The police officer took his time getting out of his car. I hadn’t done anything wrong (I thought), but my heart rate was up a bit nonetheless.
I sat in my car on the side of the road. My car was in park, my flashers were on, all my windows were down and my sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel at 10 and 2.
Finally, his door opened and he stepped out. I watched him in my rear-view mirror.
“Good morning, officer!” I thought to myself. That’s what I’d say when he got to my window. Try to be pleasant.
He walked directly to the back of my car. I heard something scraping against my bumper as he wobbled in my rear-view.
“Did he step in something? I thought.
Then I saw him talking into the radio mic on his shoulder.
Snow! There was snow covering my license plate and he had to scrape it off to read it. I whispered an oath as I finally exhaled. I could see my breath.
He walked backward a few steps toward his cruiser, never taking his eyes off of me.
“Smart man,” I thought, “and he doesn’t have any idea yet that I have a gun.”
He talked into his shoulder again and then paused to listen. I noticed his head jerk toward me just a little. He knew.
I could feel my heart thumping now. I tightened my grip on the wheel. My neck was hot and my fingers were cold. The gun felt like an anvil on my left hip.
He shifted his weight on his feet and took a lungful of cold Ohio air. I could see his breath too.
Now my ears were hot and my hands almost slipped off the wheel they were so cold and wet. I never noticed before how red the lines in my knuckles were. I glanced in my rear-view again and he was gone.
“Good morning, Sir.” I heard as he entered my peripheral vision. I jumped a little, not sure if he noticed it though. “May I see your driver’s license, registration and proof of assurance, please?”
“Officer, I have a license to carry concealed and I am armed. What would you like me to do?”
“Where is the firearm?” His voice was like a rock.
“In a holster on my left hip, under my shirt.” I squeaked.
“That’s fine,” he said, “Keep your hands on the wheel unless I tell you to do otherwise.”
“Yes sir. My license is in my left back pocket.”
“Get it with your left hand only. Keep your other hand on the wheel.”
“Yes sir. I need to open the glove box too.”
“Go ahead.”
He stood slightly behind me outside my window, his body parallel to the side of my car. I never saw his right hand and figured it was resting on the butt of his pistol.
I leaned to my right, slowly opened the glove box and removed my insurance card and registration. Holding them between my thumb and forefinger, I returned my right hand to the wheel and reached with my left hand really, *really* slowly toward my left back pocket. I removed my wallet and brought both hands back to the wheel.
He moved closer and placed his right hand on the sill of my window.
I relaxed a little bit as I removed my licenses and handed everything over. “Here you go.” I managed.
He took them from me without a word, straightened up and walked toward the front of my car. He never turned more than halfway away from me as he walked around the front of my car and toward the side of the highway. He keyed his mic and called in my information.
I thought ice might be forming under my hands on the steering wheel. My heart wasn’t beating as fast, but now I could feel sweat running down the side of my head. For a misguided moment, I thought about unzipping my coat, and then thought better of it.
His breath was white with little sparkles in the morning sun. Mine looked like a gray fog in the shade. He walked to the passenger side of my car and leaned into the open window.
My grip tightened. The wheel would never be the same.
“Sir, do you know why I stopped you this morning?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“You had snow covering your rear license plate. Are you aware that you have to keep it clear of obstructions?”
“I am now, sir!” I replied briskly, “I’m sorry about that.”
He held out my paperwork and said sternly, “And this isn’t what I asked you for, you know!”
My hands stayed on the wheel. I just looked at him, my mouth half open. I think I might have blinked.
“I asked you for your driver’s license, registration and proof of assurance.” He stressed the last word.
My hands stayed on the wheel. I just looked at him, my mouth half open. I think I might have blinked.
He grinned as he tucked my paperwork under the edge of the bible sitting on the passenger’s seat. “I noticed the cross you have hanging from your rear view mirror at the same time that my dispatcher said you had a license to carry concealed. Then I saw your bible just before I got to your window. I’m usually a little nervous approaching an armed citizen, but this time I felt pretty calm.”
I managed to close my mouth and take a short breath.
“I thought I’d have a little fun with you and see if you might hand me your bible as proof of assurance.” He said as he tapped the book on the seat.
“I never even caught it.” I replied as I tried to smile. “I thought you said insurance. I guess I didn’t expect to be pulled over by a Christian.”
“I’m a Christian and a cop; but I guess I’m not much of a comedian!”
“I’m sure I’ll laugh about it later” I said as I finally found the ability to smile.
“I’m sure we both will.” He replied as he straightened back up. “Make sure you keep your license plate clear of snow and have a blessed day, brother!”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir… brother. You too!”
UPDATE: This article is a work of fiction; a creative writing exercise focusing on dialog and descriptive realism. I welcome constructive criticism in comments or via email. Thanks for reading!
