Reflections

The old man leaned back in his deck chair and took another sip of the scotch on the rocks, his third that spring afternoon. The breeze coming into the backyard was cool on his face and the first honeybees were busy on the early morning Russian Sage buds the warm sun had converted into blooms.

Bud Emmons was ninety-two today but there was no one left to help him celebrate his birthday, so he celebrated by opening a bottle of twelve-year old Glenfiddich single-malt scotch whisky he had been saving for Tim's return from Afghanistan, but Tim never came back.

Bud took another sip and thought, "Before long, my nosey neighbor Rose will be poking her head over the wall to see how much I am drinking. Well, I'll sure give her something to tell her friends about today!"

That morning, he had thought of visiting Emma's and Tim's graves at the Emmons family plot, but instead he had a coffee royal while he sang himself "Happy Birthday!" and now he'd had too much to drink to risk driving.

There were three new, young recruits on the tiny city force, young cops eager to prove themselves. Last week a young cop with a bristle haircut in a uniform with sharp creases, wearing a Mountie hat had pulled him over for changing lanes with no signal.
His shiny, brass name tag read T. Ames.

Very professional, he said, "Driver's license and insurance," through the rolled down
window. Then, "Do you know why I stopped you, Mr. Emmons?"

"No, I was not speeding."

"You did not signal before you changed from the left into the right lane, what if another vehicle had been alongside you?"

"There wasn't, I looked."

The cop looked at Bud, then surveyed the license and insurance card. He went back to his patrol car, blue and red lights still flashing, and talked on his radio. When he returned, he said, "Mr. Emmons, as you are a retired police officer, I am surprised at your driving violation."

Bud straightened up in his seat. "Sonny, I was arresting drunks when-"

T. Ames laughed. "When I was still shitting diapers?"

Bud nodded.

Ames handed back Bud's papers. "I am just giving you a warning, Mr. Emmons." He touched his hat brim and walked back to his car.

Bud waited until the patrol car pulled out before he drove away. "Young whippersnappers!" he said to himself.

Now, at home in his chair, a child's shrill laughter woke Bud. He jerked and blinked. "Damn, didn't even know I'd fallen asleep!"

He drained his glass and got ice from the bowl on the glass--topped table and poured the amber liquid. He'd had enough scotch now, so he was seeing double.
Bud heard the laugh again and looked down at the lawn.

His son, Little Timmy, came running across the lawn, carrying a volleyball, cheeks flushed. Cowboy, their big, white German shepherd ran alongside, tongue out, trying to wrest the ball away.

Bud sat up in his chair. Tears sprang from his eyes. He looked down at the drink in his hand, then back at the boy and his dog. Timmy dropped the ball, Cowboy batted it with his front paws and they were off again, Timmy's laughter echoing off the block wall enclosing the yard.

Timmy got the ball back, ran up to the deck and asked, "Do you want to play, daddy?"

Behind him, Bud heard the screen door creak open. Emma came out, wiping her hands on her apron. She put her hand on Bud's shoulder. "Timmy, let Cowboy have the ball, you and dad have to come in for supper now." As the screen door shut behind her, Emma said, "Don't forget to wash your hands!"

Bud drained his glass put it on the table. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. In a moment he would get up and go inside.

The obituary/police report in the town paper, The Record, read,

Long-time resident and retired River City police officer Stanley "Bud" Emmons was found deceased at his home yesterday. His neighbor, Mrs. Rose Slaughter, said she thought Bud was just asleep on his back deck in his favorite chair, but he failed to answer or move when she yelled "Hello!" a few times, so she called the police.
Officer Thomas Ames responded to the call and an ambulance was called to the home, but Mr. Emmons was pronounced dead at the scene.
Mr. Emmons was preceded in death by his wife, Emma, age 84, and his only son, US Army Sergeant Timothy S. Emmons, age 26. The River City Police will hold a graveside service at the Memorial Gardens cemetery, Sunday, May 15th, at 1:00 pm.