In The Fields, We Dance
Recovered: 05.05.2006
I backed my car up to the fence, so that I could jump over it from the top of the trunk.
I was standing there silently when I saw a white hat and a flash of blue shirt; he hadn’t seen me, because he was still piling up equipment that he would soon attempt to get over the same fence I stood on the opposite side from. He passed out of view; I gave him a moment, and scaled my car. I was no slender reed, but I also had no impulse control outside of a hunters basic instincts. I leapt.
…And hit the ground with one hand down on the ground. My heels stung along with the palm of my hand, but I smiled; this was exciting. He had to have heard me, so I assumed this, and began stalking forward. It was an open field, probably the dimension of three football fields side by side, and surrounded by an eight foot fence. The grass is what made it so fun because it was between four and five feet high. The burglar was in here with me for the same reason the grass grew so much—the 86 year old woman running the place had died, and everything but her and her business flourished in her wake.
As I moved forward, I drew my Taser…but I thought better of it, and exchanged it for my pistol. I didn’t want to bring a knife to a gunfight, but then…the sway of the Grass had its way with me, and in the romance of the waving field of fresh green stalks I re-holstered my Lawgiver, and after engaging the safety snaps…I simply raised my hands. I was alive.
I pictured the flaxen grasses of North Africa, and immediately understood why lions never migrated elsewhere: It was exhilarating. I couldn’t tell if I was hunter or hunted, and the sweat began to bead on my forehead. It was hot outside, yes…but I was hot inside, too. I moved forward, examined the pile of booty, and moved on, guessing where he would go based on where I would go were we in one another’s shoes. It went on for an eternity that lasted perhaps nine minutes.
I checked a concrete building with no windows and unlocked doors, but the path to it and inside it was a maze of hubcaps, radiators, grass, and the detritus of 40 years of car parts coming and going. There was no stealthy approach to it, but my holster was in the same place it had been for the last decade of use, and my hand knew this. The building was devoid of thieving life.
Around the corner to the northwest were the hulks of several cars though, and the search began anew. I hadn’t found him, and I was beginning to become annoyed; little infuriated me like one Getting Away. From It. From Me. I passed the cars slowly, checking undercarriages, and peering in windows covered in mildew that began forming when Bush Sr. was in Office. As before, there was no safe way to do this, but those are the cards you are dealt and win or lose, you had to Pay to Play. It was not a relief, however, when I found him hunkering beside a 1966 Ford step van.
He looked left and right, and his adrenaline had been running hot long enough that he probably had time to take a quick nap between its rushes through his system. Out of habit, I let him make the first move (being empty handed) and alas, the move, like many, was the wrong one. His exit was blocked by another Strange Cop, so he charged me—and my smile turned to a grimace. I remember, because my face cracked with the change, so slick with sweat and seeds and leaves was I.
He ran, and I began to decide what to do while evaluating him for weapons. Hands were always the first clue, and his were away from his body, so I took a step forward and let him take care of the rest, one leg bent, one leg braced to keep my ground. I only helped with the two points of contact, which first was the collar of the blue shirt, and the second being what I like to call “His Freaking Balls”. His momentum took care of the rest nicely because I was able to simply lift him up and over my head into an unexpected yet spectacular crash into a pile of stacked hubcaps, my man landing upside down and backwards. He lay sprawled in a state of confusion only known to those landing upside down and backwards into a pile of stacked metal, but it was appreciated all the same since it distracted him while I then threw myself airborne and landed, nearly ‘69’, on top of him. His reaction absolved all thoughts of dieting from my heart, as evidenced to this day and its meals. He made funny ‘sounds’.
I like to distract people first, so I started with guttural bellowing into his face and ears. He was bug-eyed with fear, but also horribly restrained by several hundred pounds of ‘What the Fuck?!?’ on top of him and I used it to my advantage. I keyed up on my mike to call off the Hounds coming in, but felt I should acquaint myself with my new pet while we traipsed across the fields to our point of egress.
I held him closely, and struck up a conversation on how good a new installment of ‘Smokey and the Bear’ franchise would go over this year (in my opinion), but he ignored me, distant, scatter-minded. I had him by the shoulder and the cuffs, but he may have well been on another planet. I just wanted him to listen, but he wouldn’t; it was as if I didn’t even exist, and I began to wonder what I did wrong.
Being nice, I put him through a hole in the fence rather than over it, but as before he showed no response, much less appreciation.
Calls were coming in again, and I looked back over my shoulder at the fields of green waving gently as if there had never been a hunt or a hit there in a hundred years. I was Happy. And the day had only begun, in Eden.
...After it was over, I went back inside there…but it was not the same. But then…what ever is?
I backed my car up to the fence, so that I could jump over it from the top of the trunk.
I was standing there silently when I saw a white hat and a flash of blue shirt; he hadn’t seen me, because he was still piling up equipment that he would soon attempt to get over the same fence I stood on the opposite side from. He passed out of view; I gave him a moment, and scaled my car. I was no slender reed, but I also had no impulse control outside of a hunters basic instincts. I leapt.
…And hit the ground with one hand down on the ground. My heels stung along with the palm of my hand, but I smiled; this was exciting. He had to have heard me, so I assumed this, and began stalking forward. It was an open field, probably the dimension of three football fields side by side, and surrounded by an eight foot fence. The grass is what made it so fun because it was between four and five feet high. The burglar was in here with me for the same reason the grass grew so much—the 86 year old woman running the place had died, and everything but her and her business flourished in her wake.
As I moved forward, I drew my Taser…but I thought better of it, and exchanged it for my pistol. I didn’t want to bring a knife to a gunfight, but then…the sway of the Grass had its way with me, and in the romance of the waving field of fresh green stalks I re-holstered my Lawgiver, and after engaging the safety snaps…I simply raised my hands. I was alive.
I pictured the flaxen grasses of North Africa, and immediately understood why lions never migrated elsewhere: It was exhilarating. I couldn’t tell if I was hunter or hunted, and the sweat began to bead on my forehead. It was hot outside, yes…but I was hot inside, too. I moved forward, examined the pile of booty, and moved on, guessing where he would go based on where I would go were we in one another’s shoes. It went on for an eternity that lasted perhaps nine minutes.
I checked a concrete building with no windows and unlocked doors, but the path to it and inside it was a maze of hubcaps, radiators, grass, and the detritus of 40 years of car parts coming and going. There was no stealthy approach to it, but my holster was in the same place it had been for the last decade of use, and my hand knew this. The building was devoid of thieving life.
Around the corner to the northwest were the hulks of several cars though, and the search began anew. I hadn’t found him, and I was beginning to become annoyed; little infuriated me like one Getting Away. From It. From Me. I passed the cars slowly, checking undercarriages, and peering in windows covered in mildew that began forming when Bush Sr. was in Office. As before, there was no safe way to do this, but those are the cards you are dealt and win or lose, you had to Pay to Play. It was not a relief, however, when I found him hunkering beside a 1966 Ford step van.
He looked left and right, and his adrenaline had been running hot long enough that he probably had time to take a quick nap between its rushes through his system. Out of habit, I let him make the first move (being empty handed) and alas, the move, like many, was the wrong one. His exit was blocked by another Strange Cop, so he charged me—and my smile turned to a grimace. I remember, because my face cracked with the change, so slick with sweat and seeds and leaves was I.
He ran, and I began to decide what to do while evaluating him for weapons. Hands were always the first clue, and his were away from his body, so I took a step forward and let him take care of the rest, one leg bent, one leg braced to keep my ground. I only helped with the two points of contact, which first was the collar of the blue shirt, and the second being what I like to call “His Freaking Balls”. His momentum took care of the rest nicely because I was able to simply lift him up and over my head into an unexpected yet spectacular crash into a pile of stacked hubcaps, my man landing upside down and backwards. He lay sprawled in a state of confusion only known to those landing upside down and backwards into a pile of stacked metal, but it was appreciated all the same since it distracted him while I then threw myself airborne and landed, nearly ‘69’, on top of him. His reaction absolved all thoughts of dieting from my heart, as evidenced to this day and its meals. He made funny ‘sounds’.
I like to distract people first, so I started with guttural bellowing into his face and ears. He was bug-eyed with fear, but also horribly restrained by several hundred pounds of ‘What the Fuck?!?’ on top of him and I used it to my advantage. I keyed up on my mike to call off the Hounds coming in, but felt I should acquaint myself with my new pet while we traipsed across the fields to our point of egress.
I held him closely, and struck up a conversation on how good a new installment of ‘Smokey and the Bear’ franchise would go over this year (in my opinion), but he ignored me, distant, scatter-minded. I had him by the shoulder and the cuffs, but he may have well been on another planet. I just wanted him to listen, but he wouldn’t; it was as if I didn’t even exist, and I began to wonder what I did wrong.
Being nice, I put him through a hole in the fence rather than over it, but as before he showed no response, much less appreciation.
Calls were coming in again, and I looked back over my shoulder at the fields of green waving gently as if there had never been a hunt or a hit there in a hundred years. I was Happy. And the day had only begun, in Eden.
...After it was over, I went back inside there…but it was not the same. But then…what ever is?
posted by Longshot! [Sane] at 7:12 AM
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