With a thud the cardboard box with the last of my belongings landed on the wood floor with a squishing sound of appreciation as it is safe inside the dimly lit house from the down pour outside. I shuffle around all the boxes looking for one that would hold my clothes. Moving boxes inside during a downpour left me dripping. I open a few boxes along the way and grab what I deem necessities for the night. Objects such as a throw blanket, a pillow, and a Fitzgerald novel. Lagging through different boxes I finally concede in my search and settle for a pair of sweat pants that, although stolen from my younger brother, were several sizes too large and a NYPD shirt I shrunk in the dryer as a rookie. After replacing the wet clothes with the much more appreciated dry ones, I brought all the essentials for the night with me to the couch. Years away from the Pacific Northwest seems to have no effect on how soothing I find the paddling sound of rain around me. As long it’s not physically dripping on me, of course.
The next morning the few rays of sun breaking through the overcast also broke through the windows in my living room and woke me up. Closing the half-finished book on my chest I untangled the blanket from around me and strayed into the kitchen. I was quickly reminded I was no longer in my closet sized New York apartment as I passed by boxes and realized the only food I have left is some stale cheese-its and a half full jar of peanut butter. I huffed, but quickly regained some optimism at the fact the water and electricity were at my disposal. It took me a week to get power when I first moved to the big city.
I grabbed my still damp shoes and headed to the store keys in hand. I was ready for the feeling of everything being new to fade into routine. As I push my cart aisle to aisle I glance around my surroundings. Being a detective for the NYPD is a detail designed job, and it becomes second nature to pick up on the tiniest things. I filled my cart up as I assessed the people around me. The population here was miniscule compared to New York, but the crime rate was surprisingly high and had a small closing case percentage. When I realized I needed to leave what was once my dream job I had a few non-negotiable terms for myself. I knew that I would never be happy with myself if I got stuck as some desk jockey or a nauseating traffic cop. No disrespect to those who fall into that label, but that’s not what I want. I like my coffee dark black, which is how I also like my work. I prefer it brittle, no sugarcoat, even considered harsh to some, but the job is done at the end of the day. That’s why one of the objects on my list of ‘must haves’ for my new residency was that it had to have some mystery. I needed a job where my interest would be peaked, then be explored, and eventually explained. That is what I am good at. This town seemed to put that into a mug, like it was just waiting for me to burn my impatient tongue by sipping on it.
I pull the groceries out of my cart and onto the conveyer belt where a surprisingly tall teenager began to check me out, in both definitions of the term. I raise my eyebrows at him when his eyes meet mine. “I don’t recognize you,” he states explaining bluntly.
And here I was thinking my tiny tee made my boobs look good. “Is it really that small of town,” I question swiping my card.
“Unfortunately,” he mumbled as he bagged the last of my groceries.
I chuckled lightly before stating as I headed toward the exit, “That’ll take some getting used to.”
As I arrive home the organizational bug bites me, which believe me is way more than annoying then any mosquito. After organizing my pantry with my newly purchased food, I quickly began unpacking the boxes that littered my new home. Luckily I quickly found a box holding my iHome and I was pleased to be able to work while with my playlist on shuffle. After hours of unpacking and a few snack breaks, I finally got to a place where I could call it a day. My room, as well as the kitchen, was completely set up, but the living room was not in any way close behind. I made myself a microwave dinner, carrying it past the barely started dining room into the living room. I turned on the local news as I blew on the steaming fork. It had become a habit a picked up in the academy. The press were slimy little rodents that could weasel their way into a story, and often before sluggish police could. I used them to pick up an outside view on the story, how others perceived a certain case.
