The Awakening

Pulling up in my driveway, I sat there for a moment thinking about work today. Detective work is not for the squeamish. There are a lot of specific details to gather, and building timelines of crimes takes a lot of analytical thinking, which is harder than people think. My head is rolling against the headrest, and I shut my eyes to bask in the sun shining through the windshield, taking a moment of silence for myself before I go into the house. Stepping out of my car, I heard a whirring sound on the pavement and felt a breeze blowing through my hair. Two teenage girls zipped by on roller skates, laughing out loud with their hair flopping in the wind.
A smile emerges as I stare at the teen girls, thinking back to my own teen years. I looked down, and a euphoric type of feeling came over me. Something about the 80s decade that makes me feel elated, but then I whispered out something that I have not said in a long time…The Red Man. Now my feeling of euphoria swiftly changes into fear; I shake it off before that scary feeling lingers on way too long than it needs to at that moment. Returning to the girls whisking by on their skates seconds ago because I need to change my mood quickly.
“Wow, it’s been a while since kids roller-skated outside here on the street.” Saying to myself.
Looking at teens today using their smartphones and remembering how I was a teen walking around and exploring neighborhoods with my friends and sister. The way kids in the 80s just gathered on foot, with BMX bikes, or roller skates and listened to our music on a cassette tape player brings on a nostalgic feeling for me.
I finally made it to the front door, and it felt like a ton as I opened it, and the keys jingled as I placed them on the table. The couch looked so inviting with the soft cushions. I surrendered and embraced the sofa, collapsing onto the plush pillows and sinking in deeper. Reflecting on my day, one of my cases was missing information, and a supervisor pointed it out. This is a reminder for me to pay closer attention to detail. My work involves investigating crimes for the municipal police department in a small neighborhood in New Jersey.
As I’m having an overwhelming feeling of burnout from the horrific crimes I deal with, it causes a headache, which elicits me to rub my temples to help soothe me. This happens when I allow the faces of the victims to appear in my mind. Sexual assault cases triggers my anxiety more than anything else. I used to be a sexual assault advocate, and the stories invaded my mind so badly that I kept having the same nightmare of dark faceless figures shrouding me before they attacked me. Soon after I moved to a new position with criminal investigations. Similar cases, but being a sexual advocate, the difference is being more intimate with clients and knowing more information, which affected my mental health. Either way both jobs are extremely tough but can be rewarding, knowing how you can help hundreds of victims in the long-run.
My husband walks out of the bedroom and asks, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Today was draining and stressful for me. My boss pointed out some mistakes, and I
accept the mistakes I made today. I left out some information that was important.”
“That is not like you, Sani. You are usually good at attention to detail. Is something going
on? Is everything fine?” Mark asked as he hunched his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, giving a look of worry.
“I think I’m just feeling drained from the caseload and the nature of the crimes.”
“That’s understandable. Maybe we should go on a vacation?”
My son Shawn entered the room, and when he heard the word ‘vacation’ he immediately yelled out, “YESSSS!”
I smiled and said, “Sounds like a great idea; I need some time off. By the way, I saw two girls roller skating on the street when I pulled up in the driveway. It made me think of my friends when we used to do that. Those were the days. I miss the 80s.”
Shawn jumped at the chance to say, “Mom, you roller skated, and Dad skateboarded.” He said and laughed.
“Yes, I’m the roller girl from Jersey, and Daddy is the skater boy from Queens.” And,
laughed along with him.
Mark walks over and places his hand on my shoulder, gazes at me and then replies with
sincerity, “Try to relax on the couch for now. We will think about the other stuff later.”
And he walks into the kitchen to get something to drink. Shawn comes towards me, sits next to me on the couch for a few minutes and shows me his Lego toys. He hovers his hands over the miniature characters and spaceship, not touching it but more like presenting it to me with pride. He explains to me the unique characters of Star Wars and the various starships, even breaks down the weapons each figure has to be prepared to fight. My son is always building and creating with these toys. It is his favorite thing to do, and his imagination reminds me of myself when I was his age. He is 13, and I can relate because my sister and I still played with dolls at that age too and had the wildest imaginations.
At that moment I looked down, now remembering my youth; my son grabbed my hand and then hugged me. He is a sweet boy; we are so blessed he is in our lives. Shawn spreads the toys all over the couch, but then immediately grabs them and runs into his room as if he has a new idea of what to build next. Smiling, just admiring that energy and missing the days of innocent dreams and creativity.
Thinking in silence, “I could use that in my life right about now.” Then I begin thinking about how unique my family truly is, exploring the thought of how handpicked we are and this helped build my character. Another way to say it, ‘The Chosen Family.’