Bayside Queens (BoyxMan)

28.

28.

CJ

He had called me about a week ago, but except for a few post cards this month I hadn't heard much from him. At one point he got a hold of internet access and sent me an email, though. I had printed it out and put it in my box of all his post cards and letters. I was really starting to miss that week in February when he had a phone I could call. He had made some extra cash from working at a pub in Ireland and was able to purchase a disposable. I called him on his birthday, but just like every other one of our phone calls, one-or both-of us ended up crying.

It was June.

I had given up hope for having Quinn back earlier than he said he was going to be. We were approaching the five-month mark and nothing had been said about any impending arrivial.

The plane tickets that still sat in the top drawer of my desk were painful to look at. So many times I had purchased tickets, packed bags, called cabs, boarded planes. But each and every time I couldn't go through with it. Quinn needed to do this on his own; no matter how much it pained me to only hear his voice once or twice a week. There was also the fact that he never told me exactly where he was. He gave me a country, a city, but never any addresses or specific names. I didn't know if it was because he was afraid I was going to come find him, or if he just didn't care enough to tell me.

It had been the hardest five months of my life without him. I came home every night to an empty bed, no one to share dinner with, no one to banter with, no one to squeeze as I fell asleep, and above all, no one to tell I love you to.

Without Quinn I had no purpose. Well, I served and protected and all that, but there was no heart in what I did. When you're a cop, the things you see and deal with can sometimes be painful. But what keeps you going is the lights in your life, the people you love. The job frankly sucks without something to offset the hurt. Quinn was my offset. Without him, I felt miserable. The only things that kept me going were his phone calls and letters. Almost every night I went through the shoebox I kept them in, rereading all of his "I love you"s and stories of adventure.

"Sarge, you ready?"

I sighed, picking myself up off the leather seat and opening the car door, not even bothering to respond to Boggs. We fell into a rhythmic stride next to each other, heading over to the glass building. Boggs had never mentioned the information Maeve spilled to him, and for that I was grateful.

Toph and Maeve fell into our stride, exiting Toph's cruiser that had pulled right in behind us. They hadn't really needed to come, but Boggs insisted I have a moral support team. I didn't argue.

We were here, well, I was here, to speak to a group of students at the police academy "orientation" at College Point in Queens. I was supposed to tell them how rewarding it was to be a good cop and how hard work paid off, me being a sergeant at 25 and all.

Once we went inside, I was instantly bombarded with feelings of nostalgia. I had trained here myself, and the man I was now shaking hands with was the president of the college, a man I had trained under as well. He set me up with one of those non-existent microphones that you just clip to your shirt collar and then I was ready to go.

I cracked my back, returning a few smiles to Toph and Maeve as I was introduced before climbing up on the stage to a round of applause. All the new students were seated in folding chairs in front of me in the grand auditorium. It was weird to think I once was one of them.

"I guess I'm here to talk to you guys about being good cops and all that, but in reality you guys get that speech all the time. "Be strong, be brave," they all say. I say yeah, sure. Those things help. Being a strong person certainly would put you at an advantage... but it doesn't necessarily make you a good cop. The same thing goes for being fearless. Well, sure, you're willing to jump into crossfire and take a bullet for your best friend, but that doesn't always make you a good cop.