#1 - Chapter One "It Hurts to Say Goodbye"

 

"It Hurts to Say Goodbye" (Copyright-2021)

By William Kosman

Chapter One – El Siegel 

They were watching me, I could tell. Tears welling up in my eyes and streaming down my cheeks, I was crying like a baby, and I was getting hot, sweat running down my back. They were looking at me, the two cops didn’t take their eyes off me. 

      I was understanding, their words taking on meaning. The cops threw the words at me like fists to my heart. “A body was found, it was ID’d as Faith Gruen, Fairmount, in the park.” And images were coming to me, the curve of her red lips, a glimpse of a rounded breast, and even then I felt guilty for seeing her beauty, not her heart. And even then my stomach was tightening, and I was coughing my guts out, and the darkness was closing in.   

      It happened on the stoop of my Philly row house. The two cops in civilian clothes – one a big black guy, and the other skinny and white  – flashed their badges when I was trying to unlock my front door. I wasn’t ready for anything. I didn’t even know why the hell they were there. I remember. Then they just said it, just a statistic, go ahead, add another number. Bang, like that, it hit me.  

      At some point, I don’t know when, maybe the moment I started crying, my head was feeling light, like it was floating, and I knew I was going to puke or fall. I threw myself against the front door and tried to take in gulps of air. I could see the cops looking at each other, like they were caught off guard, asking themselves what to do. Then, one of them, the black one, reached out to keep me from falling, saying: 

      “Hey, you okay? Sir, you gonna be okay? Think you’re okay? Want EMS? Should we call EMS?” 

      “Hey Buckles, like he’s coming around, he doesn’t need anything,” his skinny partner was saying, and he reached over and opened my front door with the keys I left in the lock. 

      I stumbled inside and threw myself back-first onto my black leather couch, and I started pumping up my chest with air. The white cop was handing me a glass of water, and I started gulping it down, but choked and spit most of it up. I got water down my shirt. 

      The two big faces were close to me, still staring at me. “Okay. Okay, I think I’m okay,” pushing out the words tore at my throat. “It’s okay.” I wanted to get them away from me. 

      Then, almost together, they mouthed the automatic words, “We’re sorry for your loss.” They were still studying me, looking for something in my face. 

      That’s what I remember from the day I learned Faith Gruen was dead, killed, the woman I loved was gone. Now, when I think back to that day, a bunch of images come to me, some of them I’m not proud of. I tell myself I should be remembering how soft and caring she was, how sharp her mind was. I have trouble remembering it all, and I had no idea what I would go though, and how my life would change. Sure, we can say that life’s a struggle, a series of events of pain and disappointment, with maybe just a few moments of pleasure. But this, I couldn’t even imagine this pain. 

      I’m not remembering all of it. I know the time passed. It seemed like a long time of silence. I was lying on my couch, breathing more or less normally. I kept my eyes closed, but I wasn’t sleeping. I knew the two cops were still standing there, not far from me. I had a sense. And I could hear their breathing and their shuffling on the floor. 

      Then some words: “Sir, how ya doing? You feeling better?” I could tell from his voice, it was the one called Buckles, the black one. “Could we ask you just a few questions? It’ll take a few minutes.”

      I didn’t move or say a word.

      “Look’it, it’ll take just a few minutes.” I could tell it was the white cop. “We’ll keep it short, and then we won’t have to come back. You’ll be through with us. Better for everyone.” 

      I was starting to understand what was going on. I just wanted to lie on my back and try to remember nice pictures in my mind of Faith. I waited a long time, then opened my eyes. “Please. Please leave. I’d like to be alone. Just call me in two-three days, okay? My mobile’s 267-480-2710. Thank you.”

      They were throwing daggers back and forth, not at me, but between them. It didn’t take a genius. They weren’t great friends. 

      Whitey spoke softly. “Just a few questions. Promise. Then we’re outta here.” 

      I closed my eyes again. 

      “Doug, com’on.” Buckles was pleading.  “Let’s leave the guy alone. Look at him! Let’s get outta here. Can you imagine?” 

      Just a few seconds of silence. I was picturing me and Faith at a bar, somewhere, maybe on Sansom around 13th, near a bunch of restaurants, and I was bragging about something. 

      Then whitey sounded sharp, impatient. “Listen, Mr. Siegel. This is a live case. We need some information. You’re gonna have to answer some questions. That’s it. Now, when was the last time you saw the victim?”

      I struggled to open my eyes and sit up on the couch. “Before I say a word, I’d like you to write out your names and your badge numbers, and your supervisor’s name and phone number. If you don’t, I’ll call the police.” 

      “We’re the police,” whitey spit out. “We’re all you got.” 

      I had my mobile in my front pocket. I twisted and took it out. 

      “Mr. Siegel, I wouldn’t do that.” 

      Out of the corner of my eye, I’m not sure, but I thought I saw something. It was like Buckles turned and saw whitey do something, maybe push his phone back in his pocket. Then, I’m sure I heard Buckles say, “You snap that guy? You can’t do that.” And whitey said, “’Course not. What you think? You crazy?”

      “Doug, you’re on your own now, man. I’m outta here.” It was Buckles. “Mr. Siegel, here’s my card. I’m Eddie Buckley. We’re with the police department, Detective Bureau. We’re under Captain Schaeffer. I’ll write it all down. We’re at the 6th District.” 

      So, now I knew. Whitey was Doug. Kind of little, maybe even sensitive looking, I’m saying looking. But tough talk: “Buckles, you’re pissin’ me off. I could order you.”  

      Buckley was a big guy, big hands and big presence. He stopped and looked at his partner. “Doug, let’s give the guy a break. Can you imagine? Put yourself . . .  ”

      “Fuck! I’m not forgetting. I’m not forgetting this.” 

      I was laying there. I heard the front door slam, with a bang. I wanted more pretty pictures of Faith. They didn’t come. I started to think what could have been. I didn’t want to see these images. What’s a woman’s body look like when she’s dead? What could she look like in the park? No, I didn’t want to see this!

      I pulled myself up. I didn’t know I had the strength. I was on my feet going past the couch and into the kitchen. The sun was streaming in, and it was bright and warm. I’d make myself a cup of tea, the way I always made it, the way people always kidded me about – Lipton with sugar and orange juice. I sure didn’t need alcohol. 

       Somehow, I was coming back. The water was boiling, and I was pouring it into a cup. Why’d the cops want to talk to me? Why’d they want to talk to me so bad? I stirred my tea. What am I for them? They don’t know anything? I know a lot about their procedures and about how a lot of cops try to push people around. They always try to cut corners, maybe not all of them, but enough. I dumped the sack into the trash and opened our back door into the garden. 

      There was a pleasant crispness in the air. It was around four in the afternoon on a pleasant spring day. Our little garden was always a pleasant place for Deborah and me. We never said it, but we hoped our cozy brick house was going to save our marriage. Well, not quite. It’s been almost a year since we’ve been apart, if you add up the time of our separation and then our divorce. 

      Thank God I did one thing right. A friend once told me it’s not worth the aggravation. Don’t fight it. Debbi and me, we had a lot of good years together, but we grew apart. We changed over the years. I told Debbi, You can have whatever you want. We might even stay friends. Who knows? 

      I pulled my chair away from the garden table, plopped into the chair. The sunlight was warm on my skin. I looked up toward the sky. Our dogwood was in bloom, white blossoms just shifting in the breeze, striking against the blue sky. That tree was our pride and joy. Even at a moment like this, there’s beauty. It could’ve been beautiful, but I guess it was too late. Then there was Faith; I had Faith.  

      It came back to me. Bang, just like that. More images of Faith rose in my mind. What could it be? What in the world could’ve happened to her? Why her, my Faith. I just didn’t know anything. Maybe I was wrong to get uppity with those cops. Well, it’s too late now. 

      Something told me I was gonna see Buckles in a few days, anyway.     

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[Readers' Note: This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be considered as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.]