearer, a storm brewing, his breaths splitting the silence like the wind that builds, ready to become a tornado.
"Morning, Doctor," he said, his shirt sleeve rustling as his hand extended to grip and almost crush her gentle one in a firm, dry grip.
"Officer," she said.
"You got demoted, huh?"
"Yeah, well. Step on some toes, and that foot's gonna lash out."
"And where'd that foot land?"
"All over, Doctor. They kicked me all over."
"Well," she said, turning her back on him to walk back to her desk, letting him observe her confidence, "Sit your butt down and lets pull out our mental plasters, bru."
© Terry Ross
Terry Ross is a blind ex-pupil of mine
ReplyDeleteVery powerful writing. Makes great reading.
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