Bodies in Winter

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Officer David Lodge stumbles when he attempts to enter the blue and white patrol car double-parked in front of the 83rd Precinct, dropping first to one knee, then to the seat of his pants. His nightstick, which he failed to pull from the ring attached to his belt, is the most immediate cause of his fall. When it jams between the door and the frame, Lodge has one leg in the vehicle with the other just coming up. From that point, there’s nowhere to go but down.

Lodge ignores his colleague’s hearty chuckle. For a moment, as he struggles to gather himself, he stares at a full moon hanging over Wilson Avenue. He wonders if the moon’s bloated appearance is due to the brown haze and drenching humidity trapped in the atmosphere. Or if it’s just that his eyes won’t focus because he passed the hours prior to his tour at the local cop bar, the B amp;G on Stockholm Street. Lodge has reached that stage of inebriation characterized by powerful emotions and he stares at the moon as if prepared to cradle it in his arms, to embrace a truth he is certain it embodies.

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