Mona Lisa My Love

Chapter one

You would think all police stations are the same. I would bet most are. Not this one, though. It was quite lovely, considering it was a police station. I should know. I have been in many. Instead of being olive green or some version of industrial green, this one had blue walls. Not a dark blue that would look black under the florescent lights, but a softer blue, almost a periwinkle, with lots of glass partitions.

There is a smell that assaults the nose and overwhelms the other senses when entering a police station. I suppose it is body odor, combined with sweat, alcohol, and urine. Who knows? While this station was better than the others I had been in, it still had that smell. It's a smell that never leaves the clothes you are wearing. It's like going to a gas station that serves coffee. If you like coffee, then you can appreciate smelling like a coffee pot for the rest of the morning. Me, I don't drink coffee and can't stand the smell. Coffee. Yes, mix coffee into that mix of scents, at a police station, and you have it about right.

Now mind you, I have never been arrested. I have been put into police cars a few times but never arrested. So Why was I here? My sister, again. My sister is a great person. She is kind, generous, pretty, and a fantastic person to have on your side, but she also has a complete lack of fear. I guess that is what you might call "the problem." The one that keeps landing her in jail.

I remember when a mugger came up to us after a basketball game at our high school. He said, "Give me your money," in his grave, tough-guy voice. Now me, I was not sure what was happening. I guess you could say I froze. My sister though, what did she do? She proceeded to kick the shit out of him. She broke his arm in two places, crushed two of his ribs, and somehow broke his nose. The funny thing was when the cops came; they arrested her as well as the asshole mugger. They said she used excessive force. Excessive force, for protecting yourself against a mugger. What the hell?

Our parents laughed. That was not their first reaction, of course, but they did laugh every time they told and retold the story. No, their first reaction was to get pissed. That was my first time in a police station. And yes, it was olive green all the way through and had that particular smell.

When my parents finished with the police captain and the Honorable Judge Winston, my sister was set free with a warning to let the police handle things from now on. Like you are supposed to roll over and hope someday the police catch the thug.

So, this time it was a bar fight. Everyone said, "It's not her fault," of course. It never is. I was told to sit over there on the bench.

I laughed to myself, as I thought about the 'Group W Bench.' It is a line from an Arlo Guthrie song. Alice's Restaurant, I think the title is. It is about....well, it is a very long song about a lot of things. I should say the song is a very long story, with some music added. At one point in the song, the singer is told to go sit over on the Group W Bench. The Group W Bench is a bench for losers and convicts. In our town, the song has been played every Thanksgiving Day for the past 25 years. It makes me laugh every time I hear it. Great song.

I had my trusty Western paperback to read, so I signed in and sat on the bench to wait. I know the drill, I have been here many times before. Fifteen minutes later, a corrections woman came over to me and in a powerful voice said, "Your sister will be out after we get done processing her." Damn, she was a "big ol' friendly girl." I chuckled to myself. That is a line out of a Harry Chapin song in which he meant she was a friendly, slightly overweight barmaid. I meant she was a big tough bitch I would hate to piss off and meet in a dark alley. I had to laugh again; I crack myself up. At least, I think I am funny, even if most other people don't.

That's when I saw her.

She was sitting on the bench not far from me. I can't begin to tell you why I had not seen her or even felt her presence before then. Maybe because the hero in my book was catching the horse, shooting the bad guys, and finally kissing the girl. Why does it always take so long for the hero in a Western to kiss the girl? I mean, what the hell. Just do it on page five already.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" she hollered. Or it was something like that. I was watching her, staring probably. I was looking at her eyebrows move when she yelled at me, which made me smile even more. Which then pissed her off even more.

God, she was beautiful. I think about the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even with her hair tossed about like she had been out in a tornado and with her makeup all smeared. Even with all her beauty, I could still see such sadness in her eyes. Even now, as I think about how much grief she must be carrying, it brings tears to my eyes.

"Take a picture. It will last longer," the girl yelled. I raised my hands in surrender, smiled, and said I was sorry. Then I turned back and opened my book. Where was I, oh yes, the hero is about to kiss the girl.

Ten minutes later, "big ol' friendly" came back and said to the girl on the bench, "They're not coming for you."

I looked up from my book and saw the tears start. Then the girl began to sob. Big ol' friendly just turned and walked away.

The girl was shaking, with her knees up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs. She was rocking, back and forth, with a bizarre look on her face. I have been around and have seen much sadness, but I had never seen anyone look like this. I asked if she was all right. She just looked at me, almost like I was not even there. I didn't know what to do. At that moment, another line from the same Harry Chapin song came into my head..."And Lord, Lord, Lord, she was worth a try."

I moved a little closer and asked again if she was all right. She just mumbled, "They're not coming," all the while rocking back and forth, in this excellent periwinkle police station, sitting on the Group W Bench. My mind is so warped, what the hell is wrong with me, I thought, but I was worried. Like I said, I had never seen anyone in a state quite like this.

I tried it again. "Who is not coming?" I asked gently.

This time she looked at me for a very long time. I felt like I was looking into the depths of her soul. Such sadness, it broke my heart. Finally, she said, "My family is not coming for me."

Some people might have walked away. Some might have had a great solution or recommended something perfect. I had nothing to offer, but I asked if she had someplace to stay that night. I expected her to react with fury as she did before. I half thought she might call a cop over and have me arrested. Instead, she just shook her head no.

My sister came out of the side door holding her things. I got up and walked over to her. We hugged, and Sis said, "It's time to go home."

I said, "Okay, but I have to get something first."

I walked over to the bench and asked the girl if she wanted to come with us. She looked up at me, nodded, and slowly got up. I helped her stand and together we walked over to Sis standing by the door. She looked first at the girl and then at me, and asked, "Who's this?"

"A lost kitten," was all I could think of to say.

Sis responded, "Well, all right; let's go."

I knew Sis would understand. She always did.